Crysta Morningstar arrived at the Ariakan villa in the late afternoon, her braid dark and glossy down her back, her healer's satchel resting against one hip. The faint scents of peacebloom and liferoot clung to her clothes, a whisper of her rounds through Suramar's homes.
Zoya greeted her warmly and guided her toward the garden, where Lytavis was perched cross-legged in the grass, weaving daisies into a crown.
"Your mother tells me you've been thinking of midwifery," Crysta said as she crouched down level with Lytavis.
Lytavis lifted her head, eyes bright. "I want to help bring babies safely into the world. To make sure mothers are safe, too. Is that what you do?"
"That is much of it," Crysta said. "But it is also patience, long nights, blood, sweat, and tears. It can mean joy so fierce it takes your breath away… and sorrow that lingers for years. It's hard work, child. Are you still interested?"
Without hesitation, Lytavis nodded. "Even more. The hard parts matter too."
Something in her tone made Crysta pause. She had spoken those same words to herself when she first chose this path.
So she tested her. "When do you think a baby is ready?"
Lytavis tilted her head, thoughtful. "When the mother's body says so. Not when we want it."
Crysta smiled, impressed despite herself. "And if it comes too early?"
"Then you do everything you can. And you pray."
Crysta's smile deepened. She sat in the grass with her, answering question after question: about herbs that eased pain, about songs sung low to steady frightened mothers, about when to act and when to wait.
When the daisy crown was finished, Lytavis pressed it into her lap, the stems unbroken. "Like that," Crysta murmured. "Gentle hands, listening hands. That is what a midwife needs most."
Later, over bread and fruit, Crysta turned to Zoya and Lucien. "If you allow it, I would like to take her with me on my rounds. She should meet the women, hear their stories, see for herself what this work asks."
Lucien looked at Zoya. Their shared silence was long, but not uncertain. At last, he inclined his head. "Yes. Let her learn. Let her see if this is the path for her."
Zoya reached for her daughter's hand, her voice low with pride. "If this is what you wish, Little Star, then walk it with care. And know we will walk beside you."
"I want to learn," Lytavis whispered, her determination shining as bright as the crown in Crysta's lap.
Crysta covered her small hand with her own. "Then learn you shall."
Notes in the Margin - Lucien Ariakan
Our daughter has chosen a calling that will show her both the strength and frailty of life. I thought her too young to understand, yet she accepts it without flinching. That acceptance unsettles me more than any refusal could have.
She is our Little Star. Small in stature, yet burning with a light all her own.
Already she runs toward the world with both hands open, and I must learn how to let her go.