poisons lose their power. That's what I know, Muje. Why?"
"If that's where I were going, would you go, too? I have heard the stories, too."
Javin passed his knife back and forth over the fire again, put a fold of his tunic in his teeth, then applied the tip of the knife to the wound. He bit down hard on the cloth hard as the hot knife seared his skin, opening the tough scar and relieving the poison's awful pressure. The stench was hideous. He relaxed, breathing hard, his face flushed and red with exertion. It was worse every time. The skin thickened more and the poison welled up from deeper and deeper. Back at the ruin, Muni had wanted the doctor to take the finger. Javin had since thought better of his friend's harsh wisdom and brutal compassion; a quick chop then would have saved him this savagery at his own hand time and again. He felt along his arm and up his sleeve, where the swelling strained and pulled at his darkening skin. Muni had been right. Now the bite threatened his entire arm.
Doulos sat thinking about Javin's question, his blue eyes catching the firelight. "Yes, Muje. I have sworn it. It is true that there are many stories about how the forest moves, how time changes or stops in there. How men have been lost in a wavering curtain of light as they rode in plain view. You would not go without good reason. The juma stories also say the elves' medicine is hard to bear."
"The cure cannot be worse than this," said Javin.
"Muje, the juma said the poison comes out only when the elves dance and call down the holy lightning. Strikes you in the heart. Hurts much worse."
"But it heals."
"It heals. Or it kills."
Javin slouched against the cold rock, letting the chill take the heat from his face. Doulos banked the fire for the night and stood up to take the first watch.
"I will wake you when the moons pass the sisters," the slave said.