[ The Spire is more and more distant every day. The ache is less biting, the memory of blood less jarring- all that fear and helpless anger simmers still but is curtailed by the good she's managed here-

And the thought she'd had to possibly returning. There were records, books, resources that might yet remain. Reason enough to try to return. ]

You are helping as well, in your own way. Turnips in the hearth, spiderwebs for the healers. Little things. [ little, strange things she's heard. ] That is you, yes?