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The physical therapist, a woman with a reassuring presence, entered Tina's room, her arrival marked by a gentle knock that broke the monotony of the hospital sounds. She introduced herself, her voice calm and encouraging.  "Alright, Tina, let's see how you manage with some basic movements today," she said, moving to adjust the bed so Tina could sit on the edge.  Tina nodded, her resolve firm despite the trepidation. She swung her legs over, her uninjured left leg moving easily, but as she lowered her right leg, the rush of blood down into the healing fractures caused a spike of pain so intense it took her breath away. Her face contorted, the sudden increase in pain a cruel reminder of her injury. Seeing the distress, the therapist was quick to respond. "Tina, let's elevate your leg again," she said, moving to help lift it back up. But Tina, gritting her teeth, shook her head. "No, wait, I can manage. Just... give me some time," she managed to say, her voice strained but determined.

The following two weeks marked a significant phase in Tina's recovery. With each session, her strength and endurance improved, and under the watchful eye of her physical therapist, she finally managed to stand, balancing on her uninjured left leg while allowing her right, injured leg to dangle without touching the ground. This was a moment of triumph, a testament to her resilience and the slow but steady healing of her leg. The physical therapist beamed with pride. "You've made incredible progress, Tina! Standing like this, even for a moment, shows how much stronger you've become." Tina felt a surge of pride and relief. The sessions had been grueling, each one a battle against pain and patience, but seeing her therapist's smile and hearing her praise made it all feel worthwhile. They continued to work on her balance, ensuring she could maintain this position for longer without pain overwhelming her. As they were wrapping up the session, the door opened, and the doctor walked in, his

Over the next two weeks, Tina's proficiency with crutches grew exponentially. Each day was a lesson in balance, strength, and patience, but she progressed from cautious, slow steps to confidently maneuvering on flat surfaces. Her injured leg, still non-weight-bearing, was supported by the cast, but her upper body and left leg had grown stronger, adapting to her new mode of mobility. The physical therapist introduced her to the challenge of stairs. With one crutch under each arm, she learned to navigate the ascent and descent, by hopping up stairs with her uninjured leg going first on ascent and her injured leg going first for descent.   Tina’s movements became more assured with each session.  Tina's progress was undeniable. She could now move around her hospital room with ease, tackling the small set of stairs that led to the physical therapy area without assistance. The joy of this newfound independence was palpable, her spirit buoyed by each successful maneuver. At the end of this

Featuring: Iolite Date: Early Summer, Year 334 Location: Blooming Territories - Dawn Word Count: 538 Activity: None Previous Activity: Ready to Die Healing: 2/3 Iolite’s breath hissed through his flared nostrils. After taking several sharp, deep breaths he pulled himself up using primarily his uninjured legs. They shook beneath his weight, but his attempt to put the other two down and place any amount of weight in them caused a backfire of searing pain that nearly knocked him down again. He took a moment to lean himself against the old growth, but when fought through all the ache and managed to open his eyes, they were still there. Between the broad trunks of ancient oaks and beneath the low-hanging branches of the young saplings, something shimmered. Tiny, drifting lights. They disappeared every time their lofting intersected with the shafts of sunlight. The dazzling lights seemed to pulse gently, their glow waxing and waning like a heartbeat. Iolite blinked. Just trying to focus

The Night Before Surgery The windows let in late golden light. It stretched across Clara’s hospital room like a soft blanket, bathing her in warmth for the first time that day. Her body was still mostly immobilized—spica cast heavy on her right shoulder and torso, the massive Ilizarov frame encasing her leg like scaffolding—but she was propped up slightly, thanks to hours of prep by nurses and Jo. And she was smiling. Jo sat beside her, sketchbook open in her lap, one hand resting gently on Clara’s exposed calf—her only uninjured leg, the short leg cast now removed and wrapped in a warm blanket. Clara had requested something simple tonight. No floral vines or whimsical designs. Just Jo’s presence. “I hate this feeling,” Clara said softly, eyes gazing at the dimming sky. “Knowing they’re going to touch my hand. Cut it. Move everything.” “They’ll rebuild it,” Jo replied. “You’ll play piano again. You’ll sketch. You’ll hold things. My hand.” Clara looked down at her wrecked left arm—the