...The druid's hand found the wounded creature with the same gentleness he brought to everything, fingers dark against pale fur, reading pain and fear in the trembling beneath his palms. He whispered words in languages older than kingdoms, watched the beast's breathing slow, its terror transform into trust. This was his gift and his burden, to feel what others felt, to carry the weight of every creature's suffering, to channel the raw power of the wild through the narrow gate of his own heart. He could have let the fury loose, could have sent the animal's tormentors running screaming into the forest. Instead, he chose this, the slow work of healing, the patient teaching that strength and gentleness were the same force seen from different angles. The creature rested its head against his thigh, and in that small surrender, something whole was born...