She was broken, tired, her body in constant pain these days. Add to it the shared mental pain and heartache of those around her and most days, Casela did not want to get out of bed. The light blue tin and matching thermos sat on the table beside her bed, Ch’otok’s quiet way of enticing her to respond. The massacre, the use of her telepathic abilities in such an extreme way had drained her. She brought the last little girl out of the mines and collapsed for two weeks afterwards. Now she just didn’t want to respond. The filth and horror she’d taken into herself weighing on her soul as if they were her own acts. Which she knew was not true, but the horror weighed heavily on her.

But through the haze were the sadness and heartbroken tragedy of the orphans. The ones that had no family to take them, that were totally abandoned. It tugged at memories, ones that she didn’t think on often. The children she’d saved, and the parents she could not, when the Dominion destroyed her home, her family, and her people. They had needed hope. And then a softer, bitter sweet memory. In the long days of inactivity of the only thing left to do was to focus and dwell on the loss and sadness. It was winter now on Delotha. Snow and ice and very little to do. She rose, wincing at the pain in her body and the throbbing sledge hammer and dizziness in her mind. She wandered aimlessly through the small hut, until she found Ch’otok. “They need a distraction, some joy. Maybe we can help them. The village lost so much this year. Before I have to leave again, we could give them a new tradition to look forward to?”
Operative Valkyrie