Fairy Mound

The autumn sunlight spilled warmly over the earth, painting the mountain ridges with a golden hue. The breeze was gentle, carrying with it the dry rustle of fallen leaves. Amidst the mountains, a young boy lay quietly on the ground.

He appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen years old, his clothes tattered, his body covered in wounds, eyes tightly shut, his face pallid and utterly devoid of color. Clutched in his hand was a small blue-green herb, its leaves edged with a hint of crimson, resembling a snake’s tongue. Judging by his appearance, it seemed he had fallen from the mountain and lost consciousness in his attempt to harvest this herb.

A breath of wind stirred, dropping a leaf onto the youth’s face. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open to the azure sky and drifting white clouds above. The breeze caressed his cheeks gently, bringing a sense of comfort, though his black eyes reflected only emptiness and confusion.

“Damn!” With a sudden start, the boy sat up, clarity returning to his gaze. He glanced down at the herb still gripped in his hand—its crimson-tipped leaves like a snake’s tongue—and let out a sigh of relief.

“Fortunately, the Serpent’s Tongue Grass is still here. With this, there’s hope for my illness.” He carefully tucked the herb into his breast, a faint smile of relief gracing his lips. As he struggled to his feet, a wave of pain crashed over him, forcing a muffled groan from his lips.

He stood rigid for a long moment, waiting until the pain dulled. Gritting his teeth, he staggered toward the edge of the mountains.

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