Swamped

"My mother," he sighs. "She ran the old clinic. Then one day she told us she needed to go to the swamp, and couldn't explain any more than that. I can tell her heart's still here, though, because she writes every week. Even trained crows to carry them for her, can you believe it?"

Actually, you can. That's how wizards correspond, but that's meant to be a secret. Not that you ever got an explanation for why it's meant to be a secret - you had to figure that part out for yourself.

"That certainly sounds unusual," you say calmly.

"She's working as a medic there. Told us it took months to figure out which leaves were safe even though the trees themselves look very different, just because so few recruits pay attention to those sorts of things. And during those months, we heard a lot about knights falling asleep on the job. Anything strange about those cases, she was sure to tell us. And there was never anything like this. Closest was one who bit into a murderfly egg with the leaf and spit it out right away. She went out like a light, and didn't even respond reflexively, but still woke up pretty quick."

"A murderfly egg?" you say, startled. "Did she survive?"

"Oh, she was all right in the end, went on leave early though. She reacted fast enough that she only got a tiny dose. Still nasty stuff, but she was lucky, only got a bad case of the runs. Could be a lot worse."

And you found a dead murderfly, seemingly drained of blood. Is that the reason? Does it react with the swampleaf? If it does, who would even know that?

You wonder if you should mention your discovery. He might not believe you just found it in your pocket. Or he might know more than he's letting on - he did seem nervous for a bit, after all.

But for all you know, it might save Leonard Flame's life if you speak up. Maybe it's worth the risk.