I wake up to a sharp cold pain as the night air touches my skin. I look over at my wife, my dear sweet Celeste, and see she has managed to roll herself up in the blankets. I know better than to try and take them back. I slowly rise from the bed, wincing as my bare feet touch the cold floor. Doing my best to stay quiet, I search through our meager belongings for something to bundle myself in. In the faint glow of the moonlight, I spy the wood stove in the corner. The cold black metal taunting me with the promise of warmth it would not be providing. I eventually find what I’m looking for, my other set of clothes, and put them on. The extra layer helps against the cold, but not by much. I lay back in bed, now far too awake to fall back asleep. It’s only been a week since our lives were turned upside-down, but it all seems like a lifetime ago. Celeste and I were among the lucky ones. Not only did we survive, but we were taken in by a lovely elderly couple the next city over, Andrew and Susan Copperlight. They found us wandering down the main road, carrying what few belongings we had left in a sack over my shoulder. At their insistence, we followed them home, where they graciously let us stay in their spare room. “Our children moved out years ago, and the house is far too quiet with just the two of us” Susan explained. Andrew nodded along, adding “Don’t worry about any kind of payment. Consider it our gift. Just worry about getting yourself back on your feet.” A task easier said than done. —————— Despite being able bodied, well educated, and knowledgeable in several trades, it has been exceedingly hard for me to hold down a job. It’s hard to stay productive and useful when you keep unexpectedly freezing up, unable to work for extended periods of time. My bosses are always sympathetic, but they’re also fully within their right to let me go when I prove I can’t be productive. Most jobs don’t last more than a day or two. I look down at the list Andrew provided of people in the city who’d be willing to let me try working for them, most of them crossed off now: the blacksmith, the a baker, several local restaurant owners, a jeweler, a glass blower. I even did a stint as a member of the guard. That one lasted the longest. It wasn’t until the fifth day that things went south. I was posted outside, and the last thing I remember was a flock of geese flying overhead before waking up on the ground, tears streaming down my face. The captain didn’t need to say anything, I made my way back to the garrison and returned my gear of my own accord. I approach the city’s library, the next stop on Andrew’s list. It’s an old building, probably one of the oldest in the city by the looks of it. As reach for the decorative knocker on the door I notice the sign posted nearby. ‘_Always open! Let yourself in. If you need help, all you need to do is ask._’ I push to open the door, it gliding surprisingly quietly on its hinges. I admire the amount of care and craftsmanship that must have gone into it. As I am lost in thought, a voice cuts through the air. “Ah, I was wondering if you’d turn up here.” I turn to see the source of the voice. A thin, elderly woman stands between two towering book shelves, hunched over a cane. Her silver hair sticks out in every which direction, as if arguing with itself which way it wants to go. In a voice that matches her calm, soft eyes, she continues. “I am Agatha DeCarte. I told Andrew to put me near the top of the list, but he insisted that you should try out some ‘real’ jobs first. Bah! Come now, join me and we can talk over some tea.” I follow her into a side room where she has a small table set up. The inside of the building is lit with the soft glow of arcane lamps. A wise choice for a library, as they don’t need fuel and don’t risk damaging anything. She gestures for me to sit before she disappears into the next room. I hear her shifting things around, clinking dishes together, as she calls out “So, tell me about your journey. I’ve heard some, but I’d like to hear it from you.” I swallow heavily, and begin to recount my tale. “Well, I suppose my journey starts the day… the day…” I break out into a cold sweat as my voice clams up. My mouth dries, and I struggle to find the words to retell what happened. The warmth in my hand draws me back to the room, as I find a cup of tea has been pressed into it. Agatha gently grabs the sides of my face, turning me to look her in the eyes. In her soft, soothing voice, she says “I’m sorry my dear. I didn’t mean that. I don’t want you to have to talk about _that _part of your journey. I meant your time here in the city. I should have been clearer.” I take a deep breath, letting the herbal aroma wash over me as she sits across from me with her own cup. Then, I tell her of my time in the city. Of the kindness of the Copperlights, and of my struggles holding down a job. As I spoke, I realized that for the first time, someone in this town was looking at me without pity. Her eyes showed compassion, kindness, and a genuine interest in my life. The job she had for me was simple: transcribing old books into newer tomes. In order to preserve the originals, she would copy the text down into a book anyone was allowed to access and read before locking the original away into a secure and safe place. “My fingers are old, and it takes me far too long to write them out myself” she said. The job was easy, if not a little tedious, and it paid well. So every morning, I arrive and carefully copy the text over. As I finish stacks of books, she would stop by and take them away, both the original and the new copy. Occasionally, as she brought over stacks of aging books for me to copy, she would take one out of the stack and tuck it into her robe. When I asked her about it, she would just reply “Don’t worry about that book sweetie. It’s not for you.” I decide to not question it. She seems to know what she’s talking about. —————— It’s been a little over a year since we moved to the city. Thanks to some frugal saving, and a generous gift from the Copperlights, Celeste and I were able to purchase a small home. Just in time, as we were expecting, and she was starting to show. We invited all of the friends we’ve made in town to celebrate the occasion. Everyone packed into our tiny dining room, bundled up against the cold. Many of our friends brought foods to share, warm meats and freshly baked desserts. Celeste made her famous tossed salad, and we brought out the preserved fruits we had been making for the occasion. As the night drew on, the drinks started flowing. Humorous tales of the past year were recounted as everyone laughed. That is until Jerry spoke up. He clearly had had a lot to drink as he slurred his words, his eyes trying and failing to focus on me. “You know >hic<, if it weren’t for that dragon attack, you never would have come here. That’s a nice silver lining, ain’t it?” The room fell silent, save for Jerry’s wife trying to shush him. My blood runs cold. I can feel Celeste’s hand on my leg, but whatever comforting words she’s trying to say are drowned out by the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I can’t catch my breath and I desperately gasp for air. The room spins, and I realize I’m curled in a ball on the floor. At some point, all our guests left. I do not know when, because it was some time before I was able to pull myself off the floor. Celeste brings me a glass of water, and I slowly sip it. Eventually, I notice Agatha sitting in the corner, a sadness in her eyes. I rise to meet her, embarrassed and ashamed for what just happened. I sit down next to her, and she pulls me into a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry” she whispers as she pulls a book out from her bag and hands it to me. “I should have given this to you long ago. I thought that I could wait for a better time. But a better time never came. And now…” she trails off, gesturing to Celeste “if we wait any longer, it will be too late. You have a long road ahead of you, but know that there are plenty of people here who love you and will be by your side the entire time.” Celeste joins us, tears in her eyes. I pull her close, placing a hand over her belly. I look down at the title of the book Agatha brought me. ‘A Fresh Start: Learning to Live With and Overcome Post Traumatic Stress Disorder’