With the rain drumming on the roof and the murmuring of thunder it's hard to tell the point when the Sisters go from talking quietly to mostly falling silent. By the time Guts emerges some have left and others, sharing cups and bowls, have claimed cots or bedding, preferring to sleep out the storm instead of getting drenched and possibly lost out there. Most of the lanterns have been put out and a small fire has been set in the hearth against the damp chill.

The willow mixture is wetted by some form of alcohol stronger than the weak beers available at most mealtimes here. It burns and leaves a trail of warmth as well as being hideously bitter. The Sister Apothecary, taking the cup back, tells him, "Yes, no one likes that one, but it will have your head feeling better. Drink something else before you go to bed or your mouth will taste like that all night."

There's the soup and there's a steaming pot of another herbal infusion, which owes its deep red color and tartness to hibiscus, that rather overwhelms the other herbs steeping with it. Hibiscus tisane seems rather popular with the girls, who snuffle over their cups of it. Some are already asleep. No one, at least, has claimed the bed Guts has been using.