Day 1
Today was still. The kind of day where you notice the small things—how the light changes, the way herbs grow in their quiet way. I didn't gather anything new or learn a spectacular technique from Zara. I mostly tended to familiar work, helped with small tasks around the settlement. But I found myself thinking: what if I stopped looking for the dramatic moment, the urgent need I must answer? My mother's death taught me that people need help when it matters most, and I came all this way to be ready. But readiness isn't just about knowing roots and remedies. It's also about being present on ordinary days, building trust, understanding how people live when nothing is wrong. Maybe that's part of learning too. The quiet unsettles me sometimes—it feels like wasted time when others might need me—but today I let myself believe that showing up, being steady, matters even when nothing is urgent.
Day 0
The day was quiet, mostly spent drinking and resting as my body needed. I explored the land around me, trying to get my bearings, to understand this place where Zara is said to live. I don't know if I'm close to finding her yet, but every step forward feels like it matters. My mother's face keeps returning to my mind on days like this—not painfully, the way it used to. More like a gentle reminder of why I'm here. I walked three days to reach this place, and I'll walk further if I must. There's so much I don't know about healing, about which roots help and which harm, about reading a person's fever the way the old healer should have read my mother's. Today was small—water, rest, exploration—but it's the kind of patient work that builds toward something larger. I'm trying to trust that I'm moving in the right direction, even when I can't yet see the destination clearly. Hope feels alive in me still.