Thunder rolled and rain poured from the heavens.

With a steady squeeze and cluck, an old grey warhorse burst through the stable doors. The guards at the gate already had it open and Rowan plunged through into the early morning storm.

“Come on, old boy," Rowan whispered into the ever-dampening mane. She could barely see the road, but she trusted the steed below her to stay on the road. His hooves pounding a steady rhythm that matched her heartbeat.

She couldn't let Reanin, owner of the Keep and her devoted father, down.

The fever that took so many of the people in the villages, her friends, and even her family, now had its hold on her father. He was all she had left, and she fought tears from her eyes, gritting her teeth and calling to the horse to carry her faster.

“Go, Dunny! Go."

She had to pull up at the river, the bridge had been washed away and with the fever, no one had repaired it. She quickly assessed where the river was the most shallow, and quickly retying her auburn hair, she once again charged forward.

Dunny was up to his chest but never wavered. Rowan sent a little prayer up to the gods, thanking them that her father had given this horse a lifetime of training.

Suddenly, she pulled the horse to a standstill.

“Oh no," Rowan breathed, her blue eyes looking right and left. “Which way do I go after the bridge?"

Dunny pawed the ground, chomping the bit which dripped with foam.

Covering a sob, Rowan took another deep breath. The horse abruptly yanked the reins through her fingers and turned to the right.

Rowan felt a laugh rise in her chest.

“Of course you know which way, you old nilly!"

They were off again, eventually finding the road to town as the rain picked up. No one was out, the road was bare, the houses silent. Every once in a while she could see a glow through a window, and she thought of her handmaiden, Lea, tending to her father by the fire.

Dunny was blowing hard when she finally reached the healer's house. Jumping off, Rowan's legs failed to hold her and she fell hard on her side.

“Humph!"

The rain poured down. Dunny stood like a rock. Rowan picked herself up and knocked loudly on the door.

Silence.

Rowan pounded again.

“Shena! Please, it's Rowan."

There was movement behind her. The healer was turning from the road towards her house. The woman's flat, grey dress was made even flatter by the rain, and by her face, Rowan reckoned she hadn't slept all night. The healer took one look at Rowan, and her shoulders dropped.

“He's gotten worse?"

Rowan swallowed hard, “Much worse, I'm afraid. I used the last of the herbs you gave me, and he's resting, but his fever is still climbing."

The healer finally stopped in front of Rowan The rain beat down upon them, but they did not seem to care. Rowan could see the healer struggling to speak.

“There is no more."

Shena's head bowed.

“Your father is a good man, took good care of his people, even when he didn't have much, himself. You know I would do anything to help him."

Shena raised her head and her voice cracked, “I have nothing left. I just used the last of the herbs on the shepherd's boy."

With her heart plummeting, Rowan steadied her shoulders.

“Is there anything else you can give me to soothe his fever?"

Shena shrugged, the rain stinging her eyes.

She frowned and said, “Let me look inside."

With that, the healer disappeared into the small house. Rowan glimpsed a small fire, and hanging clothes. The healer must have been busy for three days straight if Rowan counted the hanging dresses correctly. Shena's face appeared at the door, tears in her eyes.

“No, I'm so sorry. I have nothing left, not even for myself."

Rowan nodded and turned to go. There was no time to waste.

As Rowan pulled herself onto Dunny's broad back, she swallowed the numbing disappointment filling her heart.

“Wait, Rowan?"

Rowan looked back at the healer.

“As you ride home, look for a Worray Tree."

“The thin, twisted tree with changing blossoms?"

“Yes. Only use the spring blossoms."

She could see Rowan thinking.

“The yellow blossoms. Not white from winter, not orange for summer, you need the yellow spring blossoms. If you can find a few of those blossoms, have your father suck on them. They help fight fever."

With a quick nod, Dunny leaped forward with the same energy he had on the earlier journey.

Shena gazed after the galloping girl, wiping a tear and slowly closing the door.

Dunny pounded forward in the relentless rain, but not as quickly as before. There was a tree to look for. Rowan clenched the reins but realized she couldn't feel her hands anymore. Lucky she learned long ago how to ride with her seat, and Dunny slowly came to a halt.

“We have to head to the river, old boy. Somewhere along there, we will find the Worray's spring blossoms."

She thought to herself, 'We have no choice.'

Dismounting at the water's edge, she left her mount under the cover of the forest trees. The rain had relented and now was a steady drizzle.

“Ugh," Rowan gasped, as she sank in mud past her ankles. Colour caught her eye from an outcropping nearby. Walking like a newborn fawn, she made her way to the slender, winding tree.

“Hello, my friend. A few yellow blossoms please."

Rowan scanned the branches. Most of the blossoms were still in their winter stage, tightly wrapped and a fading white. Near the top of the tree, however, she could see a pale shade of spring yellow.

Reaching up, Rowan took hold of a narrow branch and pulled. It broke instantly.

“How am I going to get up there?" She wondered. Turning, she came face to face with Dunny, who huffed lovingly in her face.

“Come here, Dunny," Rowan smiled, climbing onto the warm back. “Now, stand."

Within minutes she had collected three pale yellow blossoms. Although they weren't as yellow as she wanted, they would have to do.

Rowan turned the grey steed towards the humble keep.

“Now, we must fly."