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The priestess crouched beside the bed, quietly fumbling with the things in her backpack. Occasionally she pulled out various types of herbs, put some back, and compared others with the ink drawings in a book that laid open beside her.
On the bed, her patient, a young girl, moaned. The priestess knew that she wouldn’t have long to live unless she got the potion ready. This motivated her to dig deeper, with more anxiety as she muttered recipes to herself.
Beads of sweat dotted the priestess’ forehead, dripping off the strands of her golden hair. Her chestnut brown eyes skimmed the hieroglyphics of her book, trying to decipher them, and not for the first time hating herself for not having translated them earlier when she’d had the time.
When everything she needed was laid out and ready, the priestess began her work. She lifted a sprig of some blue-green plant, chanting softly under her breath. As she sang the words, an outline of an eye flanked by a pair of wings began to write itself into the air in golden lines. When the figure finished itself, the eye broke apart, the wings vanished, and a vision of a lock snapping filled the priestess’ mind. This was the first phase of her healing, to remove any remaining curses put on the patient, and releasing any negative energy that might interfere with the actual treatment.