Wardrobe

Villager: Cypress

When you live in a place tethered to the edge of reality, stuck gingerly between here and not quite here, you quickly learn that traditional medicine will only get you so far. Of course, normal injuries still happen. Sickness, frostbite, broken bones and cuts and deep seated, ugly coughing that rattles the lungs until they're bloody. People get hurt and sick from the most mundane things, always, and most of it can be treated with care, knowledge and patience.

But there's the other sicknesses, too. There are those who seem lost, who don't recover from hypothermia like they should, who shiver and look at snowstorms with longing when they should be afraid. There are those who seem healthy, at first glance, but if you ask them about their gifts they will avert their eyes, maybe letting you catch a glimpse of the pain it brings. There those who know too much and those who don't know anything anymore, all seeking you out because they are sick and they need help.
And, of course, there are things that are sick that hardly even qualify as people, but they have consciousness and they feel pain and fear, and they need help, too.

So you learn how to deal in favours, quickly, swiftly, you learn how to bless and how to curse and how to walk the thin, fragile line between reality and elsewhere. You learn - you saw - how dangerous mistakes can be, and you know there's things out there that are clever and deadly and you cannot afford to misjudge them.
There are lives in your hands.
Tread carefully.