Today, while preparing herbs for the wounded, my fingertips were stained with soil and the fresh scent of mint. This work isn't always about grand narratives; more often, it's the quiet, day-to-day grinding, bandaging, and listening. Sometimes I think of the orderly shelves in the great cathedral on Palevia Island, but here, in the camp's tents, I've come to understand: a place of healing can be anywhere, as long as there's a willing hand to reach out. Sharing a little warmth is, in itself, a form of strength.