her. It wasn’t until she was done hanging her clothes on the hooks embedded in the wall that she noticed the leather pouch on the bed, and the note pinned beneath it. She knew what was inside, could easily guess based on the lumps and edges. Her breath caught in her throat as she pulled out the note. There, in elegant, feminine handwriting, the girl had written: For wherever you need to go—and then some. The world needs more healers.
