Today was like any other day.
I woke to the morning light creeping through my curtains, warm against my face and entirely unwelcome when I was still comfortable beneath my blankets. I lay there for another minute, staring sleepily at the ceiling before finally forcing myself upright.
There was work to do. There was always work to do.
I dressed and pulled my reddish hair back out of my face before making my way into the kitchen. Breakfast was simple, as it usually was in the mornings. I made enough to fill my stomach, brewed myself something warm to drink, and sat at my little table to eat while the village slowly came alive outside.
It was peaceful.
Familiar.
The kind of morning I'd lived a hundred times before.
Once I'd finished eating, I cleaned up after myself and prepared for the first real task of every morning.
Checking my letterbox.
I stepped outside, breathing in the cool morning air as I made my way toward it. The box had stopped being used solely for ordinary letters a long time ago. Most of what appeared inside these days were requests from people around the village who needed a healer but weren't in enough trouble to come pounding on my door themselves.
It made organizing my days much easier.
Every morning, I checked how many home visits I needed to make and, more importantly, how urgent they were.
The worst cases came first.
Everything else could wait its turn.
I reached the letterbox and opened it.
Seven requests.
I pulled the small stack from the letterbox and flipped through them one by one.
"Okay." I took a breath.
Seven wasn't terrible. Seven was manageable.
At least five of them were simply requests for medicine. I skimmed through those first, recognizing most of the names and making a mental note of what I'd need to prepare when I got back home. Nothing about the requests seemed particularly urgent. Medicine could be mixed, bottled, and delivered later.
The other two, though...
My attention sharpened as I read them again.
A baby that wouldn't stop crying.
That could mean absolutely nothing. Babies cried. Sometimes for reasons known only to themselves and whatever cruel gods had decided their parents didn't deserve sleep.
But a baby who wouldn't stop crying was different.
Pain. Illness. Hunger. Fever. Something the parents hadn't noticed. There were too many possibilities for me to dismiss it without seeing the child myself.
I moved that request to the top of my little stack before looking at the final one.
An elderly woman had broken her leg.
I winced.
"That's not good."
Especially depending on how she'd broken it, where the break was, and whether anyone had attempted to move her afterward.
I tucked the five medicine requests together, then held the other two separately as I headed back toward the house.
My quiet breakfast was officially over.
