...
Someone chews a comfrey root.
The poultice is applied to your burnt skin. It stings, but the eventual relief is immediate.

You find yourself lying down on a straw bed.
An old, bedraggled cat is staring at you. His green eyes seem to pierce you like two blades.

• ...Who are you?

"Name's Ivy, nice t'meet ya." he replied, while he was fidgeting with something at your back.
You can smell different flowers and herbs all around you, neatly stacked into piles. A large leaf beside you contains some water.

Suddenly your head starts spinning, and you can't distinguish the cat's face anymore. You close your eyes, and a memory starts taking shape in your head."Don't fight it, lad. Let it come." he says in the most natural way.

The image of a cat running with desperate eyes fills your vision."Let it, young'un... just let it."

• Let it.