Pastel

Pastel doesn't believe in using magic to heal.

Sure, he believes in magic. He has seen it in action before himself. In fact, it was magic that caused him to become fully mute. It was magic that bound his mask to his face. It was magic that anchored him to a life of humility, unable to serve himself.

No no, Pastel knows the horrible truths of magic. It is for this reason that he refuses to use it. Instead, he uses natural remedies. Concoctions brewed from herbs given to him by Heart. Powders mixed from beast horns and bones, found by none other than Drifter. Medicines of all shapes and sizes, made from foraged materials, used to cure sickness and heal wounds.

Pastel would take pride in his work if he were able. But, alas, Pastel is no longer able to feel the joys of this world. He knows what he does is important to the clan, and so he continues his work. Yet a more disturbing thought plagues his mind, like an incurable illness that rules his life.

Who will do this work when he is gone?