Elaine surveyed the cottage's main room, calculating the work ahead. A millennium of precise organization left her ill-equipped to handle Edwin's chaos. Dried herbs crumbled at her touch, their healing properties long since faded. Dusty jars lined shelves in no discernible order.

  "We'll start with the workbench." She handed Sarah a bucket of soapy water. The girl attacked the grime with fierce determination, her braids swinging.

  The village flowed through the cottage like a steady stream. James replaced rotted floorboards while Clarence repaired the iron stove. Women bearing rags and brooms transformed years of neglect into gleaming surfaces. Each visitor brought something - fresh herbs from their gardens, preserved medicines from their kitchens, stories about Edwin's years of service.

  "He delivered my Thomas," Mary said, scrubbing windows until sunlight poured through. "Right here in this room."

  Elaine absorbed these fragments of history, building a picture of the man whose legacy she inherited. His presence lingered in the careful notes stuffed between books, in the worn smooth spots on the workbench where his hands had rested.

  The evenings at Mary's home offered different lessons. The rhythm of family meals, the easy flow of conversation, the way James and Mary moved around each other with practiced grace. Sarah peppered Elaine with questions about healing between bites. Thomas shared village news learned during his carpentry apprenticeship.

  "The Miller's wife has terrible joints," he mentioned over Mary's fresh bread. "Edwin used to make her a willow bark tea."

  Elaine noted these details, mapping the community's needs. By the third day, the cottage transformed. Fresh herbs hung from the rafters, their scent promising healing. Organized shelves held clearly labeled medicines. The workbench gleamed, ready for new service.

  Sarah arranged the last of the dried herbs with solemn ceremony. "Now it looks like a proper healer's cottage."

  Elaine touched the smooth wood of the workbench, feeling the weight of both past and future in its solid presence. After a thousand years of solitude, she had a place. A purpose. A home.

  Elaine opened the cottage door at dawn, Sarah bouncing on her toes beside her. The girl had arrived before sunrise, medical bag clutched to her chest.

  Their first patient shuffled in moments later. Martha, the miller's wife, her joints swollen and twisted from decades of work. Her gnarled hands trembled as she eased onto the examination chair.

  "Edwin's tea helped some, but-" Martha's voice caught. "Ever since he is gone... I can't always make it to Milltown."

  Elaine took Martha's hands in hers, her power flowing easily as she assessed the damage. Inflammation, worn cartilage, bone grinding against bone—decades of pain mapped clearly before her senses. With practiced confidence, she channeled her energy through Martha's hands, knitting tissue, smoothing bone, washing away years of accumulated damage.

  Sarah watched, eyes wide, as Elaine channeled her power. Warmth flowed through Martha's hands, knitting tissue, smoothing bone, washing away years of accumulated damage.

  Martha gasped. Tears welled in her eyes as she flexed her fingers. "The pain... it's gone." She pressed her palms together, a motion that would have been impossible moments before. "Completely gone."

  The old woman stood, testing each joint with wonder. She grabbed Elaine's hands, pressing them between her newly healed ones. "Thank you. Thank you."

  The morning brought a steady stream of villagers. A carpenter's boy with splinters embedded too deep to dig out. A farmer's scratched arm from a bramble patch. A baker's daughter with a persistent cough.

  Elaine assessed each patient with practiced efficiency. The carpenter's boy winced as she examined his hand, tiny splinters buried deep beneath the skin. Such a simple thing, yet it could fester if left untreated. She channeled a whisper of power through her fingertips, and the splinters slid free, the small wounds sealing instantly.

  "That didn't hurt at all," the boy marveled, flexing his hand.

  The farmer's arm presented a maze of angry red scratches, some deep enough to leave scars. Elaine traced her fingers along the wounds, erasing them with a gentle pulse of energy. Fresh pink skin replaced the torn flesh, as if the brambles had never touched him.

  "Remarkable," the farmer murmured, running his weathered hand over the healed skin.

  The baker's daughter coughed into her sleeve, a wet sound that spoke of infection in her lungs. Elaine put a hand on her back, "this will feel warm" she warned as her hands started glowing with the flow of power.

  Each breath became clearer than the next, the persistent rattle in her chest vanished.

  Sarah bounced on her toes. "How did you do that? Edwin always had to make special teas that took days to work."

  Elaine considered her answer carefully. These instant healings would draw attention, but holding back felt wrong when she could ease suffering so easily. She'd spent centuries perfecting her art - there was no point in pretending to be less skilled than she was.

  "There are many paths to healing," she told Sarah. "Edwin's knowledge of herbs was one approach. Mine is... different." She rested a hand on the girl's shoulder. "With time, perhaps I can teach you what I know, but it requires patience to understand. For now, watch and learn."

  * * *

  The peaceful rhythm of treating minor ailments shattered when three men burst through the cottage door, carrying a blood-soaked form between them.

  "Bull got him," one gasped. "William-"

  Elaine's focus narrowed to the injured man. Blood pulsed from his thigh in bright arterial spurts. His face had gone gray, lips blue-tinged. The femoral artery - cut clean through.

  "On the table." Elaine swept her supplies aside. "Sarah, go and make some tea please."

  The men laid William down. His eyes fluttered, barely conscious. Blood spread across the wooden surface, dripping onto the floor. Without intervention, he had minutes at most.

  Elaine pressed her hands to the wound. The damage blazed in her awareness - torn muscle, shattered bone fragments, and the severed artery pumping William's life away.

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  Without hesitation, she channeled her power through her hands, mending tissue and vessel with precise efficiency. The artery sealed first, stemming the critical blood loss. Muscle knit back together, bone fragments realigned and fused, and finally skin closed without a mark.

  William's eyes flew open. He jerked upright, patting his unbloodied leg in disbelief.

  "That's- that's impossible." One of the men who'd carried him in stumbled back. "The bull near cut his leg clean through."

  The other man crossed himself. "We thought he was done for. Wasn't even worth trying to get him to Milltown."

  William swung his legs off the table, testing his weight. "It doesn't hurt. There's not even a scar."

  "You lost a lot of blood," Elaine said. "Rest for the remainder of the day."

  The men helped William to his feet, their eyes wide as he walked without so much as a limp. They backed toward the door, muttering thanks mixed with prayers.

  Elaine watched the men depart, their awestruck whispers trailing behind them. She turned to find Sarah standing in the doorway, a steaming mug in her hands. The girl's eyes widened as she took in the bloodied table.

  "What happened?" Sarah rushed to Elaine's side, nearly spilling the tea.

  Elaine gently took the mug from her. "A serious injury, but I was able to heal it." She guided Sarah outside, away from the grisly scene. "Why don't we have our tea out here, where it's peaceful?"

  Sarah nodded, brow furrowed with concern. "Is the man going to be alright?"

  "He'll be just fine." Elaine settled onto a weathered bench, motioning for Sarah to join her. "I was able to repair the damage completely."

  The girl's face relaxed into a relieved smile. "I'm glad." She took a sip of her tea, then peered up at Elaine. "You really are a miracle worker, aren't you?"

  Elaine chuckled. "I simply do what I can to help." She sipped her own tea, savoring the familiar warmth. "You should head home now. I need to clean up inside."

  Sarah's face fell. "But I want to stay and learn more!" She reached out to tug on Elaine's sleeve. "Please, can I help?"

  Elaine considered the girl's pleading expression. "Not this time, Sarah. The sight may be upsetting." She placed a gentle hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Go on home. I'll come find you later, and we can discuss more healing techniques, alright?"

  With a reluctant nod, Sarah rose and headed down the path, casting one last glance over her shoulder. Elaine watched until the girl disappeared from view, then let out a weary sigh. She returned to the cottage, bracing herself for the task ahead.

  The table was a mess, blood and torn fabric staining the wood. Elaine gathered her cleaning supplies and set to work, scrubbing away the evidence of the injury.

  But the cottage remained quiet, save for the gentle crackle of the fire. Elaine allowed herself to relax, if only slightly. She finished her task, then stoked the flames, letting the familiar warmth seep into her bones.

  * * *

  The aroma of fresh bread and roasted vegetables filled Mary's kitchen. Elaine sat at the worn wooden table, watching Sarah arrange plates with methodical precision. The girl had already picked up that habit from their brief work together in the clinic.

  James carved the roast while Thomas passed around bowls of steaming potatoes. The familiar rhythm of family dinner settled over them, so different from Elaine's solitary meals during her millennium of isolation.

  Sarah paused between bites, her fork hovering mid-air. "How can you heal so much better than Edwin could? Martha said her joints had bothered her for years, and you fixed them in moments. And what you did for William was amazing!"

  The question Elaine had been expecting. She set down her own fork, choosing her words with care. "My gift is particularly strong," she said simply. "I can reach deeper into the body's patterns than most healers." She smiled at Sarah's wide-eyed wonder. "Each person has their own gifts. Edwin's knowledge of herbs complemented his abilities. Mine work differently."

  "Will you teach me?" Sarah leaned forward eagerly.

  "Sarah," Mary's tone held gentle reproach. "Give Elaine a chance to settle in before you pester her with questions."

  "It's alright," Elaine said, finding herself surprisingly comfortable with the girl's curiosity. "I'd be happy to teach you what I can, Sarah."

  Thomas spoke up, his voice thoughtful. "Old Edwin used to say that healing comes from understanding how things are supposed to be. Is that how you do it?"

  Elaine considered the boy's perceptive question. "That's an excellent way to think about it. Healing is about recognizing patterns – what's whole and what's broken – and guiding the body back to wholeness."

  James set down his knife, his eyes meeting Elaine's across the table. "Whatever your gifts are, we're fortunate you chose our village. William would have died today without you."

  "The timing was fortunate," Elaine agreed, uncomfortable with the gratitude in his eyes.

  Mary's warm hand covered hers. "Whatever your gifts are, Riverside is blessed to have them. To have you."

  The simple sincerity in those words settled something deep within Elaine. For the first time since arriving in this world, she felt a flicker of genuine belonging – not the false belonging of the challenge island, but something real and human.

  Sarah broke the moment by launching into a detailed description of which herbs she thought would grow best outside the cottage. Thomas rolled his eyes at his sister's enthusiasm but couldn't hide his own interest as the conversation shifted to practical matters of establishing Elaine's practice.

  As plates emptied and conversation flowed, Elaine found herself drawn into the family's easy rhythm – their gentle teasing, their shared memories, their unquestioning inclusion of her in their circle. It was messy and warm and deeply human in a way her existence hadn't been for centuries.

  For tonight at least, she could set aside concerns about revealing too much power. Here, in this kitchen, she was simply Elaine the healer – neither more nor less than she appeared to be.

  * * *

  The evening market was winding down as merchants began packing their wares. The monthly trading day had brought visitors from neighboring villages, and the square buzzed with more activity than Riverside had seen in weeks. Will leaned against the wall of the smithy, enjoying his newfound celebrity as travelers gathered around him.

  "I'm telling you, the bull's horn went clear through my leg," Will said, patting his thigh where not even a scar remained. "Punctured the big artery and everything. Blood everywhere."

  A merchant with a salt-and-pepper beard shook his head. "A wound like that kills a man. I've seen it happen."

  "Would've killed me too, if not for Healer Elaine," Will grinned. "She put her hands right on it, and there was this golden light. Next thing I knew, the wound was gone. Not just closed up—gone completely."

  "No scar at all?" asked a younger trader, leaning forward to examine Will's leg more closely.

  Will rolled up his pant leg, displaying unmarked skin. "Nothing. Look for yourself."

  The older merchant crossed his arms. "I've heard of skilled healers before, but nothing like that. Royal healers take weeks to mend bones, and even they leave scars."

  "It's the truth," Marcus from the herb stall said, stepping forward. "I saw him when they brought him in. The man was white as a sheet, bleeding out. Now look at him—healthier than before the accident."

  Another villager joined the conversation. "She fixed my mother's hands too. Twenty years of pain from twisted joints, couldn't even milk a goat anymore. Healer Elaine touched them for less than a minute—now Mother's hands work better than mine."

  The merchants exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from skepticism to wonder.

  "How long has this miracle healer been in Riverside?" asked the older merchant.

  "Just a few days," Marcus replied. "Arrived out of nowhere, saved the carpenter's children from a bear her first day here."

  The merchant nodded slowly. "I'm heading to Milltown next, then on to Highcross before reaching the capital. People will want to hear about this."

  "Tell them Riverside finally has some good fortune," Marcus said, his eyes tracking several more curious travelers who had gathered to hear Will's story.

  As the merchants began loading their wagons, Mary approached Elaine, who had been observing from the edge of the square.

  "Word's spreading," Mary said quietly. "Are you concerned?"

  Elaine watched the departing merchants. "I never intended to hide what I can do," she said. "But I didn't expect to become a local attraction either."

  Mary squeezed her arm affectionately. "People have always traveled to find good healers. It's a compliment, really."

  "Yes," Elaine agreed, though her gaze remained fixed on the dust rising from the departing wagons. "I suppose it is."

  The carts rolled away toward larger towns and cities, carrying stories that would only grow with each retelling. Elaine felt a familiar prickle of caution—the same instinct that had kept her alive for a millennium. She had wanted connection, community, purpose. Now she had them all. The question was how long they would last once word of her abilities spread beyond this small, welcoming village.