Brenna had been well on her way up Mount Sinea when she developed the sneaking suspicion that she was being followed.

She stopped and whipped around. "Who goes there? Show yourself!"

A small wolf pup emerged from the surrounding roshe nut thicket. His eyes were the color of blue glaciers, and there was a nasty-looking wound on one of his hind legs. His grayish-white fur was soaked in blood. It appeared as though he might have been attacked by a larger animal. Perhaps a hunting dog or a fox or even a badger.

The pup let out a soft whimper of pain. Brenna didn't wish to stop for anything, time was of the essence, but the little wolf kept limping towards her. He was shaking so badly that Brenna didn't have the heart to abandon him.

Brenna broke off a small piece of elk jerky from the satchel she carried and offered it to the pup. While he was busy chewing on the jerky, Brenna poured some water from her water-pouch onto the wound to cleanse it. The pup yelped in pain and growled at her.

She tossed him another piece of jerky and spoke to him in steady, calming tones. "Might I remind you that you were the one who approached me for help? This will only hurt for a short while. Be brave, wee wolf."

Brenna dabbed at the wound with the cleanest section of her skirt. Then, she tore off a strip of fabric from her petticoat to use as a bandage. She wrapped it snugly around the wolf's leg and then gave him one last piece of jerky.

At this point, Brenna was more than ready to be on her way, but the little wolf continued to whine as he hobbled after her. After a while, Brenna couldn't take it anymore. She picked up the pup and tucked him inside her satchel.

He barked in protest, but she shushed him. "If you insist on coming along, then you must not slow me down."

For hours and hours, Brenna and the pup trekked uphill. By sunset, they reached the top of the mountain. Brenna immediately began to look around for traces of peredomite before the skies darkened into night. She searched and searched until she finally came across a small patch of the greenish rocks. Brenna smiled wide when she spotted a strange bush with spindly green leaves growing nearby. This had to be a bierchae plant!

Brenna quickly set down her satchel with the pup inside, removed her hunting knife from its sheath around her thigh, and proceeded to use the blade as a shovel to dig out the bierchae. The ground was hard and half-frozen. Digging was slow and tiresome work. The pup seemed to catch on to what she was trying to do. He scampered over and started using his two front paws to help Brenna dig. Though he was small, his claws were long and sharp. They loosened the dirt just enough to make the arduous task seem less daunting.

By sundown, Brenna and the pup had only managed to dig up about a dozen or so of the bierache roots. It was too cold and dark to continue, and Brenna knew they needed to head down the mountain if they were to make it back to the witch in time. The flesh on her hands was badly blistered from the thorny roots, but Brenna's heart had never felt fuller. There was hope for mama.

As the sun rose the next morning, Brenna stumbled towards the witch's small dwelling by the lake in the Sinea Forest. Cold and hungry beyond every stretch of the imagination, Brenna collapsed in exhaustion a few feet away from the door. The wolf pup, who had been slumbering in her satchel, grunted cantankerously for being awakened in such an uncouth manner.

In her state of oblivion, Brenna didn't hear the door squeak open—nor did she feel her body being lifted off the ground and carried into the humble hillside abode. The wolf pup traipsed after them as though he had every right to trespass.

Hours later, Brenna awoke with a start. She sprang up and found herself in completely unfamiliar surroundings. She was sitting upon a stranger's bed. A very old woman with soft brown eyes was sitting beside her. The wolf pup was snoozing soundly at the woman's feet, and a crackling fire in a pot-bellied stove kept the room warm and comfortable.

Brenna stared at the old woman in shock. "Are you... how did I... Where am I?"

The woman smiled at her. "Hello, Brenna-girl. My name is Sorcha. Welcome to my home. I hope you are feeling better now, poor child. I see you have brought back some bierchae root. It will not be enough to cure your mother, but it will do for now. Are you ready to begin your second task?"

Brenna nodded eagerly. "Yes, Sorcha! Please tell me what I must do!"

Ever so gingerly, Sorcha removed one of thorny bierchae roots from Brenna's satchel. With only her thumb and forefinger, she plucked one of the needle-like thorns from the root. As she pulled and pulled, delicate plant veins trailed behind the thorn, emerging from the base of the bierchae root like wisps of thread being drawn from one side of fabric to another. Brenna watched with bated breath.

In measured tones, Sorcha said, "You must extract the fibers from the bierchae root thorn by thorn—exactly as I have demonstrated for you. Take care not to damage them during this process because their medicinal potency will be greatly diminished if they are torn or damaged in any way. You will need to grind them into a fine paste, and boil the paste in water from the Achsine Spring for five hours. Serve this tea to your mother three times a day until she begins to show signs of improvement."

Brenna frowned slightly. "What about the third task? Is it even necessary anymore? You have already shown me everything I need to know in order to make this cure for mama's gray lung."

Sorcha clucked at the young girl, "Patience, child. All will be revealed in good time. Finish your second task, and I will let you know what to do for your final task. Remember. You only have today and tomorrow to finish up."

"In that case, I must not waste another minute," Brenna murmured. "I shall get started right away!"

The young girl slipped off the bed and grabbed a bierchae root from her satchel. She winced as the thorns stung and pricked at her hand painfully. For her first attempt, she yanked too hard and ruined the fibers, shredding them in half. On her next attempt, Brenna learned her lesson and made sure to take her time, wriggling the thorn and its attached fibers in upward and downward motions from the root very, very slowly. However, this method seemed cumbersome and vastly inefficient. Brenna worried that she would run out of time if she didn't hurry. How had Sorcha made it look so easy?

Around midnight, Brenna began to despair. She had only finished removing the thorns and fibers from three of the bierchae roots. The injuries on her fingers and palms had only worsened. Every inch of her hands were vibrating with pain. Pus oozed from her many blisters, and her gray skirts were now stained with red since she had been using them to wipe the blood away.

Sorcha couldn't help her. She claimed the gods would punish them if she interfered. The wolf pup, whom Brenna had named Roshe after the thicket where they first met, couldn't help her, either. Desperation clutched at her heart. Tears welled up in her gray eyes.

Brenna wept and sighed in anguish, "Oh, mama! I am trying so hard, but I do not know if I can succeed in this task. I will keep trying, but I am afraid—"

As the wetness trailed down her cheeks, they fell upon the half-plucked bierchae root in her hands. The droplets from her tears appeared to have some sort of affect on the thorns. Brenna didn't know if it was her overly tired mind that was playing tricks on her, but, suddenly, they became much easier to extract. Brenna's eyes widened in astonishment.

By the following morning, she finished removing all the fibers from every single bierchae root in her satchel. Sorcha helped her set up the pestle and mortar to grind them down. They poured the paste into a boiling vat of water from the springs to simmer for the next five hours.

Brenna turned to Sorcha with a euphoric smile. "Oh, Sorcha! I have done it! I have completed the second task. I am ready for the third one. Please, tell me, what will I need to do?"

Sorcha grunted softly. "The third task? Are you certain you wish to walk down this path, Brenna-girl? It is not too late to turn back."

Brenna gave Sorcha a haughty look. "Turn back? Never! Not when I have already come so far!"

"Very well, child, suit yourself," Sorcha muttered while shaking her head. "Your third task will be easy enough. Simply ask your mother about the Laevar Nach Sine—otherwise known as the Book of Old. Bring it to me. And then fate will take care of the rest."

Brenna chewed on her lower lip as she tried to recall if she had ever seen such a book at home before. "The Book... of Old? Devils and gods! I do not know if mama owns such a text. I certainly have never stumbled upon anything like it in our library."

Sorcha smiled wearily. "Do not worry, Brenna-girl. A trusted confidant of the late Empress Viranne Avenci Warwell—as your mother once was—would most certainly know where to find such a valuable artifact. She is, after all, a keeper of a great many Imperial secrets."