Their work on the farm did not end until early evening. And as soon as they were done, before Zuri could slip away, Damaris caught his wrist in a firm grip.
Refusing to let him go, she dragged him along as she visited sick villagers, and he let himself be used as her bag carrier.
With a bright, encouraging smile on her face, she gave out herbs to those who needed them. If a case was too much for her to handle, she never hesitated to refer them to the physician.
"Why do you do this?" Zuri asked as they headed toward another house.
"Do what?" Damaris asked.
"Giving herbs away for free when you could be making money from it."
She paused and stared at him. He went on, "From what I have seen, no one in Wisteria possesses your knowledge of herbs. Not even the village physician."
Damaris laughed at his last words. "Do not let him hear you say that." She turned back to the path and began walking again.
Zuri scoffed. "What could the old man possibly do?" He followed her. "Honestly, help me understand why."
Damaris spared him a glance, her shoulders rising and falling as she drew in air and then let it out.
"Well," she began, turning her gaze back to the path before them, "I am satisfied with what I have." She glanced at him again and found his eyes fixed upon her, clearly waiting for more than she had spoken.
She chuckled, her hands meeting behind her hips as she began to playfully kick at the earth as they walked.
"I make enough from weaving mats with Milcah. I have a roof over my head, enough food on my table, and clothes on my back." She turned, brought her hands forward and asked, "What more do I need? Why should I be greedy for more?"
His silence told her he could not entirely grasp what was in her head—and she knew that. And it made her smile.
Her hands clasped behind her once more, and she resumed her steps.
"If my knowledge of herbs can help the people of Wisteria, why would I hold it back just for money? Besides, Wisteria saved me once. How can I not repay the kindness?"
He needed no mirror to reflect her heart; he could already tell those words held no lie. She was sincere.
"If only half the nobility reasoned the way you did," he muttered.
"What?" she asked.
He shook his head, dismissing his words.
By the time Damaris finished her rounds, it was already nighttime. Traders were closing their stalls, and children were gathering inside the structure Zuri had built in the market square. They named it the Mushroom, saying it resembled one, with eight stalks.
As they always did when they saw her approaching, they began to sing Damaris' praises. Their uneven drums echoed through the night. She ran to the stage and danced to the beat, and they danced along.
It was another beautiful night in Wisteria, a night of tales.
Zuri sat at the far back, with young Peter upon his thigh, listening to Damaris tell another tale.
This time, the tale was about how the name—the Hound of Zebulon—came to be.
"Long ago, when the gods still walked the earth, there was a god named Zebulon. Legends say he was the general of war—a mighty god unmatched in battle. When other generals slew a thousand, Zebulon slew ten thousand. When other gods rested and made merry, Zebulon bathed in the blood of those who had fallen by his blade.
He was so powerful that even the king of the gods feared him, for no one wished to incur the wrath of Zebulon.
Now, it was said that Zebulon had a hound whose name no one knew. All they knew was that the hound was Zebulon's most trusted companion.
Legends say it stood the height of a man, broad and greatly terrible to behold. They say if Zebulon did not wish to deal with a matter himself, he sent his hound—and it never failed its master.
It was believed that the hound could sniff out souls with evil intent, and when it caught such a soul, it ripped it to shreds.
Some even say that the hound was sent alone to battle, and it always returned victorious.
If Zebulon slew ten thousand, the Hound slew eight thousand. It was as feared as Zebulon himself.
No one knew what it looked like, for those who saw it never lived to tell the tale.
Now, it is known that when the current emperor came into power, he fought many battles—many his adversaries thought he would not return from. But to their dismay, he returned victorious from every one, and slew all who conspired against him.
That earned him the name Zebulon, the General of War.
Now, when the emperor's brother came of age, he was sent to battle in the emperor's stead. And many thought he would fail—that he would be nothing like his brother.
They called him a boy too afraid to show his face in court, a boy who hid behind his older brother… What could he possibly do?
But then he showed them.
They had made the mistake of thinking him a puppy, but he proved to be a full-grown hound who bit out their wagging tongues.
And thus, he became the Hound of Zebulon, for he was his brother's right hand, just as the Hound was the most trusted of Zebulon."
At the end of her story, Zuri thought to himself,
at least, tonight, there is some truth woven into her tale.