The rise and fall of the water mystified her, though she still recalled the tale of how the moon goddess so desired the prince of the sea, she called to him. He tried to reach for her, but being so tethered to the ground, he couldn’t reach, and when she left, he slumped back to earth. Or so it was said.

Tales of gods and goddesses had been drilled into her since she was a baby, but she had never seen one. Perhaps they were just stories, fanciful ones, meant to entertain. But she suspected they held hidden truths.

Water passed over her feet in a rush, wrapping its foamy fingers around her ankles and tugging at her to come closer. She knew better than to trust the water. Even at the creek back at the settlement, she’d seen how close kids could come to drowning when stepping out into the water. The footing would drop away and the child would disappear in an instant, only to emerge seconds later, sputtering and coughing, as if nature had just sprung a malicious practical joke on them.

“Ouch,” she barked out, as something pinched the end of a toe.

What was that? She looked down to see a huge spider-like creature, with large armored legs and body, marching toward her, waving its pinching arms. What sort of demon was this?

Backing away, she poked it with the pole. The animal skittered sideways, turning its eye stalks as if measuring whether it could defeat her. She wondered whether it might be eaten, and her stomach gave its approval.

The stick came down, and the monster stopped moving. She poked, and it didn’t move. With a smile, she grabbed the creature by the shell and started carrying it toward the fire.

The animal started waving its arms about, pinching and clawing at her frantically. Faline shrieked at the surprise and dropped the crab. It raced toward the water, but she recovered quickly. She brained it repeatedly, until it lay motionless, one of the legs broken off.

Satisfied that this time she’d managed to kill it, she grabbed the animal and brought it back to the fire. With her knife, she cut and stabbed at the creature but couldn’t figure out how to get the meat out. So she threw it onto the skillet and let it sit for as long as she thought necessary.

She watched her prey hungrily, waiting for it to finish cooking. Growing impatient, she ripped off a leg, twisted and bent the appendage. Meat appeared, and she chewed and sucked it out. The taste was salty but good. She made quick work of the rest and ate as much as she could.

By now, the sun was setting. Most of the beach was in shadow, the fire glowed dully, most of the kindling in it now gone. By now, the beckoning foamy fingers of the tide had crept nearer.

Faline collected her equipment and hobbled back to her “cave” to try and get another night’s sleep. The leg wound ached severely. Whether it was because her wound had gotten worse or that the day’s activities had exhausted her, she could not be certain. Regardless, she barely made it to the cave before collapsing and sinking into a deep sleep.

When morning came, she shivered incessantly. Why were the winds coming off the Gulf so cold? She had not anticipated that. But when she went to move about, the world seemed to twist in and out of focus.

Oh no.

She placed a hand on her forehead, and her fears were confirmed. She was feverish. She looked at her leg. The swollen red wound wept yellow and green pus. Just keeping it clean hadn’t worked.

When she sat up and put weight on it, pain radiated up and down her leg. She bit her lip to keep from screaming and fell back. She swallowed hard. Her judgment had failed once again. The option to make a poultice was gone, and keeping the wound clean hadn’t worked.

Now what? Did she risk using the Old Ways? It wasn’t much of a choice—either she did, or she would die. Then again, there was that lingering admonishment not use magic to heal.

What was the consequence?

Pain hammered at her resolve. She placed her palm on her leg and recalled the word to use. “Sana.”

A bluish glow surrounded her hand, pulsing like a heartbeat. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the skin grew incredibly hot—not just warm, but burning from the inside out. She watched in horror as the wound began to close, flesh knitting together in ways that looked wrong, unnatural.

But the price—

Searing pain ran the length of her bones, disappearing into a scream which ripped its way out of her chest. Then came the aging. She felt it this time, felt her hands shrivel, watched age spots bloom across her skin like dark flowers. Her fingers curled inward, joints swelling.

Nausea twisted her guts in knots, forcing her to her knees. The agony was more than she could bear. Let death take me.

She thrashed about, unable to escape the pain as shrieks and cries escaped her. This was the price Grandmama had warned about. This was why healers were rare. Who would willingly endure this?

Then, as quickly as the pain had set in, it dissipated. Exhaustion swept her off into a deep sleep.

When she opened her eyes, the sun was just above the horizon, breaking on a new day—or so it seemed. The sky was different too, cloudless, warm, and sunny. How long had she been asleep?

She studied her hands and found them lined, but not aged. The spots were fading. No soreness in the fingers, and though stiff, they moved freely. With awkward movements, she lurched upright, and despite mild aches, found she could stand easily without significant pain. Balance was still a challenge, yet she tottered over to the waterfall and lay next to it, amazed at how horribly thirsty she was.

Gulping down the cold water, she paused only to take in necessary breaths. Her clothes were soaked through with sweat, so she peeled them off and immersed herself in the stream.

Relief came in an instant, but so did the realization she’d been incapacitated for at least a day, or maybe more. How much time had passed was a mystery with no answer. At any moment, someone or something could have taken her life.

But more troubling were the other side effects of healing. The agony she’d felt remained vivid, as did the aging. Though it didn’t seem permanent, something made her reach up and touch the streak of white near her temple — the one she’d noticed when cutting her hair and couldn’t explain. Now she could. This was what Grandmama had warned about. This was the price written on her body in a language anyone could read, whether they knew the Old Ways or not. Had she aged herself years with that one spell?

She had survived healing herself with the “Old Ways,” but had no desire to repeat the experience. Yet, despite all of the side effects, the wound looked good, with only a slight mark where the bear had snagged her with its teeth.

Still, next time it would be better to have a poultice handy.