The Healer was in one of the storage rooms of the Order of Adunih, main branch. She was in there with a few other green cloaks, processing a wide variety of herbs, either dried or fresh, so as to be used in a variety of medicines. The Healer was having a bit more difficulty than her counterparts. She was struggling to wield the knife in her hand. Her focus on maintaining her solid form was difficult. Her fingers didn't feel like muscle and bone to her, but more like... flabby flesh. They were the right shape, and moved the right way, but the texture of them was off. She just couldn't make them... hard enough.
So the knife kept slipping from her hand. And each time it did, she swore. She pressed the knife beneath the leaf, to cut it free from the stem. Only the leaves were needed. The knife fell from her hand again, and she slammed her hands down on the table. They should have made a loud sound but she lost her focus and her hands passed right through the table. She snarled in her frustration. The other green cloaks were doing their best to do their work as quickly as possible, ignoring the ghost healer, so that they could be gone from her presence.
The Healer walked around to the other side of the table, to pick up the knife, having bounced away on the floor. She knelt down, to pick it up again by the handle. She was biting her lip as she reached forward, fumbling with it, scooting it around in the dust. She reached out quick as a snake at it, and managed to grasp it. She moved to stand up, bumping the knife in the bottom of the table, dropping it again.
And it was the final straw.
She collapsed in a heap, against a basket of dried herb branches, and began to cry. It was too hard. Hunting, stalking, surviving in the wild, all of that was easy for her. She'd known all that since she was a child. But trying to become a healer, in death. Trying to become a healer when she was also a single mother. Trying to become a healer when she constantly couldn't feel the things that made people want to live. It became too much. And so she sobbed into her knees.
And while she cried, she failed to notice the panic setting in on the other green cloaks in the room. They were attempting to talk to each other, but were finding that no words could come out. Their mouths moved, their minds worked, but there was no sound, at all. Not even the sound of breathing, though it was clear they were. And it was something that was happening around the entire building. Patients, healers, random passersby who got too close to the doors or windows would find themselves inflicted with this loss of speech. Moving away from the Order did not seem to cause any immediate change.