Praecantrix

Fuaran sighed, stood up and looked around. The work at a hospice is never easy, but it was especially difficult for her when she was home, surrounded by ballators she knew. The sick and injured were lying on thin mats on the ground, some already treated, but others were beyond help already. Still, she would not give them up. The various dried healing herbs she carried around her neck shed an intense scent that always managed to calm those who were down on their luck, as it gave them a sense of comfort and security. The poultices and teas she prepared with them were much sought-after as popular and successful remedies, and the mare was famous for her healing skills too. But hardly anyone knew the true cure and most important item the white horned ballator had to aid those who were suffering was tucked into a saddlebag. A thick, heavy book with a leather cover, embellished with strange golden letters in a long forgotten language. It contained many magic spells, some of which were forbidden among those who were familiar with their powers. But Fuaran had promised herself to study this book and use it to become one of the greatest healers of ballatorkind. She would not rest until she was a master praecantrix.