***
Once Stenhelt made it back to his gear on the north bank of the creek, he was relieved to find everything intact and undisturbed. While pulling the quiver strap over his head, he thought of Chohla's words.
On a whim, he pulled out an arrow and pressed the sharp bone tip to his bare forearm. With a quick motion, Sten made a shallow cut. Just as a thin trickle of blood began to seep out, he licked the wound. He pulled his arm away for a moment and then licked twice more. The spit and blood seemed to gel in the thin slice.
Stenhelt stood and stared at his arm, waiting for some magic to happen. All he noticed was a few small snowflakes landing on it. He looked at the gray sky and sighed, wondering how much of Chohla's words to believe. With a lingering frown, he gathered up his pack and bow and began the short trek back home.
Later that same day, just after evening meal, the family sat around the large fire blazing in the hearth. The wind rattled the shutters, blowing down a thick blanket of snow outside. Each member of the family was involved in their own minor chores while Stenhelt's parents talked to each other about merchant wagons that were due to pass through the village soon.
Not paying much attention, Sten looked over at Tull, who was using a stone blade to carve details into a wooden songbird. It reminded him of the shallow slice he'd made on his arm earlier that day.
Setting aside his re-stitched boots, Stenhelt pulled back the sleeve of his wool night coat. Barely perceptible in the firelight was a thin pink line where the cut had been. In less than half a day's time it was already past scabbing and at the end of mending, not even sensitive to the touch.
Sten smiled to himself and made a mental note for the next time he saw Chohla, making sure to apologize for doubting the wise herbalist.