I studied her face, thinking I saw a familiar expression.

“I don’t like nursing the sick, either,” I offered.

Her expression perked up, and her laugh lines crinkled again as she made a face like she’d just bitten into a lemon. “It is truly not a job I enjoy.”

“Smells bad,” I said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I would rather hunt wild boar.”

“Well, I think I’ve been hunted by several bores before, and while it wasn’t any fun, it was certainly more enjoyable than friggin nursing.”

“Friggin nursing?” she asked.

“I’m trying to quit cursing.”

She rolled her eyes before she nodded. “I, too, have a propensity for using inappropriate words.”

“You? I’m shocked!” Surely not Centaur Barbie!

We had come to the door, and I watched the young centaur guard’s blank expression change to adoration as he caught sight of Victoria. He drew himself up to his full height, and made a sweeping bow of greeting to Victoria (he glanced briefly my way to semi-include me, too).

“Well met, again, Mistress Victoria!” he said with enthusiasm.

The Huntress’s face didn’t register any recognition, so the centaur babbled on.

“Last evening’s meal—we supped at the same campfire.”

I worried for a second that he’d blow up if he didn’t relax and quit puffing his chest out. Then Victoria’s expression shifted into a benevolent half smile. “Oh, yes.” She paused and thought before she added, “Willie. How could I forget the name of the chivalrous centaur who gave up his place at the campfire for me?” She touched his arm in a friendly caress and I thought he’d wiggle out of his skin. “Willie,” she breathed, “would you do me another service by directing my Huntresses within when they come?”

“Anything for you, Mistress!” His voice broke adorably on the word Mistress, like the poor thing hadn’t finished going through puberty yet.

“Thank you.” Her voice was husky as we passed him and entered the sickroom. “I will remember your devotion.”

The door shut (reluctantly) behind us, and Victoria and I exchanged amused glances. She rolled her eyes.

“Was he a centaur or a puppy?” I asked.

“Both,” she laughed. “Colts are so endearing.”

“Rhea!” The strain that was evident in Carolan’s voice sobered us. He quickly crossed the room. “I see you brought the marines.”

“I’ll explain later,” I said in answer to Victoria’s look of inquiry. Turning back to Carolan, I made the hasty introductions.

“Victoria, Lead Huntress of the Centaurs, I would like you to meet our Healer, Carolan.” They nodded a greeting to each other.

“We are at your disposal, Carolan. My Huntresses and our own Healer will be joining us shortly. How can we be of assistance?” Victoria’s brisk voice said she could handle anything, and Carolan gratefully began explaining what he needed. I felt the urge to belt out a verse of “I Am Woman,” but I settled for silently mixing the lyrics around in my head to fit the occasion (“I Am Centaur Hear Me Neigh?” Nope, it didn’t rhyme).

“Lady Rhiannon?” A weak voice interrupted my bad songwriting. I looked around and caught sight of a small hand raised weakly in my direction. I swallowed a sigh and headed toward the pallet.

“Hi, Kristianna.” It was the little horse lover. She looked awful, but she was still alive. The blisters on her face, neck and arms that yesterday had been pea-size and watery, were now pus-filled and angry-looking. Her face was flushed and her lips were cracked.

“C-c-centaurs…” She managed a ragged whisper, and her unnaturally bright eyes shifted in the direction of the door, where Carolan and Victoria had been joined by half a dozen female centaurs.

“Yes, centaurs. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” I made eye contact with a passing assistant, and she handed me a cool, wet cloth, with which I tried to blot some of the sweat from the girl’s forehead. I cringed internally every time the fabric touched a pustule—I was afraid I was causing her more pain than I was helping. But her gaze had fastened upon the Huntresses and she seemed almost oblivious to me.

“S-s-s-so p-pretty.” I had to bend to hear her.

“Honey, you rest. I’m going to go see if I can get you some tea to soothe your throat.”

Her eyes shifted back to mine; she refocused on me and nodded painfully.

“Hurts.”

“I know. Close your eyes and rest.”

Rejoining the group by the door I wished fervently for something that would make that little girl feel better.

“Don’t you have anything you can give them for the pain?” I blurted at Carolan.

“I have been giving them mixtures of willow bark and chamomile, but those who need it the most cannot swallow well enough to get enough of it into their systems,” he said sadly.

A petite roan-colored centaur I had not seen before stepped forward. Her curly auburn hair had been cropped short in a chin-length bob, parted at the side and tossed back behind one small ear. She wore a leather top that was more formfitting and utilitarian than the Huntress’s ornate vests.

“A patient has to swallow only a small amount of juice from the poppy for it to relax them. Perhaps if they were given the poppy extract first, they could then be coaxed into drinking more of your tea mixture.” Her voice was a pleasant surprise—gentle and easy to listen to. I was instantly drawn to her.

“Let me introduce our Healer, Sila,” Victoria said.

“The poppy extract is an excellent idea. Unfortunately we have very little of the elixir. Our supply comes from the fields around Laragon Castle.” Carolan shrugged helplessly. “Laragon is no more.”

“Poppies grow in profusion on the centaur plains, I have an ample supply with me, and I will send immediately for more.”

“We would be in your debt,” I said gratefully. “You are an answer to our prayers.”

“If I am an answer to your prayers, Beloved of Epona, it is the Goddess you are indebted to, not me.” The Healer’s expression was gracious and open.

The thought passed through my mind that she must be an exceptional Healer if just the sound of her voice was so soothing.

Then she turned her attention to Victoria. “Huntress, please have a runner bring my trunk of medicines so that we can start relieving these people of their pain.”