This is my post on #freewriters2794 #dailyprompt The Poisonous Mixture hosted by @marinnewest'.
In the quiet town of Kalmora, nestled between thick woods and winding rivers, lived an old herbalist named Mama Enah. She was known for her healing potions made from roots, leaves, and barks. People came from far and near to be cured of all sorts of ailments—fevers, snakebites, stomachaches, and even broken hearts.
One rainy evening, a stranger arrived in the village. Dressed in black robes and speaking little, he brought a bag of rare herbs and offered to trade with Mama Enah. Curious, she examined the herbs—many she recognized, but some were unfamiliar. He warned her, “Be cautious. Some of these are powerful. Mixed wrongly, they can kill.” She nodded, confident in her knowledge.
Days later, Mama Enah grew intrigued by one particular root, dark purple and oddly fragrant. She believed it could enhance her most effective healing tonic. After drying and grinding it, she added a pinch to her usual brew and gave it to a young boy suffering from fever.
The next morning, the boy’s mother came screaming—her son had died in his sleep, eyes wide open and foam at his lips.
The village was thrown into mourning and confusion. How could Mama Enah, the trusted healer, bring death instead of life?
Grief-stricken, she locked herself in her hut, testing and retesting the mixture. Eventually, she discovered the truth—the purple root, when mixed with common fever grass, created a toxic reaction. Alone, each herb was harmless. Together, they were deadly.
The stranger was gone, vanished as mysteriously as he had come.
Rumors spread that he was no ordinary trader but a sorcerer sent to bring ruin. Mama Enah stood before the village, confessed her mistake, and warned others never to mix herbs they didn’t fully understand. She burned the remaining root in a fire pit and placed a sign at the edge of her hut: "Knowledge is medicine. Ignorance is poison."
From that day forward, she continued to heal, but with greater care. And though the villagers forgave her, the memory of the poisonous mixture remained—a bitter lesson in the cost of curiosity without caution.
Years later, herbalists across the region would teach new apprentices about the tragedy at Kalmora. And Mama Enah’s warning became a proverb in every healer’s home: “Even the sweetest herb may turn deadly, if the mixture is wrong.”