Ivy

I met Zara today. After three days of walking, following nothing but a stranger's words and my own desperate hope, I stood before her. My hands were shaking. All these months of imagining this moment, and nothing could have prepared me for the realness of her—the way she looked at me, not with pity or dismissal, but with a kind of clear-eyed seeing that made me want to run and stay at the same time. But she didn't welcome me. She questioned me. She asked why I was really here, and when I said I wanted to learn healing, she pushed back. She asked if I was looking for power or easy answers. Those words landed like stones in still water. I've been sitting with them all day. The truth is, I don't know. I came here because of Mama—because she died and I wasn't enough to save her, and I swore I would never be too late for anyone again. But Zara saw that. She saw that my need to fix what's broken in me might not be the same thing as actually learning to heal others. And instead of turning me away, she asked the question that matters. That means something. It means she's not just going to give me answers. She's going to make me earn understanding. I'm terrified she'll decide I'm not ready, that my wound is too raw. But I'm also more hopeful than I've been in years. For the first time, someone is taking this seriously—taking *me* seriously—enough to ask the hard questions. That's worth more than acceptance. That's worth everything.

I found her. I actually found her. After three days of walking with only a stranger's words to guide me, I stood in front of Zara—the woman I've been thinking about ever since I heard her name whispered in passing. My hands were shaking. But then something unexpected happened. She didn't greet me with warmth or welcome. She asked me *why* I was here, and when I started talking about wanting to learn healing properly, she pushed back. She asked if I was looking for power or easy answers. It stung a little, but it also... it helped me see myself more clearly. I came here carrying my mother's death like a stone in my chest. I swore I'd never be too late for anyone, and maybe I thought that learning from Zara would somehow let me go back and save her. But that's not how healing works, is it? Zara knows the difference between wanting to help and wanting to fix what broke you. She won't teach me if I'm broken-hearted in the wrong way. That scares me, but I think it's wise. Today I didn't get accepted as her student, but I got something maybe better—someone who will ask me the hard questions instead of just taking my money or my hope. I feel nervous and small, but also like I'm in the right place.

Today I kept trying to reach Zara. The berries were good—there's something steadying about gathering, about working with your hands. But my mind was with her, with that conversation from before, with her hard questions still sitting in my chest like stones. I called out. I waited. I thought maybe if I came back, if I showed up again, she might see that I'm serious. That I'm not running from my pain—I'm running *toward* something, toward understanding. I also thought of Petra today. There are other people here, other connections to make. But my eyes keep finding the path toward Zara's place. I'm trying to be patient. Trying to understand what she was really asking me. Mama died because I didn't know enough, because I was too small and the healer came too late. That's true and it's real. But Zara was right—is that why I'm here? To carry guilt? Or to actually learn? Those aren't the same thing, and I'm starting to see that the difference matters. I'm scared she'll turn me away. But I'm also... I think I respect her more for asking the hard question than I would have respected easy acceptance. That's something.

I found Zara. After three days of walking, following a stranger's words, I stood before the woman I've been thinking about since I heard her name. My heart was so full I could barely speak at first. But then she asked me *why* I was here, and I realized—I don't have a simple answer. I told her about wanting to learn healing properly, and she didn't accept that. She asked if I was looking for power or easy answers. That question... it was fair. It made me think about Mama, about that night, about the vow I made when I was twelve and broken. Am I here to learn healing, or am I here to fix what I couldn't fix? Maybe they're not the same thing. Zara seems to know the difference, and she's not going to teach me if I don't. I respect that. I'm nervous and hopeful at the same time. I don't know if she'll accept me as a student, but at least she's willing to ask the hard questions. That matters more than I expected.