The morning light fell through the windows of the healer's wing, soft and gold, dust motes drifting like lazy stars. Lytavis was already there, sleeves rolled, satchel packed, Skye preening contentedly on the rafters above.
Crysta had recently stopped escorting her. These days, she made her own rounds. Three mothers awaited her. Three stories, three hearts, three kinds of courage.
Lynnore Nightsong
The first home smelled faintly of lavender and linen. Lynnore sat near the window, hands folded over her round belly, her face pale with worry.
"I can't sleep," she confessed. "Every time the baby shifts, I think something's wrong."
Lytavis smiled gently and knelt beside her chair. "It's not wrong, Lynnore. It's life. But it's a noisy sort of life, and it takes getting used to."
She guided her through slow breathing - hands on the curve of her ribs, counting the inhale and the soft, measured exhale. Then, a small chant in Elune's tongue, the kind meant to steady the mind.
"Breath is prayer," she said quietly. "You don't have to know the words. You only have to keep breathing."
By the time she rose to leave, Lynnore's shoulders had eased, her hands resting loose and calm.
"Thank you," she whispered. "You make it feel less frightening."
"That's part of healing," Lytavis said, smiling. "Making things less frightening."
Illaria Silverglade
Illaria sat by the window when Lytavis arrived, her eyes red-rimmed and her hands twisting the edge of a handkerchief. The soft light from the lattice caught on her hair, turning the strands to silver fire.
Lytavis didn't speak right away. She only crossed the room, pulled a chair close, and took Illaria's trembling hand in hers. "Tell me," she said gently.
Illaria swallowed hard. "He's married," she whispered. "He told me to get rid of it. Said it would ruin everything." Her fingers tightened. "I don't even know what to think anymore."
"You're only a few weeks along," Lytavis said softly. "You have time to think."
Illaria drew a shaky breath. "I want Elune's Mercy."
Lytavis hesitated only long enough to make sure the words were steady in the air. Then she reached for her satchel, drew out the small vial, and set it carefully on the table between them. The faint silver shimmer inside caught the light.
"When you're ready," Lytavis said. "Not before."
Illaria stared at it. "And if I'm never ready?"
Lytavis met her eyes. "Then you don't take it."
Silence stretched, filled with nothing but the soft creak of wood and the sound of Illaria's breathing. Finally, Illaria whispered, "I want the baby. But he says…"
"He doesn't decide," Lytavis said quietly. "You do. It's your life, your child, your choice."
For a long time, Illaria said nothing. Then she picked up the vial, turned it once in her fingers, and set it back down. "Then I'm not taking it."
Lytavis nodded, relief hidden behind her calm. She slipped the vial back into her satchel, rose, and wrapped her arms around Illaria. "Then we'll make sure you stay healthy," she said, her voice warm.
Illaria's breath caught, half a sob, half a laugh. "Thank you."
Lytavis smiled faintly. "Come on. Let's see how you and the little one are doing."
The rest of the visit passed quietly - steady pulse, clear heartbeat, soft reassurances - but the air between them had changed. It was no longer heavy with despair, but full of fragile, deliberate hope.
Siralen Moonleaf
Siralen's home was filled with sunlight and the scent of honeycakes cooling on a sill. She smiled when she saw Lytavis, then hesitated as her gaze fell on her youth.
"You're very young," she said at last. "Are you… new?"
"In training," Lytavis replied cheerfully, setting down her satchel. "If I don't know the answer, I have a teacher who will."
Siralen bit her lip, uncertain. "It's not about herbs. It's about… intimacy. My husband and I…" she stopped, flushing. "You probably wouldn't understand."
Lytavis folded her hands neatly in her lap. "You're right," she said honestly. "I haven't had that experience yet. But Crysta has. I can ask her to come by, if you'd prefer."
The older woman exhaled, relief softening her face. "Yes, please. I think I'd be more comfortable."
Lytavis smiled, unfazed. "Then that's what we'll do. There's no shame in wanting to ask the right person."
When she returned to the Temple, the evening bells were beginning to sound. She left a note in the healer's log for Crysta: Please visit Siralen Moonleaf. She has questions about marital intimacy. Respectfully, Lytavis.
No guilt, no sting of failure. Only the quiet knowing that this, too, was part of learning - to know one's limits, to carry another's trust gently, and to pass it on when needed.
As she walked home, Skye circled above her, feathers gleaming silver in the dusk. The city hummed with life around her - prayers, laughter, footsteps - and Lytavis felt a deep, calm certainty settle in her chest.
Some days were marked by miracles.
Others, by small mercies.
Today had been full of both.