I know, I know—it’s been far too long since I last wrote. If you’ve been wondering where I’ve been, let me start by saying I’m sorry for the silence. Things have been… well, overwhelming.
Father and I just returned from a long journey to several nearby towns. He heard rumors of a sickness spreading—a strange, relentless fever that’s been leaving people bedridden for weeks—and decided to help. Naturally, I insisted on going with him. I couldn’t sit around in the tower, not when people needed help and Father needed a hand.
The trip itself was exhausting. We traveled by cart, loaded down with supplies, potions, and tonics Father had prepared. Maréa carried us through the rough terrain with her usual grace, though I could tell even she was starting to feel the strain of the long days.
The first town we visited was small and quiet, tucked into a valley surrounded by dense woods. At first glance, it seemed peaceful. But as we walked through the cobblestone streets, we saw the signs: closed shutters, empty market stalls, and the occasional faint cough drifting from behind a door.
Father wasted no time setting up a temporary clinic. I helped as best I could, handing out water and herbal remedies, cleaning wounds, and even keeping restless children entertained while their parents received care. Blizzard stayed by my side the whole time, her presence comforting to both me and the patients.
Each town we visited seemed worse than the last. In one village, the innkeeper told us he’d lost half his staff to the illness and had been trying to keep things running alone. In another, a baker gave us bread in exchange for a vial of tonic, her hands trembling as she wrapped it in cloth.
Seeing so much suffering was… hard. I’m used to helping Father with his work in the tower, but this was different. These were entire communities, families struggling to hold on. The weight of it settled heavily on my shoulders, and there were nights I cried into my pillow, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of what we were up against.
But there were bright moments, too. A boy in one village gave me a hand-painted stone as thanks for helping his grandmother. In another, a woman brought us a basket of apples after her fever broke, her face glowing with gratitude.
And then there was the little girl who followed Blizzard around for hours, laughing as she tried to braid Blizzard’s icy fur. (Blizzard, to her credit, tolerated it remarkably well—though she did give me a look when the girl tied ribbons in her tail.)
It reminded me why we were doing this. Every person we helped, every smile we saw, made the long days worth it.
This trip taught me a lot. I learned how to mix tonics faster and how to soothe a crying child with nothing but a silly song. I learned that kindness can make even the darkest days a little brighter. And I learned how much I admire Father for the way he throws himself into his work, even when it takes everything he has.
Now that we’re back in the tower, I’m trying to catch my breath—and catch up on writing! Father’s already diving back into research, determined to find a better cure for the illness before it spreads further. I want to help, but I’ll admit I’m still recovering from the journey.
I missed writing to you all, but I hope you’ll forgive my absence. It’s been a challenging few weeks, but also a meaningful one.
Until next time, I’ll leave you with this: no matter how big the problem may seem, a little kindness can go a long way.
Take care of yourselves,
Sarra
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