Apothecary (part 2)

Master Jonathon Thomas Larison, silver haired and renowned as a legend for his work as an apothecary and alchemist, was sitting in the muck like a pouting toddler. Arms splattered with mud hung limp at his sides as he sat hunched, not even caring that his clothes were soaked through. Simon went and knelt next to his master, brushing clumps of wet dirt out of his hair. “I’m ruined, boy,” he said after a while with an empty gaze aimed towards the ravaged wagon. “Those ingredients took me a lifetime to obtain. I’m too old to start over. I have nothing left but this.” He took a small journal out of his breast pocket and held it in his lap. He looked at it unfeelingly. “What use is having an apprentice if I have nothing left to teach him?”

“It’s okay, Master Jon. You can just teach me from your notes,” Simon said with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Seeing the proud, unrelenting man he knew act like this and covered in mud was even more disconcerting than the attack. “You’ve written everything you discovered in those pages, I don’t need to practice to learn it.”

Master Jon slowly shook his head. “The scribblings of an old man mean nothing if you cannot practice. A page can only tell you so much– you must experience it for yourself if you truly wish to learn.”

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