"I am told," Éowyn says slowly, in a voice that says she isn't sure how much she believes it, "that some of the pills are herbs, some are not. 'Tis these ones, I think, I have been told are made of the same willow bark I would use in teas and ointments for pain." She indicates one of the white pill bottles in the first-aid kit with one hand, the other still gently massaging the poultice over his injuries. "'Tis a place of wonders, as we have said. Their medicine most of all, for they can bring a man back even from death."

If they choose, she adds bitterly, but has the sense to do so in the privacy of her own head. The loss of her friends is still a raw, stinging wound, one she cannot exactly forget no matter how she tries to distract herself. Aloud, she only says, "Raise your arm while I dress this scar anew."