Bound to The Enemy of My Mate
It had to be.
The festival was winding down. The first trade caravan from a neighboring province had arrived that afternoon, and Elira met with its master, a shrewd woman named Risha, in the newly built community hall.
“Your remediation seeds are worth their weight in silver,” Risha said, her fingers tracing the sample packets. “We have blight in the southern valleys. Your mountain clover might be the cure.” She pushed forward a crate. “In exchange. Medicinal herbs from the lowlands. Willow bark, feverfew, lungwort.”