A donkey pulling a cart trudged by with his head nearly touching his tiny hooves while an old man walked along side brushing the beast's flank with a willow broom. Shadowy forms of men passing through the postern gate of the city's wall passed her, speaking softly, never noticing the woman blending with the stones.Isolde held her breath, watching the velvety blue black sky where the trees made strange black lumps against the horizon. She didn't know exactly what she was waiting for, some sounds, some sign, some disturbance in the distance. All was strangely quiet. Isolde recognized nature's sign of distress,freezing in fear from the most vile predator, man.<br/><br/>Then in the distance flashing through the trees came tongues of fire that briefly flared and disintegrated into the forest. She was moving before the second and third streaks of flame had dissipated. While Isolde had no magic to propel her along, she was light on her feet, speeding along the dark path, skirts held high. The moon appeared from behind the clouds, lighting her way as if called forth from Cerridwen's cauldron. Faint screams came to her ears, giving her new energy. A man burst from the woods, nearly knocking her down but rather than turn to attack her, he kept on running, across the road and into the forest beyond.<br/><br/>Isolde turned to follow the path the man had created in his haste. The moonlight provided the means to find the broken ferns and tree branches. The smell of burning flesh cloyed the hair in her nose as she moved deeper through the woods. In a small clearing, she was met with steaming dead bodies, burned past recognition of human form. In the middle of the dead men lay a coffin with the lid ajar. Isolde slowly approached upon hearing the low groaning which emitted from the dead's final resting place.  A horse that was hitched to a cart was rearing and bucking in his traces, obviously in distress from the death that surrounded him.<br/><br/>As a witch, ,Isolde had had multitudes of interaction with ghosts and undead. Not in this life, but in many of her past lives and certainly in lives in future times, she would take a lover who was undead. But this life provided the uncertainty of the walking dead, something she had only had experience of in this life. It was with that caution on her that Isolde crept to the coffin, easing the lid back.<br/><br/>She was met with a small framed female who had been severely beaten. The healer touched the broken flesh where a weapon, a bludgeon or a mace perhaps had damaged her. She was dressed in rough homespun like a yeoman's helper, like a boy, actually. But Isolde knew physiology and could tell as a glance this woman, young though she was, was more than met the eye.  Glancing around, Isolde could perceive no threat, but  to make sure, held her hands, extended, all ten fingers spread and made a gesture like she was throwing something with them. The horse that was hitched to a cart froze still, as if time for him had stood still while he was reared on his hind legs.<br/><br/>Isolde knelt down at the coffin and felt for life. The woman was groaning but did not open her eyes. Isolde laid a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder,<br/>"Can you hear me?" she whispered. "I have come to help. We need to get you back to my apothecary. "