Day Two
The morning arrived thick and humid. Anna rose early, brushing dirt from her hands, and checked on each hut. The sick were scattered: some still sweating, others weak and coughing. She boiled water again, preparing slightly different blends of herbs — some bitter leaves for fever, fuzzy roots for stomach aches, a few fragrant petals to calm the mind.
She delivered teas carefully, offering the warm cups and coaxing them to drink. Some villagers sipped obediently, trusting her, while others eyed the mixtures warily. One older man refused entirely, muttering and turning away. Anna didn't scold; she made a note to observe him later. She knew that even in survival, humans resisted what they didn't understand.
Kehnu helped where he could, bringing firewood, stirring pots, and gently holding feeble bodies upright. His presence calmed both Anna and the villagers. The two moved in quiet coordination: she observed, he assisted, always keeping the rhythm slow and careful.
By afternoon, small improvements became visible. The fever of one young woman broke, her sweat dampening the mat but her eyes clearer than before. Another villager coughed less, sitting up to sip water. Anna made quick notes in her mind, memorizing which plants seemed to help which symptoms.
Day Three
Anna experimented with poultices. She crushed leaves and herbs into a fine mash, dampened with boiled water, and applied them to fevers and aching joints. Villagers watched, some curious, some skeptical. She gently encouraged them, showing how to wrap the poultice with broad leaves. Some followed her lead, copying her actions on neighbors, learning through observation.
Meanwhile, she noticed that small dietary changes seemed to matter. Fermented fruit drinks, though sparse, seemed to lift energy slightly. Small bites of salted fish, carefully prepared, provided protein. She rationed them strictly: each person received just enough to keep strength without spoiling more food.
Kehnu occasionally whispered suggestions: a little more water, cover the tea cup, rotate the poultice. He watched her, not to interfere, but to ensure her efforts were safe and effective. Anna felt a quiet warmth in this trust, and her confidence grew.
Day Four
The tribe started to recover slowly. Anna had refined her teas and poultices. A few villagers were strong enough to gather firewood and small fruits, relieving some of her burden. She rotated the herbs carefully, ensuring the most delicate plants were used last to preserve their potency.
Some villagers, still weak but motivated, began to help: fetching water, stirring the pots, carrying small bundles of herbs. They weren't just passive recipients anymore — they were participating. Anna noticed the shift. Their eyes followed her with attention and respect. Her daughter, Kate, helped too, running between huts to fetch small leaves or water, proud to be useful.
Small victories built morale. One man who had refused tea on Day Two now accepted it and smiled faintly after sipping. Another woman coughed less and nodded at Anna in silent thanks. These moments, small as they were, strengthened the bond between Anna and the tribe.
Day Five
Anna experimented carefully with combinations: a tea with three different herbs, a poultice with added petals, tiny salt-infused morsels to maintain strength. Most villagers improved. A few still struggled, and she knew patience would be key.
She also began teaching small lessons — how to crush leaves properly, how to boil water safely, how to check for mold. Slowly, others were learning her ways. They began to copy, experimenting themselves, creating a quiet ripple of knowledge throughout the village.
By evening, a calm settled over the huts. Fires burned low, the smell of herbs and cooked food mingling in the humid air. Anna sat outside her hut, exhausted but watchful, feeling the weight of responsibility ease slightly. She glanced at Kehnu, who nodded at her from across the clearing. His silent encouragement reminded her that she was not alone.
For the first time since the illness began, Anna felt a glimmer of hope: survival was not just possible — it was already happening, one small, careful step at a time.
The next days passed with slow but steady improvement. Anna's teas and poultices worked better with each iteration, and her careful attention to diet, hydration, and rest helped the villagers regain strength.
Fever broke in most of the huts, and coughs grew lighter. Weak limbs gained strength, and soon the sick were able to sit outside in the sun, breathing the fresh mountain air. Anna rotated her herbs, giving those who were still weak the gentlest blends, while encouraging the newly recovering to help with simple tasks: fetching water, stirring a pot, or carrying small sticks for the fire.
Kehnu remained nearby, quietly supervising, stepping in only when needed. His calm presence gave Anna confidence, and the villagers, sensing the care and protection around her, began to relax. Laughter slowly returned — small at first, a whisper of joy — as children played between huts, and even the adults smiled as they shared small portions of food.
Anna observed how cooperation itself seemed to heal the village. Those who had been sick but could now assist felt renewed purpose. She saw Mike, the man who had previously feared reprisal, helping a villager hang fish to dry, and others making small baskets of herbs, learning from her.
By the end of the week, every villager had returned to their usual activities: hunting, gathering, tending to fires, or making pottery. Only a few still moved carefully, their bodies reminding them of the weakness they had endured.
Anna finally allowed herself a moment of relief. Sitting outside her hut, she watched Kate play with the children and felt the warmth of the sun on her face. The village hummed with life again. It was far from easy, but they were surviving — and the sense of shared effort, care, and trust had grown stronger than before the illness.
Even the elders acknowledged her contributions quietly, offering nods or gentle smiles as she passed. For Anna, this was more than recovery; it was a proof of resilience. She had guided the tribe through a dangerous time, and together they had emerged stronger.
The mountain huts, once tense and quiet with sickness, were now alive with movement, chatter, and the smell of cooking fires — a reminder that even in harsh conditions, life found a way forward.