She had been on the road for eight days. Each day a new town, each town a new horse. The tiredness was in her bones, in her blood. It pulled at her, tried to drag her off the saddle, but she couldn’t stop. How could she when it might already be too late?

By the end of the ninth day, she reached her destination; a log cabin on the edge of a forest. Once inside, she headed to the bedroom where a sleeping figure lay, and poured the green potion down their throat.

She prayed. She begged.

And it worked.

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