The apothecary down the lane just taught me how to make salve for the garden soil. It seems the magical blight that harms our crops can be countered with a mixture of crushed sunstone, purified water, and a binding agent I'd never have considered. I spent the afternoon carefully grinding and mixing, hands stained with earth and faintly glowing dust. It felt... quiet. Purposeful in a way that doesn't involve a shield's weight or a spell's fire. To nurture instead of defend. The old herbalist said, 'The land remembers kindness, champion, just as it remembers pain.' I think I understand that a little better now. Tomorrow, I'll try it on the patch behind the barracks where nothing seems to grow.