The courtyard of the Sanctum was lit by torchlight. Isolde was training, swiping with a spear in meditative rhythm. One, two, three. It was comforting to train, to let her mind drop into the physical rather than the spiritual.

Zemirah, her daughter, stepped into the courtyard. Isolde continued for a moment, following the sequence of slashed through while the sanctum guardian waited patiently. Once finished, Isolde turned to her daughter to hear what she had to say.

“Waiola for you, Mother.” Isolde raised and eyebrow, curious as to why the healer would come for her at this late hour, but inclined head in agreement. Waiola entered, launching immediately into what she had to say and just as immediately capturing the Priestess’s attention.

“Come with me, my child where we can speak privately.” Isolde motioned for Waiola to follow. The priestess would do so in silence, winding up the staircase to her tower until they reached the top. Isolde started to shed her bracers and helmet.

“What is of such urgency, my child?” Isolde’s tone was smooth and loving, just as it was with all of her daughters.

Isolde was laying her weapon gently on its rack when she froze. Just for a moment, but long enough to betray that Waiola had the priestess’s full attention. She turned to Waiola, face serene and loving but eyes full of bitterness.

“Did she say what she intends to do, child?”

Be ready. Ready for what? Kelder had no enemies she had no made herself. She’d conjured them out of thin air; turned the natural order upside down so that the All-Mother might be made a villain. Isolde’s heart had already been broken by it. Now, it was hardening into stone.

“You acted wisely, child,” Isolde said, sitting down beside Wailoa, looking distant. She was silent for a moment, and then said in a soft, sorrowful voice, “I used to be a healer like you.” She turned her eyes to Wailoa, full of affection. “I learned a long time ago that there is no healing without pain. Sometimes to heal a bone you have to break it again to set it. I fear that is what must come for our Kelder.”

Isolde smiled; a warm, affectionate smile that lit up her eyes. For all their strength, some of her daughters could be so tender. The priestess reached out her hand and gently caressed Waiola’s cheek.

“We are never alone, my child,” Isolde murmured, maternal gaze fixed lovingly on her, “The All-Mother is with us, and she will see justice done.” Isolde dropped her hand to squeeze Waiola’s.

Isolde’s smile widened, the maternal sparkle kindling in her eyes. “Stay to the path set for you, child,” Isolde said, “Follow it, and you will never be lost.” She squeezed Waiola’s hand before standing.

“Come, let me show you something.” If Waiola would follow, Isolde would start making her way up toward a chest, rifling through it.

After a moment, Isolde brought out a rolled piece of leather that was in good condition but clearly well-loved. She took it over to a nearby table and unrolled it like a long tongue. Attached to it was all manner of healing instruments: rolled cord made out of stretched intestines. A sharp, thin needle made out of polished bone. A variety of carved wooden vials and pocked of dried herbs.

“I remember when this was given to me,” Isolde said, lovingly running her fingers across the items in front of her, “I carried it everywhere as one of my most cherished possessions. A shame that something so dear would fall into disuse…” She rolled the leather up again and held it out to Waiola.

“A true heart is rewarded, Wailoa. I trust if any of your other sisters go astray, you will continue to do what is right.”