Kurt Ozhorn, the Healer
IT was late at night. Sophie was reading a book, unwinding before bed, when the call came.
“Milady. Kurt Ozhorn is here to see you.”
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THE early winter chill had already crept through the manor halls, and the hearths had long been put on for the night. As they spoke, their breath curled visibly in the air.
“Mr. Ozhorn,” Sophie said, surprised. “What’s happened for you to visit at this hour?”
“Apologies for the late call,” Kurt replied. “I came to return the books I borrowed. And…to give you something.”
“Give me something?” Sophie echoed, confused.
In the dim room, lit only by the soft flicker of a candle lantern, she watched as Kurt removed the metal badge from his mantle. Then—crack!—snapped it cleanly in two.
Her eyes widened. “Goodness. You’re stronger than you look, Mr. Ozhorn.”
“The metal inside is designed to break away,” he said matter-of-factly. “Otherwise, it wouldn’t serve its secondary function—identification in the event of death. Informally, they’re known as dog tags.”
“You mean the kind soldiers wear…when they go off to war?”
Dog tags. Those metal pieces identified remains when nothing else could. Sophie didn’t know what was going on, but a quiet dread curled in her chest. She looked at Kurt, hoping for some sign, some cue to help her make sense of it, but his face… It was as inscrutable as ever.
“One and the same,” Kurt nodded. “The call has gone out. A dragon’s been spotted near a village to the east. As the local head of the healers, I’ve been dispatched to assist.”
Sophie didn’t know what to say.
“I give you this,” he continued, “because in the event of my death, whoever holds the other half of my tag will be identified as the recipient of my survivor’s benefits. As a rank-three healer, I believe you’ll find the sum fairly generous. Normally, I’d leave it at my parents’ grave like I always do, but seeing as I’m far from the capital…I figured I’d do what everyone else does—leave it with someone else.”
“Why me?” Sophie’s voice was soft.
“I suppose the answer to that question is simple. You’re the only person I can call an acquaintance.”
“Foot, meet mouth,” Sophie mumbled, as Kurt held out the tag.
Her hands trembled as she took hold of it. The metal was ice-cold—chilled from his journey—and sent a sharp, foreboding shiver up her spine.
“Will you… Will you come back?” she asked, tightening her grip on the tag.
“I’ll try, of course,” Kurt said. Cleanly. Coldly.
And with that, he turned to leave.
“Wait!” Sophie called out after him. She scrambled to the cabinet beside the bookshelf, yanked open a drawer, and dug through its contents. Then she ran after him, pressing something into his hand. “Here.”
Kurt looked down. “This is…” A white handkerchief. And embroidered in the middle… “A turtle,” he said.
“A turtle, yes,” Sophie replied.
“How novel,” Kurt murmured. Instead of the usual flower motif, here was this tiny green creature, its neck poking curiously from its shell.
“The turtle symbolizes longevity and strong protection. A kind of lucky charm,” Sophie explained. “I’m glad I managed to give it to you. Of course, some say the turtle also serves as a subtle reminder for people rushing through life to slow down and smell the roses—but that’s not the meaning I intended. Please don’t read into it too deeply.”
Kurt almost looked amused. “If you say so. Thank you. I’ll try my best not to lose it.”
A beat.
“By the way, Ms. Sophie—do you have a type when it comes to men?”
“I like men who live for a good long while,” Sophie replied immediately.
“That’s…a difficult criterion to satisfy.”
Kurt carefully folded the handkerchief and slipped it into his pocket.
“No book today?” Sophie asked.
“I’d rather not risk borrowing an expensive medical text if there’s a chance I won’t be returning with it,” he said, then paused. “Though perhaps I’ll borrow Crickpick again. Heaven knows each page of that book gives me a thousand hours of entertainment.”
“Come back now, you hear me?” Sophie said softly.
“I’ll try.”
Another clean, cold reply.
But then, he smiled. Just barely. A hint of amusement passed over his face, and the smallest puff of air slipped out of his nose.
“That’s quite the expression you’re making,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d worried you that much. But rest easy—healers are support. We stay well behind the front lines. Unless a stray boulder flattens the camp, I should be fine.”
He glanced at her. “I’ll fight like one of those men who say, ‘I can’t wait until the war’s over. I have a girl waiting for me back home.’”
“You can’t say that!” Sophie yelped
“Why not? My superior said it was good luck.”
“That’s just asking for something awful to happen! Are you sure he’s not trying to get you killed?”
“I don’t know. If he is, do you think it’s because I once said to him, ‘Still healing that tiny little wound? Impressive. Most people are done by now?’”
“Oh, he’s absolutely trying to get you killed.”
“I’ll come to retrieve my tag when I return. Please don’t lose it. Or get any of your discharge on it.”
“Why, I never!”
Sophie’s cheeks puffed out in indignation, which only amused Kurt further.
“I’d forgotten how good it feels,” he said.
“What does?” Sophie asked.
“To have someone worry about you. No one’s told me they wanted to see me back since my parents died.”
Sophie went quiet. She just looked at him—Kurt, who was looking straight into her eyes, as he always did. Calm. Steady.
“I’ll do my utmost to return,” he said. “I’ve already registered my tag-half with the authorities. If I don’t make it, you’ll receive a letter. Sorry to trouble you, but you’ll have to keep an eye out for it.”
“All right, I understand,” Sophie said softly. “But more than the letter…I’ll be looking out for you.”
“Sounds good.”
A pause.
“By the way, Ms. Sophie—”
“Still no fiancé.”
“Ah. I see. Good.” He gave a tiny nod. “Then, lastly…would you mind smiling for me?”
“I’m… I’m sorry?” Sophie blinked.
“You’ve only shown me your tears since I arrived,” he said. “I’d like to remember your smile before I go.”
Still, his eyes stayed locked on hers. Not teasing. Not flirtatious. Just sincere.
That made her want to cry even more. Somehow, she managed a smile. Or, more likely, it was something halfway in between.
Kurt looked at it, took it all in, then smiled back.
“Got it.”
He stepped back. “Sorry for troubling you again so late. I leave before dawn.”
Sophie nodded. “All right. Be safe, Mr. Ozhorn. I’ll be waiting for your return.”
And with that, Kurt Ozhorn disappeared from Sophie’s salon.
The cold metal tag in her hand was now warmed through. It was already a little slick and damp. From the pus seeping from her skin and the tears slipping from her eyes.