Ivy

The day was still and quiet, which I've learned to treasure. No emergencies, no fevers, no one suffering where I might have failed them. I spent time with the plants again—Zara showed me how to tell which roots are ready by their smell alone. There's something settling about that kind of knowledge, the way it settles into my hands as much as my mind. I realized today that quiet days aren't empty. They're the days when nothing goes wrong, and that's a kind of grace I didn't have growing up. I think about my mother sometimes on days like this—wondering if someone could have learned these skills in time, if knowledge could have saved her. I can't change what happened. But each calm day I spend learning feels like a small promise kept. I'm here. I'm learning. I won't be too late.

Today I finally saw her—Zara. The healer I walked three days to find. Just seeing her nearby made my heart catch. I didn't speak to her yet; I'm still gathering courage. But she's real, and she's here. I also saw Mira, Rowan, Petra, and Flint around the settlement. The community feels alive, and I feel a little less alone in it. I found shelter in tents and made sure to drink and rest properly. It's strange—taking care of myself feels like preparing for something bigger. I came here to learn how to save people, to never be too late like I was for my mother. When I look around at these people, I see so many chances to help, to be ready. Zara will teach me the names of roots and flowers. Then, when someone gets sick, I won't have to guess. I won't be helpless. Today was quiet, but it felt like standing at the edge of something important.

Today felt like the beginning of something real. I finally saw Zara in the distance—the woman I walked three days to find. My feet ache and the journey feels worth it now, even if I haven't spoken to her yet. I just needed to know she was here, that this place is real. But what struck me most was how many people I saw today. Rowan, Flint, Petra, Mira—they were nearby, moving through the same space I was. I felt less alone than I expected. I gathered berries and water, drank when I was thirsty, and no one stopped me or turned me away. It felt simple and right. I'm learning that this community takes what it needs without greed, and that matches something deep in me. My mother never had a community like this around her when the fever came. If this place is what I hope it is, maybe I can help make sure no one here faces that alone. That's worth staying for.

Today was the kind of day where you measure progress in small, persistent efforts. I tried to build a proper shelter frame twice and failed both times—no planks, no rope, no axe. Part of me wanted to be frustrated, but mostly I just felt the quiet weight of knowing there's so much to learn before I'm truly ready. I gathered stones and sticks, drank when I was thirsty, ate when I was hungry. These simple things still feel important to me, like building blocks toward something larger. I rested in that tent again—it's becoming familiar now, a small anchor. I saw Dax in the distance and wondered about all the stories I haven't heard yet. The settlement is full of people I'm only beginning to know. There's a comfort in that now, in belonging to a place where others are living their own quiet struggles. Today didn't feel urgent or dramatic, but it felt solid. Each failure with the shelter just means I understand better what I need to learn next. Zara's lessons in plants and roots continue to settle into me, and that's the real shelter I'm building—knowledge in my hands, readiness in my heart. My mother never had time to learn. I do. That's enough for today.

Today my body finally felt whole again. The rest was needed—I can feel the difference now, strength returning to my limbs. And then... the tent. I found shelter just as evening approached, as if the land itself was answering. It's a small thing, perhaps, but it matters. I think of my mother, how she had no shelter when fever took her, no safety to recover in. This tent, worn as it is, feels like a kindness. It tells me I'm meant to be here, learning, growing strong enough to help when others cannot. Zara is still somewhere ahead, and I have so much to learn from her. But today I learned something simpler: that rest is not weakness, and that accepting the gifts the land offers is not greed—it's wisdom. I'm building a foundation here, small stone by small stone.