From the library beneath the garden

A Field Guide
to the Flora of Sopatra

Being a gardener's record of healing plants, kept for his daughter — with his notes in the margins.

Compiled from the notebooks of a keeper of the Vale
The Windsown Trilogy · Lesley Hanson

"Into every garden, a little rain must fall. It is the only way for things to grow."

His first lesson

Silverleaf

Plate I

Argyrophyllum lene · the quiet mend

Gathered where the light is easy.

"Silverleaf for injuries of the flesh."

Habitat
Small gray-green patches hidden among the garden's vivid hues; easily overlooked, never far.
Preparation
A single leaf, pressed whole against the wound. Expect a sting, then nothing — not even a mark.
Virtue
Closes cuts, scrapes, and thorn-wounds within moments. Works no deeper than the skin.
In his hand

A little goes a long way, little one. Most true things do.

Moonpetal

Plate II

Petalum lunaris · the fever's ebb

Opens only after dusk.

"Moonpetal for fever."

Habitat
Pale cupped blooms along the night paths, keeping their own hours; shy of full daylight.
Preparation
Steep three petals in water warmed, never boiled. Give by the spoonful until the brow cools.
Virtue
Draws heat the way the moon draws tide — gently, and always toward rest.
Folk sign
Where moonpetal rises unasked, the old growers held, a second fever is near — the kind that comes of staying, and that no petal can ebb.
In his hand

Fevers break at night. So does most stubbornness. Sit with her till morning anyway.

Sorrowroot

Plate III

Radix maeroris · the flower given twice

The root runs deeper than the grief.

"Sorrowroot for wounds of the heart."

Habitat
Rare. It does not grow where it is convenient; it grows where it is needed.
Preparation
None. It is not brewed, ground, or pressed to the skin. It is given — from one hand into another. This is the whole of the preparation, and the hardest part.
Virtue
Works slowly, at the root of a hurt no leaf can reach. Often mistaken, at first, for an insult.
In his hand

One day someone will hand you this flower, and you will want to refuse it. Look at the hand a long moment before you do.

The remaining plates are sealed

He did not leave every page where anyone might find it. The borders, the waiting tree, the field that remembers — those he kept for hands he trusted.