He was there, of course. Finian had stood toward the back, guided there not-so-subtly by his father, whose premonition of terrible things had come true with a vengeance. Finian hadn't seen the man die-- not over the heads of everyone else, and because his own had been ducked, afraid of the truth-- but he had heard it.

He's seen people die before, it comes with the territory of working with the infirm. But not like that. Never like that.

It's early after a night of sleeplessness that he begins to make rounds of the village, a basket under his arm with one of his favorite herbal teas and the bold intention of not stopping until everyone has received a packet.
He knocks politely on Johanna's door, and waits.