an old saint

Lúta knew her name. She knew a great deal about plants and a great deal about battle and the later was rather unfortunate. She had terrible memories of war and violence that were clear as day but only faded ones of her family and where she was, let alone why she was there. Occasionally she would see a face but could not recall the name or what they were to her. She took some solace in that she was not alone. The strange amnesia affected her companions as well. Raga in particular even had the same strange dream that she had of walking through a field full of strange glowing mushrooms. Lúta could remember them growing on her, growing out of her ears and giving her the worst headache she'd ever had in her life.

She'd learned the land she was in was called Boreas and that it was spring. She knew the great river she was near was called the Rio Grande and that something had happened here. She remembered throwing herself into the glowing river though she could not remember why. The river did not glow. She watched the waters swirl past, normal, regular water. A voice caught her attention and she peered through the shrubs to see a small white wolf. She carefully stepped from the shrubs. "Hello, there…" Her voice trailed off as she tried to think of what to say. "Are you a healer?" She'd heard the smaller woman mention looking for leaves.