By midmorning, the mist had lifted just enough to reveal the landscape ahead: a low-lying valley carpeted in thornweeds—tall, spiny plants with jagged leaves and sharp, needle-like thorns that glinted in the sunlight. As Leon stepped closer, a thorn brushed his forearm, and a stinging red welt instantly bloomed on his skin.
"Ouch," he hissed, rubbing the spot. "These are toxic—their thorns leave irritants that cause swelling."
Isabella frowned, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "We need moonwort, remember? Kael's notes said it grows in damp valleys like this. But we can't get through these weeds without getting covered in welts."
Leon stared at the thornweeds, his mind racing. He'd brought a small jar of camellia oil from Acorn Village—pressed from the trees he'd grown, stored in a clay container. Camellia oil was rich and emollient, good for healing wounds. And just yesterday, he'd collected wild mint near the star moss camp—its leaves aromatic, known for soothing itching.
An idea sparked. "Wait," he said. "I can make a spray. Camellia oil will coat our skin and clothes, blocking the thorns. Mint will calm the itching if we do get pricked."
Isabella's eyes lit up. "How?"
Leon pulled out the jar of camellia oil, a small clay pot, and the bundle of mint. He crushed the mint leaves between two stones, squeezing out their juice, then mixed it with the camellia oil in the pot. "We need a container to spray it," he said, scanning the area. He spotted a thick bamboo stalk, cut it down with his knife, and hollowed out the center, leaving a small hole at one end. He plugged the other end with a scrap of linen, then poured the oil-mint mixture into the bamboo tube.
"Press the linen down," he explained to Isabella, demonstrating. "It'll spray the mixture evenly."
They coated each other's clothes and exposed skin—arms, necks, hands—with the spray. The camellia oil left a faint, sweet scent, and the mint cooled their skin. When Leon stepped into the thornweeds this time, the thorns slid off his cloak without piercing the fabric, and the few that brushed his arm didn't leave a welt.
"it works!" Isabella exclaimed, pushing through the weeds beside him.
They spent the afternoon clearing a path through the thornweeds, using their knives to cut back the thickest clusters, and collecting moonwort as they went. The herb grew low to the ground, its leaves a pale green with silvery veins—just as Kael's sketch had shown. Leon pulled the roots carefully, storing them in his herb basket, while Isabella gathered the leaves to dry later.
By evening, their basket was half-full of moonwort. Leon checked his arm—the earlier welt had faded completely, thanks to the mint in the spray. "This will help the village," he said, smiling. "Farmers get pricked by thorns all the time during harvest. And moonwort will ease their fatigue after long days in the fields."
Isabella nodded, brushing camellia oil from her sleeve. "Kael would be happy we're using his notes to help people."
Leon thought of the old apprentice's sketches, his careful notes, and felt a surge of gratitude. Kael's journey hadn't been in vain. His knowledge was alive—in the moonwort in their basket, in the spray on their skin, in the trail they followed.
As they set up camp that night, Leon refilled the bamboo sprayer, making sure they had enough for the days ahead. The southern edge was full of dangers, but with Kael's notes and a little ingenuity, they were turning those dangers into opportunities.