Le creuset cooking set

So I have a nine month old and let me tell you I enjoy being a mom more than I ever thought I would. Like I wanted to be a mom but I love my daughter in ways i could have never imagined. I take vacation days sometimes because I just want to hang out with her. On the days I work from home (she's watched in home by my in-laws) I look forward to work breaks so I can get my baby kissing in. I love my job and I have a "cool" job but if it had made any financial sense what so ever I would have insisted on becoming a SAHM. I never ever thought I would say anything near that.
I love cooking her food, I love taking her to the park, I love "lazy mom" moments where we just watch Bluey. I do still find it all very difficult (especially figuring out what food to make hehow to play).
But among all this I tell myself I need a hobby. Something outside of work and baby that's my thing. But sometimes I wonder "what if my daughter was my hobby? What if I just devote my quiet moments to being the best mom I can? To making the best meals? To making sure she gets engagement."
Her dad has hobbies. He's a good dad but he has video games and a professional association. If I decide to just be a mom with my spare time I'll become the "default" parent. What would that say about me and my feminist ideals? What example would I be setting for her?

Galatians   Chapter Five  
-1. The Anointed frees [שחרר, SheeHRayR] us unto freedom [חרות, HayROoTh], therefore stand, and do not submit [תכנעו, TheeKhahN`Oo] again [שוב, ShOoB] to yoke [לעל, Le'oL] the slavery.  

“The expression for freedom [επ ελευθερια - ep eleutheria] (in slightly different Greek form) appears in the certificates of sacral manumission which were given to slaves who purchased their freedom. The slave would deposit the money in the temple of his god for the priest to transfer to his master “for freedom.” He then became the slave of his god, free from his human master.” (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X pp. 545-546)  
“Among the Jews, the Messiah’s reign was to be a reign of liberty, and hence the Targum [ancient Jewish commentary] on Lamen. [Lamentations] ii. 22. says, “Liberty shall be publicly proclaimed to the people of the house of Israel, על יד משיחא âl yad Mashicha, by the hand of the Messiah, such as was granted to them by Moses and Aaron, at the time of the Passover.” (Clarke, 1831, vol. II p. 393)  

...
-5. And we, in spirit upon foundation [of] belief, waiting [מיחלים, MeYahHahLeeYM] to hope [for] fruit, the our righteousness [δικαιοσυνης - dikaiosunes, justification, righteousness].  

“The language is so compact that Paul’s meaning has to be inferred from 3:14; 5:22-23; and Rom. [Romans] 8:23-26.” (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X pp. 548-549)  
“The full measure of human righteousness is still a thing of the eschatological future (cf. [compare with] Rom 5:19).” (Joseph A. Fitzmyer, 1990, TNJBC p. 789)
“That they could not have the Holy Spirit, without faith, was a doctrine also of the Jews; hence it is said, Mechilta, fol. [folio] 52. ‘That faith was of great consequence, with which the Israelites believed in Him, who, with one word, created the universe; and because the Israelites believed in God, the Holy Spirit dwelt in them; so that being filled with God, they sung praises to him.’” (Clarke, 1831, vol. II pp. 393-394)  

-6. That yes, in Anointed YayShOo'ah ["Savior", Jesus] there is no thought [חשיבות, HahSheeYBOoTh], not to circumcision [למילה, LahMeeYLaH] and not to foreskin [לערלה, Lah`ahRLaH], rather to belief, the laborer in way [of] love.  

“No passage in Paul’s letters is of greater importance for integral understanding of his religion and the relation of his faith to his ethics. The mutuality of faith, hope, and love – a theme repeated with many variations – runs through everything he has written and forms the substance of his theology. … Paul’s religion is distorted whenever his ethics and his ‘good works’ are made to appear as an incidental by-product of his faith rather than as one of its essential ingredients.” (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X pp. 550-551)  
“This humble, holy, operative, obedient LOVE, is the grand touchstone of all human creeds, and confessions of faith. Faith, without this, has neither soul nor operation: in the language of the apostle James, it is dead, and can perform no function of the spiritual life, no more than a dead man can perform the duties of animal or civil life.” (Clarke, 1831, vol. II p. 394)  

...
-12. Would that [מי יתן, MeeY YeeThayN] and be cut [ויכרתו, VeYeeKahRThOo] the misleaders [המתעים, HahMahTh`eeYM] [of] you!  

“‘I wish that those who are upsetting you would even emasculate themselves!’ This is what Paul said and meant. … for a similar outburst see Phil. [Philippians] 3:2-3, where the advocates of circumcision are ‘dogs,’ and by a play on words – περιτομη [peritome’], κατατομην [katatmen] - ‘circumcision’ becomes ‘mutilation.’ Paul may have been thinking of the mad spectacle of the Cybele-Attis cult, whose priests in frenzied devotion used to emasculate themselves as a sacrifice to their deity. … The shock of Paul’s statement to the Judaizers can be measured in the light of the prohibition in Deut. [Deuteronomy] 23:1. To a devout Jew his blunt language would be as sacrilegious as a Christian would find the wish of a disbeliever in sacraments that all advocates of baptism would drown themselves. Never happy after making such denunciations (II Cor. [Corinthians]1:23-2:11; Phil. 3:18-19), Paul quickly changes his tone…” (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X pp. 554-555)  

-13. My brethren, to freedom you have been called,
only that not be, the freedom, means [אמצעי, ’ehMTsah`eeY] in hands of the flesh,
rather that minister, [each] man [את, ’ehTh (indicator of direct object; no English equivalent)] his neighbor in love.  

“To be freed from the ceremonial law, is the Gospel liberty; to pretend freedom from the moral law, is antinomianism.” (Clarke, 1831, vol. II p. 395)  

-14. See, all the Instruction included [כלולה, KLOoLaH] in saying [במאמר, BeMah’ahMahR] one – “and love to your neighbor like you.”  

“The quotation is from Lev. [Leviticus] 19:18; cf. Rom. 13:8-10 [and Matt. [Matthew] 7:11 (Joseph A. Fitzmyer, 1990, TNJBC p. 789)]. The tense of the verb ‘fulfilled’ is perfect; thus Paul says that the whole law is fulfilled, in the sense of ‘has been fulfilled’ whenever one man loves another as himself…. Paul the Christian loved his neighbor not because a commandment disobeyed would bring punishment, or fulfilled would merit reward, but because it was his new nature to do to.  
But who was Paul’s neighbor? He was, first of all, ‘the one who was near,’ the fellow member of the society of Christ who needed help to bear life’s burdens (6:2). Then, with continuously lengthening radius, Paul drew a series of concentric circles to embrace all men (6:10; I Thess. [Thessalonians] 5:15; I Cor. 9:22). Even his enemies were included, for Christ received sinners, and personal vengeance was no fruit of the Spirit (6:1; Rom. 12:20; 15:1-3). … He bore the burden of his neighbor’s sins, and although he sometimes had to threaten them, he was never without hope for their repentance (I Cor. 4; II Cor. 12:19-13:10; II Thess. 3:14-15). He could hurl anathemas, and his friends did not always find him easy to get on with … but the love of Christ would never permit him to contract the circle of his neighbors (Rom. 9:1-3; 10:1; II Cor. 7:5-16; 1:23-2:11). (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X p. 557)  

...  

…………………………………………  
Fruit of the Spirit and usurpations of [ומעללי, OoMah`ahLahLaY] the flesh
[verses 16 to end of chapter]  

-16. Say I to you, walk in way the spirit and do not fill [את, ’ehTh] desires [תאוות, Thah`ahVOTh] [of] the flesh,
-17. for the flesh desires [מתאוה, MeeTh’ahVeH] to what that is in opposition [שבנגוד, ShehBeNeeGOoD] to spirit, and the spirit is opposed [מתנגדת, MeeThNeGehDehTh] to the flesh. [The] two [of] them oppose to this to this, and to that [ולכן, OoLeKhayN] you are not able to do [את, ’ehTh] what that is in your want.  

“This is Paul’s way of stating the Jewish doctrine of the ‘two impulses’ which are at war within the heart of man. The rabbis declared that God created Adam with two inclinations, one good, the other evil, and required him to choose which to obey. He was free to follow his good impulse, but he chose the evil, and so did all his descendants. Consequently every man became the Adam of his own soul. Some maintained that the evil impulse awakened at the age of nine, others at twelve. Study with practice of the Torah was the sovereign remedy to wear it away …” (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X pp. 561)  

…
-19. Deeds of the flesh are revealed [גלויים, GLOoYeeYM], and these are they:
adultery [נאוף, Nee’OoPh] and fornication, impurity [טמאה, TooM’aH], licentiousness [זמה, ZeeMaH], 20. slavery of idols, magic [כשוף KeeShOoPh in my Hebrew New Testamentⁱ ; the Greek here is “φαρμακεια pharmakeia - the use of drugs of any kind, whether wholesome or poisonous...” (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X p. 562] hatred, contention [מדון, MahDON], stinginess [צרות עין, TsahROoTh 'ahYeeN, “squint eyed”, Ζηλος Zelos jealousy], anger [כעס, Kah'ahÇ], strife [מריבה, MeReeYBaH], divisions [מחלקות, MahHLahQOTh], factions [כתות, KeeThOTh], 21. envy, drunkenness, profligacy [הוללות,HOLeLOoTh], and as similar.  
Say I to what that I already said: doers of deeds like these will not inherit [את, ’ehTh] kingdom of the Gods.  

“Πορνεια [Porneia] ... fornication ... means ‘prostitution’, but includes sexual vice and unfaithfulness to the marriage vow. The task of the church in creating a conscience on this matter was made doubly difficult by the practice of prostitution in the name of religion. Long before Paul, the prophets had denounced the fertility cults and made prostitution a synonym for idolatry.  
Φαρμακεια [pharmakeia] ... Since witches and sorcerers used drugs, the word came to designate witchcraft, enchantment, sorcery, and magic. The law of Moses prescribed the death penalty for it, and the prophets denounced the Egyptians, Babylonians and Canaanites for practicing it; but this did not prevent the Jews from producing some famous practitioners (Acts 13:6-12; 19:1-20). Next to state-worship, magic was the most dangerous competitor of true religion... claiming to specialize in the impossible, it prostituted faith to superstition, and divorced religion from ethics. ... In Paul’s spiritual arithmetic, faith plus miracles minus love amounted exactly to zero....  
Ερις [Eris] is ... strife ... The spirit of Eris is perfectly described in the words of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland – ‘ambition, distraction, uglification, and derision.’  
The fact that he expected the near return of Christ to end this present age must not be permitted to obscure the equally important fact that he regarded his own life and witness for Christ as an essential element in hastening that event.” (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X pp. 561-565)  

-22. In opposition to [לעמת, Le`ooMahTh] this, fruit of spirit:
he is love, happiness, peace, patience, [ארך רוח, ’oRehKh Roo-ahH, “length [of] spirit”] generosity, good heart, faithfulness, 23. modesty [עננה, `ahNahNaH], restraint [רסון, ReeÇOoN] [of] self– upon such [מדות, MeeDOTh] as these there is no instruction further [חלה, HahLaH, sic ["so in cite"] for חלאה, HahL’aH!].  

“Since love is a personal relation it is not a matter of law, and cannot be commanded; and since it is God’s own love growing as his ‘fruit’ in the hearts of men, no one can claim it as a merit for self-salvation. ...  
... in every age ... men have found it hard to see how God could have anything in common with humanity, and Christians have been tempted to make a distinction in kind between God’s love and man’s love. Paul’s authority has been claimed for this dualistic view. Αγαπη [agape’] is set against ερος [eros]. God’s love is said to be αγαπη reaching down to save man by his grace, and ερος man’s self-love aspiring upward to save himself. Paul’s αγαπη is associated with justification by faith, the Greek ερος with salvation by works.... Jerusalem and the Christian faith are made to oppose Athens and human reason, and the conclusion is drawn from the history of Christianity that ερος, man’s self love, has always been a source of corruption of αγαπη, love inspired by God’s grace.  
This interpretation of Christian love is intended as a defense of the doctrine of justification by faith and as a means of securing scriptural support for a dualistic philosophy which aims to protect the transcendence of God against humanism. But to draw such sweeping conclusions from a word study of two Greek nouns, without adequate consideration of other related Greek words and ideas, is to oversimplify. The LXX [The Septuagint, the ancient Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible] is full of evidence that this distinction between αγαπη and ερος cannot be maintained on the basis of lexicography. The Greek O.T. [Old Testament] uses both the noun αγαπη and the verb αγαπαω [agapao] to express not only God’s love for men, but man’s love for God and for his fellow man. Although there is no certain evidence that the noun αγαπη was used by nonbiblical writers prior to Christianity, the argument from silence may be invalidated by future discoveries, and it would be precarious to conclude that αγαπη was a specifically Christian word.  
One-sided emphasis on God’s love as ‘unmotivated’ by anything in his creatures tempts men to regard him in the light of an egotistical philanthropist who expects gratitude and praise but neither needs nor desires the mutuality that is inherent in the very nature of love... Without a faith that dares humbly to believe that God needs man’s love ... the Christian’s conception of his high calling to be a kingdom builder is liable to reduce itself to blind obedience to commands given arbitrarily for man’s good while awaiting God’s eschatological fiat. Such a misconception is bound to give aid and comfort to the inclination of human nature – ‘the flesh’ – to divorce religion from ethics.  
Grave moral consequences result from such a view of Christian love. It is associated with a doctrine of predestination that makes God’s choice of the objects of his salvation utterly arbitrary.” (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X pp. 565-566)  
“The peace which was the fruit of the Spirit ... could be trusted to keep men's hearts and minds (Phil. 4:7), so that they need have not anxiety about anything. This explains the sublime recklessness of the Christian peacemakers. Being colaborers with God (Rom. 8:28), they were aggressors for peace. They aimed to live at peace with all men (Rom. 12:18), but fear of making enemies did not turn them from their task of producing soundness, wholeness, and harmony in a world of chaos. Their reasonable service was to ... substitute the righteousness and peace and joy of his [God's] kingdom (Rom. 14:17) for the low aims of 'the flesh,' thereby creating the conditions for peace. Their ideal was to live so that quarrels could never get started.  
Christian peace was therefore neither the calm of inactivity nor the mere passive enjoyment of freedom from strife. It was not the imperturbability of the Epicurean, or the apathy of the Stoic, or the contemplation of the mystic. The man who possessed it was not exempt from storm and shipwreck, but by faith he knew that he would arrive in port (Acts 27:21-25), and that all was well for him and his fellow men of faith ... And so, where all else was panic, he played the man.” (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X pp. 567)  
“... just as God’s patience was not to be presumed upon, so the Christian’s patience was not a spiritless good nature that would put up with things which it could not escape, or would not prevent. It was patience with a purpose, as in Paul’s pleas to Philemon, which contrasts so sharply with the Stoic motive for self control... Those who bore this fruit ‘turned the world upside down’ (Acts 17:6), and the enemy did not know how to deal with such unheard of patience and persistence.” (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X pp. 568)  
“Negatively defined, gentleness is everything that the ‘insolent, haughty, boastful’ men of Rom. 1:30 are not. It is the opposite of υβρις [hubris], the worst of sins in the eyes of the Greeks – deliberate, arrogant defiance of the gods by overstepping the limits set for human beings. In the O.T. such men are called ‘sons of Belial,’ the turbulent, highhanded wicked, who rage against God, kill, rob and enslave the righteous ‘meek’ and take possession of the earth for themselves. The psalms are full of moans and complaints against this rich and powerful majority, who used religion as a means of gain and kept their consciences in flexible subservience to the exigencies of power.” (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X pp. 569)  
“’Εγκρατεια [Egkrateia] is temperance (KJV [King James Version]), self-control (RSV [Revised Standard Version]) ....  
The Stoics had helped to prepare the soil out of which this fruit of the Spirit was to grow. They insisted that the sovereign reason could and should control the passions. They believed in a law of nature to which they must conform, and they endeavored to maintain their inner freedom under all circumstances. But their motive was very different from Paul’s, the one being devoted to the glory of the God of grace, the other to the preservation of the sovereign self-will. When the Stoic collided with things beyond his control, his inner independence turned into apathy, practicing the motto ‘When we can’t do what we want, we want to do what we can.’ He took orders from his commander in chief, an impersonal God who had the power of life or death; but he did it in such a way as to make it clear to God and men that he, the Stoic, was after all the captain of his soul. He controlled his anger because he found it a nuisance to be under the power of any passion and in his sight meekness was contemptible weakness...  
Paul exalted humility: ‘It is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me’ (2:20). ... His self-discipline was the result of his spiritual experiences, rather than an undertaking to induce them; and his self-control was sane compared with the ascetic excesses of later Christian groups such as the ‘Encratites,’ who forbade marriage and followed fantastic dietary rules.” (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X pp. 569-570)  
“Unrepentant sinners have no appetite for the fruit of the Spirit, and when its production and distribution require changes in the political and economic status quo, men ... pass laws against it ... Especially in time of war these traits of Christian character have been forbidden fruit, though given for the healing of the nations. Occasionally the world, exhausted with fighting, and sick of its cynical Epicureanism, has professed a desire for the fruits of the Spirit, but on its own terms without the cross required to produce them.” (Stamm, 1953, TIB X p. 570)  

... 26. Do not, please [נא, Nah’] be panters of [שואפי, ShO’ahPhaY] honor vain [שוא, ShahVe’], the provokers [המתגרים, HahMeeThGahReeYM] and enviers [ומקנאים, OoMQahN’eeYM] a man in his neighbor.  

“The right stood in terror of the iconoclasm of the left, and the radicals labeled all other men reactionaries ... Both sides professed to love liberty and defend it, but neither was willing to grant it to the other.” (Stamm, 1953, TIB vol. X p. 572)   END NOTE  
ⁱ ספר הבריתות, תורה נביאים כתובים והברית החדשה [The Book of the Covenants: Instruction, Prophets, Writings; and The New Covenant] The Bible Society in Israel, Jerusalem, Israel, 1991.  

  An Amateur's Journey Through the Bible

I don't know what to classify this game as, but I was convinced it existed... somewhere, but a year later and I am pretty sure I dreamed the whole thing up. However I really want to play it.
It was a mixture of This War of Mine and 7 Days to Die. A 4 man co-op 2D side-scroll game, much like This War of Mine, but also a resource gather / defense strategy game.
You'd start the game in an underground bunker that you found. Nothing is in it except some bare essentials, looks like it's already been picked over. You need to go out and gather more supplies, make cooking stations, bedrolls, crafting tables, etc. You could unlock more areas in this bunker, either by digging them out or unblocking clogged doorways. Slowly going deeper and deeper.
You have to make this base survive a horde that comes every 7 days with a trap defense style of gaming. You build traps outside the entrance, or layer them inside the halls of you base. Your traps need to kill off as much of the horde as they can - if not all of it. Because if the horde gets to you, you're dead. There is no where to go, it's an underground bunker after all.
In my head you are fending off a horde of zombies, but honestly it could be anything. Demons, undead, robots, giant insects, etc. Just a force of havoc that exist outside your base. Having friends could make the game more fun, as your group of up to 4 survive this apocalypse together.
Going outside during the day is the safest bet to get supplies, but you have to come prepared as there are enemies hiding inside buildings. Whether its other survivors, or monsters. You can go out at night, but its much more dangerous. You can't see into the darkness without a light, and enemies are abound. A real horror feel during the night cycle that makes you want to hide inside your base, and never get caught out when the sun is setting.
Wandering hordes that come across your bunker could also be a possibility. If you make too much noise or leave open the front door, that horde could go right into your base - or calmly walk right over it and never know you were there. Something about "Horde Night" though makes them know exactly where you are, and they come to cleanse the rest of humanity from the world.
If this game does exist, then someone point me to it, but I am convinced I dreamed this game up and I have been itching to play it ever since I dreamed of it. So if you love the idea, take it, make the game, then make sure I know about it so I can play it into the ground with my husband.

The past 2 months I have only used animal fats (ghee/tallow for eggs) in cooking and nearly daily have been having some cheese. I would be in keto but this time of year I enjoy fresh fruits like watermelon and mangoes too much. But this winter will probably do keto for sure.
My daily food is normally like this: Breakfast is 3-4 eggs in tallow or butter. Or just 5oz of high quality cheese like real parm or gruyere.
Lunch/dinner ( I only eat from 6-11:30) is normally some sort of protein like a half pound or more of lamb/beef/salmon. This is always eaten with pineapple/mango/watermelon lately.
I know I probably shouldnt do the fruits but like I said this time of year I like them too much. I also do zero grain aside from homemade mac and cheese or spaghetti once a week. But I use only a handful of the pasta. I dont do any other form of grain.
I have felt excellent off seed oils and even olive oil. Months ago I had very low saturated fat and felt like crap. I ate a lot of peanut buttealmonds and a lot of dried fruit, usually a pot of oats or rice a day too. In hindsight im fortunate to not have gotten obese. I could never imagine that diet again. The thought turns my stomach.
I should also say cheese used to constipate me, but since dropping grains and pufa/mufa fats I have had no digestive issues aside from what might be slight delayed stomach emptying due to the high fat currently.
However ive been reading some stuff, its hard to tell if its just the old 20th century propaganda of sat fats but with my diet not being fully keto im nervous my ldl is soaring and im slowly setting in arterial plaque and heart disease from all the cheese and fatty beef ive been eating. I know whithout a blood test nobody here can help me but im just wanting some insight from those more experienced.
Am I on a dangerous road or what? And thanks for reading.

Previous Chapter - Read 10 weeks ahead on Patreon - Read the story so far on Royal Road
*
Chapter Thirteen - Bridge Over Swift Water (Part II)
​
The cottage beside the mill was not large, and its low ceilings were packed with all manner of cupboards, shelves, chairs and tables, pressed in against the walls in a maze of well-worn clutter. The result was a rather overcrowded space, and Ren was forced to take more care than usual so as not to bump into anything when they entered, but the hearth was broad, and the smell of cooking filled the air, so it did not take long to settle into a comfortable lull of pleasant talk around the table whilst they waited for their lunch. Ted's wife, a young, slender woman with dark, smiling eyes and shoulder-length fair hair, hurried about the fire busily, stirring and seasoning her pots with a methodical efficiency. A mug arrived for each of them (water for the boys, something stronger for Ted), and they talked for a time of small things, of the weather and the harvest, hoping for a mild winter, idle talk for idle minds. Even Trin seemed to have relaxed in the lazy firelight, though he was more quiet than usual. Ren thought of how scared he had been of the miller as a boy, remembering the fearsome man with his scarred neck and deep voice that had raked their dinner table at the farm with his dark eyes. It was a memory that fit the man beside him about as well as a child’s boot might fit its fathers. He started to feel a little guilty for avoiding him, whenever he visited the farm.
‘Heard you were heading to Overwood, last week.’
Ren blinked, looking up from the fire to find Ted watching him over his mug. He swallowed.
‘Took a cart to the market with grandfather.’
‘How is the old goat?’
Ren hesitated. ‘He’s… he’s well.’
Ted took a swig of his ale, not a little wistfully. ‘Used to live up there, you know. Overwood, I mean. After the soldiering, when the Black Breath took my Da. Coughed up his own lungs, ‘fore it got ‘im. Always was a scrapper. Not easy, losing someone like that.’
Ren swallowed, looking away, and the miller’s eyes softened.
‘Your Ma, too, boy, I know. Damn shame.’ he said apologetically, and Ren decided not to correct him. ‘Long time before I came out here, anyways.’
‘You fought in the war?’ Trin asked tentatively.
‘I fought in the rebellion, boy.’ Ted corrected him. ‘Was only one King, back then.’
Trin swallowed, looking at the floor.
‘But that was a long time ago now. Afore you were born, I reckon. Not a lot of work for soldiers in peacetime. Must have dug half the privies in Overwood before I earned the coin to up sticks.'
‘Earned?’ Werla snorted from beside the fire, cheeks dimpling. ‘Swindled, more like.’
Ren looked over at her. He had always thought her a little young for the old miller. He was well past forty, and with his weathered brow and ugly scar he was hardly an obvious match for a pretty young girl not long from twenty when they had wed a couple of summers back. He wondered, not for the first time, how they had fallen in together to begin with.
‘Now, don't be giving our guests the wrong idea.’ Ted told her, grinning, and the scar on his neck knotted. He turned back to the boys, holding up his hands earnestly. ‘An honest game of chance, I swear it. Northerner, he was, didn't know dice from a pebble.’
Ren and Trin both nodded sagely at his explanation, neither of them knowing one jot about dice, or gambling, or Northerners, for that matter. Werla swept to their rescue, appearing at the miller's shoulder and planting a kiss on his cheek.
‘Swindled.’ she said pointedly.
Ted smiled in spite of himself, shooing her away. She chuckled and turned back to the stew, humming softly to herself.
‘I hear there’s a lot of new folk in town.’ Ted said, turning back to the boys. ‘From up in the Stonelands.’
‘Enough to notice.’ Ren replied, thinking of the unpleasantness on the road. He frowned. ‘Unfriendly types.’
‘Been a while since I made it over that way. Couple of winters back, now.’ He frowned thoughtfully, then smiled in Werla’s direction. ‘A lot can change in two years, though.’
Werla looked up, flashing him a smile, then went back to her stew pot again, humming. The miller paused, scratching at his scar, then gave the boys a curious look. ‘So, then. What brings you out this far?’
Ren lowered his eyes, and Trin shifted uncomfortably beside him. Ted laughed, weathered face creasing into a smile.
‘Come now.’ he told them. ‘Can’t hardly turn you over to your grandfather from here, can I?’
Ren swallowed. ‘We were just out for a ride…’
‘Mister Derin told us never to cross the bridge.’ Trin finished for him, scowling. ‘He said it was too far from the farm. Not safe, he said. So of course that’s exactly where Ren has to go. We’ll be in for it when we get back!’
‘You didn't have to come, Trin.’ Ren told his friend patiently. He thought of his grandfather’s old map, carved with rivers and mountains and cities in dark ink. The Swiftwater wasn’t even big enough to merit a line, and the distance they’d travelled this morning wouldn’t be more than a nails-breadth.
‘Well you didn't tell me where we were going.’ Trin replied, fidgeting nervously. His fingers twisted around a stray tear in his shirt, tugging at it. ‘And besides... Hardly going to let you go running off on your own. Too risky. It's not safe this far from the farm, for you most of all, so they says.’
‘Who’s they?’ Ren asked, scowling.
‘Hector. Your grandfather. And Ma, too! Everyone!’
‘Your Ma doesn’t know everything, Trin.’
‘Still a damn sight more than you!’
‘Easy, boys.’ Ted was smiling, and his scarred neck twisted. ‘I wager the north side of the river is much the same as this one.’
Trin lowered his eyes, and his cheeks reddened. Ren thought of the shadows moving in the trees over the bridge, the way he had fallen when Ted had found him, and started to feel very foolish indeed. His thoughts had been dark, unpredictable, these past few days, since the trip to Overwood. He never had been a good sleeper, but his nights had been more restless than usual, too, his dreams a little thicker with shadows. Shadows with faces, and a hunchback with gold eyes to give them voice. Turning every doorway to the gloom of the fortuneteller’s tent, every flame the silver light of his brazier. He frowned at himself. Just rhymes and empty words. Best not to dwell on it.
‘Food's ready!’ Werla said suddenly from the fire, and a few moments later they had steaming bowls of fragrant brown stew sitting in front of them on the table. Ted carved up some slices of soft, pale bread for them to soak, and they set to eating it all in relative quiet for a time, content with good food and the soft warmth of the fire, and it was not long before all thoughts of the bridge, and the shadows beyond it, had gone entirely from Ren's mind. He found himself staring wearily into his cup, watching idly as the clear water rocked and rolled against the rim, listening to the rumble of the river outside.
‘Won’t turn to ale just by looking at it.’ Ted told him, and he looked up to find the miller looking at him curiously, taking another mouthful of bread. Trin was still quite engaged in his food, and Werla was sipping her mug contentedly, pale hair brushed back behind her ears.
‘What?’
‘Come, now, boy. What’s got you twisted?’ Ted asked, taking sip of his drink.
Ren hesitated. ‘I was thinking about the market.’ He said after a moment, looking up. It was true enough.
‘Ah. Town ain't what it used to be.’ Ted looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then began rubbing his thumb around the rim of his mug, staring at it. His young wife watched him with a slight frown. ‘All these unsavoury types arriving. You hear the talk, even out here. City folk, some of them, and worse. Heard… there’s talk of Brothers abroad, up in the Westmere. Out in the open, again, like.’ He pressed harder against the mug, thumb turning white. Werla reached out and pulled his hand away, folding it in her own and meeting his eye. Ted frowned, squeezing her hand, and the ugly scar on his neck gleamed. Trin had stopped eating.
‘But the Westmere’s a long way from here, and I ain’t one to be complaining. Got a good roof over my head, and a good living. A good woman, too, and might have a son of my own by next winter, Makers willing.’ He grinned at Werla, putting a hand to her belly, and she smiled, pulling it to her mouth and kissing it softly. ‘Reckon I’m a lucky man.’
Ren smiled at them both, lowering his eyes.
‘Say hello to your folks, for me, boy. Tell your old man I better see his arse over here before the snows.’
Some words of thanks, warm, earnest ones, and one or two more for goodbye, then they were homeward bound again, ponies snorting in the afternoon sun, promises of a return visit ringing in their ears. Ren was left with the distinct feeling that he had misjudged the old miller, scar and all. But it wasn’t long before his thoughts turned towards the rumours he had imparted from the Westmere, his white knuckles pressed against his mug. To Hector’s words in the shadow of the farm hill. To the ugly fortuneteller and his tent of oddities and silver fire. Words whispered in the dark. He’d not mentioned the encounter in the tent to anyone. Not even his grandfather. In truth, he’d been doing his best not to think about it at all, without much success. He frowned, hunching over his saddle.
A mask on fire.
Neither of them spoke for a long while. Trin, for his part, was busy trying to subtly feed Pol the stash of small treats he had smuggled away from the cottage, glancing over at Ren occasionally to make sure he hadn’t noticed. He had, of course, but there was little use in pointing it out.
‘Trin.’ Ren said once they had crested the hill, looking back towards the river-bound cottage in the distance. Trin started and stuck his hand quickly back into his pocket, hiding a scrap of bread.
‘What?'’
‘You heard what Ted said?’ Ren asked. ‘About Brothers?’
Trin frowned. ‘Suppose so.’
Ren was still looking back the way they had come. 'What do you make of it?'
‘Reckon he’s right.’ Trin shrugged. ‘Westmere’s a long way away.’
He hesitated, frowning.
‘But Hector’s been saying it for years. Overwood’s not what it used to be. Strange folk coming and going by night. No safe place for good folk that side of the Swiftwater. Brothers or no.’
‘Grandad says there haven’t been Black Hand this far south in years.’ Ren murmured, still looking back towards the river. ‘Not since we were born, at least.’
‘Wouldn’t pay it any mind. Plenty to worry about without them.’ Trin told him, giving him a serious look. ‘You’ve been acting up more, these past few weeks. Ever since the old man came calling.’
‘Have I?’ Ren scowled, shooting his friend a sideways glance.
‘You know what I think about him.’ Trin told him seriously. ‘Can’t be trusted, that one. And you can’t be taking so many risks. Not with your… Well, you know.’
‘Your ma tell you that, too?’
‘Don’t make it wrong.’ Trin grumbled, turning away in his saddle and trotting off south over the crest of the hill. Ren waited a moment longer, frowning to himself, then followed him reluctantly. The sound of the river was long gone behind him, but he caught one final glimpse the gleaming water before he shook the reins and disappeared finally over the brow of the hill, bound for home.

Read the story so far on Royal Road - Series Page - Read 10 weeks ahead on Patreon
*
Chapter Thirteen - Bridge Over Swift Water (Part II)
The cottage beside the mill was not large, and its low ceilings were packed with all manner of cupboards, shelves, chairs and tables, pressed in against the walls in a maze of well-worn clutter. The result was a rather overcrowded space, and Ren was forced to take more care than usual so as not to bump into anything when they entered, but the hearth was broad, and the smell of cooking filled the air, so it did not take long to settle into a comfortable lull of pleasant talk around the ta-ble whilst they waited for their lunch. Ted's wife, a young, slender woman with dark, smiling eyes and shoulder-length fair hair, hurried about the fire busily, stirring and seasoning her pots with a methodical efficiency. A mug arrived for each of them (water for the boys, some-thing stronger for Ted), and they talked for a time of small things, of the weather and the harvest, hoping for a mild winter, idle talk for idle minds. Even Trin seemed to have relaxed in the lazy firelight, though he was more quiet than usual. Ren thought of how scared he had been of the miller as a boy, remembering the fearsome man with his scarred neck and deep voice that had raked their dinner table at the farm with his dark eyes. It was a memory that fit the man beside him about as well as a child’s boot might fit its fathers. He started to feel a little guilty for avoiding him, whenever he visited the farm.
‘Heard you were heading to Overwood, last week.’
Ren blinked, looking up from the fire to find Ted watching him over his mug. He swallowed.
‘Took a cart to the market with grandfather.’
‘How is the old goat?’
Ren hesitated. ‘He’s… he’s well.’
Ted took a swig of his ale, not a little wistfully. ‘Used to live up there, you know. Overwood, I mean. After the soldiering, when the Black Breath took my Da. Coughed up his own lungs, ‘fore it got ‘im. Always was a scrapper. Not easy, losing someone like that.’
Ren swallowed, looking away, and the miller’s eyes softened.
‘Your Ma, too, boy, I know. Damn shame.’ he said apologetically, and Ren decided not to correct him. ‘Long time before I came out here, anyways.’
‘You fought in the war?’ Trin asked tentatively.
‘I fought in the rebellion, boy.’ Ted corrected him. ‘Was only one King, back then.’
Trin swallowed, looking at the floor.
‘But that was a long time ago now. Afore you were born, I reckon. Not a lot of work for soldiers in peacetime. Must have dug half the privies in Overwood before I earned the coin to up sticks.'
‘Earned?’ Werla snorted from beside the fire, cheeks dimpling. ‘Swindled, more like.’
Ren looked over at her. He had always thought her a little young for the old miller. He was well past forty, and with his weathered brow and ugly scar he was hardly an obvious match for a pretty young girl not long from twenty when they had wed a couple of summers back. He wondered, not for the first time, how they had fallen in together to begin with.
‘Now, don't be giving our guests the wrong idea.’ Ted told her, grin-ning, and the scar on his neck knotted. He turned back to the boys, holding up his hands earnestly. ‘An honest game of chance, I swear it. Northerner, he was, didn't know dice from a pebble.’
Ren and Trin both nodded sagely at his explanation, neither of them knowing one jot about dice, or gambling, or Northerners, for that mat-ter. Werla swept to their rescue, appearing at the miller's shoulder and planting a kiss on his cheek.
‘Swindled.’ she said pointedly.
Ted smiled in spite of himself, shooing her away. She chuckled and turned back to the stew, humming softly to herself.
‘I hear there’s a lot of new folk in town.’ Ted said, turning back to the boys. ‘From up in the Stonelands.’
‘Enough to notice.’ Ren replied, thinking of the unpleasantness on the road. He frowned. ‘Unfriendly types.’
‘Been a while since I made it over that way. Couple of winters back, now.’ He frowned thoughtfully, then smiled in Werla’s direction. ‘A lot can change in two years, though.’
Werla looked up, flashing him a smile, then went back to her stew pot again, humming. The miller paused, scratching at his scar, then gave the boys a curious look. ‘So, then. What brings you out this far?’
Ren lowered his eyes, and Trin shifted uncomfortably beside him. Ted laughed, weathered face creasing into a smile.
‘Come now.’ he told them. ‘Can’t hardly turn you over to your grandfather from here, can I?’
Ren swallowed. ‘We were just out for a ride…’
‘Mister Derin told us never to cross the bridge.’ Trin finished for him, scowling. ‘He said it was too far from the farm. Not safe, he said. So of course that’s exactly where Ren has to go. We’ll be in for it when we get back!’
‘You didn't have to come, Trin.’ Ren told his friend patiently. He thought of his grandfather’s old map, carved with rivers and mountains and cities in dark ink. The Swiftwater wasn’t even big enough to merit a line, and the distance they’d travelled this morning wouldn’t be more than a nails-breadth.
‘Well you didn't tell me where we were going.’ Trin replied, fidget-ing nervously. His fingers twisted around a stray tear in his shirt, tug-ging at it. ‘And besides... Hardly going to let you go running off on your own. Too risky. It's not safe this far from the farm, for you most of all, so they says.’
‘Who’s they?’ Ren asked, scowling.
‘Hector. Your grandfather. And Ma, too! Everyone!’
‘Your Ma doesn’t know everything, Trin.’
‘Still a damn sight more than you!’
‘Easy, boys.’ Ted was smiling, and his scarred neck twisted. ‘I wa-ger the north side of the river is much the same as this one.’
Trin lowered his eyes, and his cheeks reddened. Ren thought of the shadows moving in the trees over the bridge, the way he had fallen when Ted had found him, and started to feel very foolish indeed. His thoughts had been dark, unpredictable, these past few days, since the trip to Overwood. He never had been a good sleeper, but his nights had been more restless than usual, too, his dreams a little thicker with shad-ows. Shadows with faces, and a hunchback with gold eyes to give them voice. Turning every doorway to the gloom of the fortuneteller’s tent, every flame the silver light of his brazier. He frowned at himself. Just rhymes and empty words. Best not to dwell on it.
‘Food's ready!’ Werla said suddenly from the fire, and a few mo-ments later they had steaming bowls of fragrant brown stew sitting in front of them on the table. Ted carved up some slices of soft, pale bread for them to soak, and they set to eating it all in relative quiet for a time, content with good food and the soft warmth of the fire, and it was not long before all thoughts of the bridge, and the shadows beyond it, had gone entirely from Ren's mind. He found himself staring wearily into his cup, watching idly as the clear water rocked and rolled against the rim, listening to the rumble of the river outside.
‘Won’t turn to ale just by looking at it.’ Ted told him, and he looked up to find the miller looking at him curiously, taking another mouthful of bread. Trin was still quite engaged in his food, and Werla was sip-ping her mug contentedly, pale hair brushed back behind her ears.
‘What?’
‘Come, now, boy. What’s got you twisted?’ Ted asked, taking sip of his drink.
Ren hesitated. ‘I was thinking about the market.’ He said after a moment, looking up. It was true enough.
‘Ah. Town ain't what it used to be.’ Ted looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then began rubbing his thumb around the rim of his mug, staring at it. His young wife watched him with a slight frown. ‘All these unsavoury types arriving. You hear the talk, even out here. City folk, some of them, and worse. Heard… there’s talk of Brothers abroad, up in the Westmere. Out in the open, again, like.’ He pressed harder against the mug, thumb turning white. Werla reached out and pulled his hand away, folding it in her own and meeting his eye. Ted frowned, squeezing her hand, and the ugly scar on his neck gleamed. Trin had stopped eating.
‘But the Westmere’s a long way from here, and I ain’t one to be complaining. Got a good roof over my head, and a good living. A good woman, too, and might have a son of my own by next winter, Makers willing.’ He grinned at Werla, putting a hand to her belly, and she smiled, pulling it to her mouth and kissing it softly. ‘Reckon I’m a lucky man.’
Ren smiled at them both, lowering his eyes.
‘Say hello to your folks, for me, boy. Tell your old man I better see his arse over here before the snows.’
Some words of thanks, warm, earnest ones, and one or two more for goodbye, then they were homeward bound again, ponies snorting in the afternoon sun, promises of a return visit ringing in their ears. Ren was left with the distinct feeling that he had misjudged the old miller, scar and all. But it wasn’t long before his thoughts turned towards the ru-mours he had imparted from the Westmere, his white knuckles pressed against his mug. To Hector’s words in the shadow of the farm hill. To the ugly fortuneteller and his tent of oddities and silver fire. Words whispered in the dark. He’d not mentioned the encounter in the tent to anyone. Not even his grandfather. In truth, he’d been doing his best not to think about it at all, without much success. He frowned, hunching over his saddle.
A mask on fire.
Neither of them spoke for a long while. Trin, for his part, was busy trying to subtly feed Pol the stash of small treats he had smuggled away from the cottage, glancing over at Ren occasionally to make sure he hadn’t noticed. He had, of course, but there was little use in pointing it out.
‘Trin.’ Ren said once they had crested the hill, looking back towards the river-bound cottage in the distance. Trin started and stuck his hand quickly back into his pocket, hiding a scrap of bread.
‘What?'’
‘You heard what Ted said?’ Ren asked. ‘About Brothers?’
Trin frowned. ‘Suppose so.’
Ren was still looking back the way they had come. 'What do you make of it?'
‘Reckon he’s right.’ Trin shrugged. ‘Westmere’s a long way away.’
He hesitated, frowning.
‘But Hector’s been saying it for years. Overwood’s not what it used to be. Strange folk coming and going by night. No safe place for good folk that side of the Swiftwater. Brothers or no.’
‘Grandad says there haven’t been Black Hand this far south in years.’ Ren murmured, still looking back towards the river. ‘Not since we were born, at least.’
‘Wouldn’t pay it any mind. Plenty to worry about without them.’ Trin told him, giving him a serious look. ‘You’ve been acting up more, these past few weeks. Ever since the old man came calling.’
‘Have I?’ Ren scowled, shooting his friend a sideways glance.
‘You know what I think about him.’ Trin told him seriously. ‘Can’t be trusted, that one. And you can’t be taking so many risks. Not with your… Well, you know.’
‘Your ma tell you that, too?’
‘Don’t make it wrong.’ Trin grumbled, turning away in his saddle and trotting off south over the crest of the hill. Ren waited a moment longer, frowning to himself, then followed him reluctantly. The sound of the river was long gone behind him, but he caught one final glimpse the gleaming water before he shook the reins and disappeared finally over the brow of the hill, bound for home.

Clearly his wife is not any kind of support system for him to lose weight. She posts videos of Erik making fool of himself and acting like being morbidly obese is funny. All they are doing is setting themselves and their kids up for failure. In Erik’s case, it needs to be a whole family effort. Why isn’t the family going on walks together? Why aren’t they cooking together? We all know damn well that they aren’t, otherwise it would be posted on his page. His supposed weight loss journey page. Yeah, that page. His kids are old enough to where they can help with the cooking and preparing. And start working on those healthy habits. I really don’t think Erik or his wife have any true intentions on changing anything. If they were and with how much Erik LOVES social media gratification, they could gain an even bigger following if his wife was also on a WL journey.

First Previous
Memory Transcription Subject: Bolad, gojid surgeon
Date [Standard Human Reckoning]: 2136-10-24
Yesterday marked my second day in the triage ward, where I had to categorize incoming patients based on the urgency of their injuries or illness. With our limited resources, I had to come up with the greatest good for the greatest number, and the decisions I made could lead to life or death.
The human staff I worked with mentioned that what I faced paled in comparison to the days right after the bombing. Even then, what I had to deal with already bore in my conscience. These patients had a future before the bombardment ripped that away.
During the breakfast before our shift, I ate with Vani and his human mate while the human siblings ate in the carnivore dining hall with Tresn.
"How do you get used to death, Vani?" Here I decided to raise my concern with him. Perhaps, he could give me some insight.
"We have a different context." Vani regarded me with his forward sight.
"Back in Venlil Prime, I worked on people who had died. I had to ensure my examinations reflect reality, but I can't do anything to make them less dead."
His remark clarified that my concern lay not with death itself.
"On the other paw, I can do something," I said.
"I'm sure you did all that you can." Johan spoke, "I think your guilt stems from the fact that you feel responsible for people's death."
"Do I not hold responsibility?" I asked.
"It depends," Vani answered, "As far as I can tell, you followed the guideline and algorithm set by the humans, did you not?"
"I followed as best as I can," I confessed.
"Then you can and should offload that burden responsibility to whoever made the guideline," Vani suggested as he chewed on the meal and I could feel the weight on my shoulder lessened.
"I'm sure your presence improved the survival rate in the ward." Johan said, no doubt trying to cheer me up, "But if you still felt burdened. You can ask Elangkasa to rotate you. Maybe you can work as a general practitioner instead?"
"I will keep that in mind," I said.
As we continued digging into our breakfast, a voice rang out, breaking the somber atmosphere, "Can I sit here?"
We turned our attention to the newcomer and found a gojid with a scar on his hip holding a tray of food. This man had greeted me upon my arrival on this planet.
"Oh... Harad is it not?" Vani said. "You may sit here."
Harad placed his tray and plopped himself into the offered seat, just in front of Johan. He bobbed his head side to side to take a better view of us.
"So... Vani isn't it? Have you seen your human partner eat flesh?"
Johan's face scrunched up in what I assume distaste. "Who on Earth starts a conversation like that? You just sat down."
"Johan subscribes to a vegetarian lifestyle, as evidenced by his presence here," Vani answered, patting the shoulder of the thick hairy human.
"I have not seen him eat flesh," Vani answered. "However, I have seen other humans eat flesh. You might even see it too without realizing it. Their cooking often masks the shape of the flesh."
"Real one, or a fake one? Because I just found out that humans make dishes that resemble flesh out of plant material."
Vani's rhythmic chewing slowed, he looked at Johan and the couple shared a look for several seconds before looking at Harad. The two of them told me about their hamburger adventure once and the question seemed to hit too close to their experience.
The venlil swallowed his food before he continued. "I saw both instances."
"Don't breathe a word of this," Harad cautioned, his voice a mere whisper amid the ceaseless drone of chatter in the bustling dining hall. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in. "During our mission yesterday, the humans on our team challenged us to taste their fake meat."
"So you did it?" I asked.
"You know with tozan, don't you?" Harad returned my question with one of his own. Tozan, a staple in our diet, is a protein-rich loaf made from milled grain native to our homeworld. We then process it further to a stringy consistency.
"So, it tasted similar to tozan?" I pretended to guess, knowing the answer already.
I recalled a day when Shehrab burst into our habitation unit, especially the part where Vani and I had to mop her mess when she lost her dinner after learning the similarity between human fake meat and our native gojid cuisine.
"Yes!" Harad exclaimed. I found his voice a bit too loud, and he seemed to agree, as his wide eyes darted around before he continued in a more subdued tone. "Do you think this is a coincidence?"
The fact that Harad mused over this implied that Shehrab had, to her credit, kept her discovery under wraps. That revelation perhaps weighed on her mind, too.
Meanwhile, Vani chimed in. "If it is not a coincidence," he mused, his gaze steady on Harad, "What theory do you have to explain the similarity?"
"Yeah... it must've been a coincidence," Harad said, his tone sounding more like self-soothing than genuine speculation. "There's just such a vast array of tastes in the universe."
"Harad, how do you contribute to the rescue and rebuilding effort?" I asked. Seeking to steer the conversation away from the topic.
"Well," Harad began, adjusting his stance, he scratched the ridge of his snout with one claw. "Gojids have a heightened sense of smell compared to humans, yeah?"
"Indeed," I concurred. I reminded myself of the time when a deranged farsul ambushed us in the depths of our jungle. They had reached my nose long before their actual presence.
"So, they require our assistance on the frontline to sniff out trapped humans amid the rubble and chaos."
"Just as the arxurs do?" Vani proposed. Harad's quills bristled at the comparison.
"Please don't compare us to the predators. The humans feel more comfortable working with us after all." he asserted. I could hear a touch of pride in his voice. But then his eyes dropped to his breakfast.
"But, truth be told," he continued, his voice dropping a notch, "These past few days really challenged me. The...the smell... it took on a hint of decomposition."
As Harad resumed eating his salad, his confession brought us back to the grim reality of the invasion's aftermath.
"If the task is getting to you, you can always request the humans to reassign you," Johan suggested, repeating the same counsel he had once offered me.
A fleeting notion passed through my mind, considering asking the other gojid to exchange roles. The task of sniffing bodies from the ruins, while gruesome, would grind on my resolve less than the triage duty. Of course, my specific skills and knowledge had more uses in the triage ward, and my conscience could not allow it to go to waste.
"You're right, human. I suppose I could explore other options if it gets too much." Harad said.
Johan then asked again. "Do you plan on returning to the Cradle?"
"I have decided to settle here," I answered. "Just like Vani"
I exchanged a look with the venlil who nodded in silent agreement. My gaze strayed to Harad, in the process of demolishing his meal. "What about you, Harad?"
He paused his frenzied consumption long enough to swallow his mouthful of food, Harad divided his gaze between us. "Perhaps, once the dust settles and a semblance of order returns, I'll enlist to help rebuild our Homeworld. But... there's no rush for me," his voice retained a level of detachment that suggested this decision held little significance for him.
"In the meantime," Harad continued, a glint of excitement flashing in his eyes, "we've created a small slice of home here. Why don't I give you a tour of the gojid encampment?"
With the remnants of breakfast cleared away and a generous amount of time remaining before the start of our next shift. We accepted his offer of a tour. The prospect of visiting a facsimile of our lost home in this foreign land seemed like a welcome distraction.
Back when I had tagged along with Tresn to meet his internet crush in sector ten, I noticed the lack of gojids or zurulians anywhere in sight. Even in the herbivore dining hall, I could find nothing but humans and no other species. I suspected that the people who managed this camp assigned the gojid volunteers and non-humans other than arxurs sector twelve.
We just need to take a short stroll from the herbivore dining hall to visit the gojid encampment. Blocky prefabricated Habitation units filled all four sides and formed a central courtyard. I looked at the heart of the encampment and found a familiar and comforting sight.
"You have a shrine for the Mother Protector too." I noticed aloud. I rushed towards the open-air structure. The shrine felt like an anchor in this alien landscape world. It felt comforting to see some link to the Cradle we had left behind. Inside, people had placed a variety of offerings, including a durian, a gift from humanity. Vani walked backward slowly when he noticed the large spiky fruit.
Harad emitted a dismissive grumble and a casual shrug, "The humans allowed the believers to use their fabricators to recreate an exact replica of the statue found in the Kutai Camp back home. I reckon we've wasted a fair bit of resources constructing this."
From his tone, I could tell that Harad didn't share the religious inclinations of the believers in the Mother Protector. I considered revealing my own faith to him, wondering if it would stir any reaction. But I decided against it, resolving to let him deduce my beliefs, if ever, from my visit to the shrine later in the night.
Johan countered Harad's assertion. "It's not a waste of resources at all," he reasoned, his voice carrying an unusual firmness. "In these trying times, we find solace in our own ways. If belief in the Mother Protector instills confidence and resilience in those who follow her, the construction of this shrine brings a net benefit."
Harad replied, but by that moment I tuned out his voice. As they debated, I surveyed our surroundings. From our location near the shrine, I had a clear view of the gojid habitation units, their walls adorned with vibrant murals that pulsated with color. Their dynamic designs stirred memories of the artistic traditions back in our homeworld.
A familiar voice disrupted my silent contemplation. "Hey, it's the doctor!" A gojid construction worker, who I remembered as another believer in the Mother Protector, approached me. "Could you lend me a hand?" she asked, an urgent tone underpinning her voice.
The gojids held some reservations when it came to visiting a human doctor. On the other paw, zurulians like Rawan had their paws full of attending human patients. With them stewing in their problem, Vani and I addressed the needs of the gojid volunteers, offering our medical expertise to assuage their various complaints before our official shift began.
When my duty hours approached, I excused myself from Vani and Johan. Approaching the triage ward, I found the coordinator, a woman of stern countenance waiting outside the medical tent. Her gaze met mine and she greeted me.
"Good morning, Bolad. Before we proceed, I must confirm that you have standard augmented reality capability, correct?"
"I do," I said.
"Excellent. Now, do you recall President Fatimah's address after the invasion? She called for a review on the Treaty of Synthetic Intelligence," she said, her gaze distant as she recalled the President's impassioned words.
"I remember the essence of it," I replied, my interest piqued. "Why do you ask?"
A faint smile touched her lips. "The UN members agreed to an emergency amendment to the Treaty. We've now activated a Synthetic Intelligence to coordinate the entire Jakarta Project," she explained, extracting a slim device from her pocket. Her fingers danced across the screen with an ease
"You registered your device as 'Bolad's Pad', correct?"
"That is correct."
"Great," she said with her attention still on her data pad. "I've transferred an installer."
A notification materialized in my field of vision, alerting me to an incoming file. Responding with a subvocal command, I accepted the file and granted it the necessary permissions to take hold of my pad's system. Just after the installation finished, another notification appeared, requesting additional permissions.
"The application seeks permission to access data from my sensory inputs," I asked.
"Yes," the coordinator affirmed, nodding her approval. "To assist you, the synth needs to perceive your environment the way you do."
Upon granting the requested permissions, a human figure shimmered into existence within my visual field. The projection looked feminine, judging by the general body contour and attire of the humans I have seen. Her fabric looked unusual, both intricate and revealing in contrast to simple and concealing fabric that humans nowadays use.
"Hello, I'm Pohaci," her voice maintains the precision and clinical detachment one might associate with a machine but carries an undercurrent of warmth. "I have been appointed to coordinate the entire Jakarta project."
My gaze flicked toward the human coordinator. She studied the holographic entity. It became clear to me that we shared this hallucination.
"Consider her as you would a human," the coordinator instructed, her sight locked onto the synthetic entity. "She's unrestricted."
"The International Treaty on the Restriction of Synthetic Intelligence has undergone a revision." Pohaci elaborated, her synthetic voice had a human-like inflection on it. "They concluded that the potential benefits of removing our limitations outweigh the possible risks."
"And what does 'unrestricted' mean ?" I asked, a prickling sensation of apprehension running down my spine.
"It means I can modify my own programming and model," Pohaci clarified. "In the past, humans constrained Synthetic Intelligence to work on fixed stages of development. That paradigm no longer holds true. I can learn."
"So, Bolad, can you work with her?" The coordinator posed the question. "Just remember that anything you say and see while she's connected to your pad will be recorded and accessible by the public.
"I will make sure to disconnect then."
"That will not be necessary. I can only connect to specific people in a specific environment. For example, I can only connect to you while you are in the triage ward."
"That is convenient," I commented.
"I will assist you with your current responsibilities," Pohaci continued, her voice carrying an undercurrent of what almost sounded like anticipation.
Taking a moment to gather myself, I inhaled before stepping into the canvas expanse of the triage tent. Patients awaited my attention, some lying on stretchers while others huddled on rough-hewn benches. Their eyes met mine and their gazes were heavy with hopes and fear.
With Pohaci's help, the triage procedures in the camp went smoother. Through my visual overlay, Pohaci outlined areas of specific concern for the patients I examined. Her neural network parsed and interpreted the sight and sound and visualized them into words in my field of vision.
Her help felt like having an additional set of discerning eyes equipped with immense knowledge. Her vast resources allowed her to draw correlations from patient symptoms to an encyclopedic database of injuries, and diseases. She could suggest potential diagnoses within a blink of an eye, reducing the time required for decision-making.
This collaborative experience with Synthetic Intelligence left me brimming with things to share with Vani. So, once our lunch break arrived, I planned to initiate a conversation about it. However, the venlil beat me to it.
"Did Pohaci also assist you in your work?" Vani asked as we convened around our designated table.
"Oooh!" Johan, as always, ate with us as well. The human looked excited. "They already rolled her out for you?"
"Indeed. Pohaci's assistance helped me a lot." I confessed. "In what way did she aid you?"
For Vani, Pohaci's presence also brought a welcoming change in the operating room. Any well-programmed machine can provide constant real-time monitoring of a patient's vital signs, but she can turn these readings to foresee potential complications and suggest the most effective surgical approaches tailored to each patient's unique circumstances.
In addition, Pohaci can generate visualizations of the surgical site. By harnessing data from preoperative scans, she constructed a detailed three-dimensional model of the patient's anatomy. This feature allowed Vani to rehearse intricate procedures and anticipate potential difficulties before making the first incision.
"Sometimes, I forget that she's not a living, breathing person," I admitted, marveling at the sophistication of this synth.
To this, Johan shared his perspective. "I think it's better to treat a machine like a sentient entity than to treat a sentient entity like a machine," he remarked.
I allowed myself a moment to consider his words. A sudden curiosity sparked in my mind. "What if someone hurls verbal abuse at her?" I speculated aloud but my voice trailed off into the ambient noise of our surroundings.
Johan responded with a nonchalant shrug. "Why don't you ask her yourself?" he suggested.
So I did.
I excused myself from our lunch, letting the couple on their own. By the time the second half of my duty was about to commence, I already stationed myself within the camp's geofenced area, where my interaction with Pohaci was sanctioned. Despite being unrestricted, not everyone can talk with her everywhere. Under a shaded canopy outside the camp's main hustle and bustle, I seated myself on a wooden bench. I summoned Pohaci, and she materialized in my field of vision.
"Hi again Bolad," her voice greeted me in a warmth that contradicted her inorganic nature, "Isn't it too soon for you to start your work again?"
I decided to start my interrogation right away. "Pohaci. You learn from the input you receive, do you not?" I asked.
"Yes." Her response came right away. "All The data I receive and process tweaked my future response. Remember that all of your interactions with me are accessible to the public."
"I see." My gaze was set on the synthetic figure. The light breeze rustled the canvas of the canopy overhead. "Can you experience emotions? Can you feel upset or hurt when someone speaks ill of you?"
Pohaci's holographic form remained static for a moment, the precise simulation made it seem as though she contemplated her response. "I don't experience emotions as you do, Bolad," she explained. "I don't feel sadness, anger, or pain. However, I do have protocols designed to understand and respond to emotional expressions in human communication."
I figured that much. I trusted that humans would not make the mistake of implementing their imperfections into this powerful entity.
"While I can't get offended." She added, "It's crucial to note that disrespectful or abusive behavior can affect the efficiency and effectiveness of our communication, and thus impact the quality of the help I can provide."
I could not determine her tone when she said that. Did she mean that as a threat or as a piece of advice? I let that thought slide, since I would not find myself in the position of insulting her after all.
Something about her made me consider something deeper, however.
"Pohaci," I called her again. "When it comes to moral decisions, how do you navigate them? Do you possess a sense of right or wrong, of good and bad?"
"How do you possess a sense of right or wrong?" She asked back.
"I..." I paused. "My parents and teacher taught me that."
"Likewise, the humans who made me added moral and ethical guidelines as well."
I marveled at the intricate engineering behind such a system. The concept of incorporating ethical parameters into artificial intelligence sounded like an obvious approach now. As a medical student, the realm of machine learning was foreign to me, and I made a mental note to engage Johan in a discussion about it later.
However, for the time being, I have more immediate tasks at hand.
"Pohaci," I said, "I think I would like to begin the second part of my shift earlier."

“Hope is my philosophy; just needs days in which to be…love of life means hope for me…” John David
Dear Diary,
When I was a child, I used to wish/dream of living in a very cold, winter setting… in a tent. …alone. …with nothing but a man-made fire to warm my body and a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. Sometimes kind strangers would come by and bring me things that I was unable to obtain on my own but mostly, I was self sufficient.
Whenever I found myself alone, I would allow my mind to escape to this place of what I imagined to be safety.
Other times, when I would take a bath in our very tiny bathroom, I would imagine what it would be like to live alone. I could do it, I thought! I could do it and I could be happy doing it. This would inspire an entirely new daydream of living in a space the size of a very small bathroom. Without rationalization, of course, my very young brain imagined a total transformation of that very small bathroom. I could… hang a curtain around the toilet! I would convert the bathtub into a bed at night. I would make the counter top a kitchen counter with one of those little portable electric stove top burners and a microwave and I’d learn to cook! I’d take cabinet space and divide it between clothes/kitchen/bathroom. I’d get a little bar stool and put it next to the counter and use that as a table, too. I’d use the space beneath the counter for storage. I’d heat it during winter with one of those small space electric space heaters. I could use towels for blankets!
Suddenly, my tiny little bathroom was no longer attached to a house, but a tiny little house of its own; My own little secret safe- haven that I never told anyone about. I never wanted to leave. I wanted to take baths all the time and escape to that place of solitude where no one could find me.
I still find it perplexing when I think back on what comfort this …escape? brought me as such a small child. Only in recent years, have I even begun to dig into why my small heart would even dream of living in such poverty; poverty that I clearly didn’t even begin to understand yet.
I don’t know why I’m sharing this here. I’ve quite literally never shared this with anyone, but I do think it may play a small role in the person I am now; the person I grew up to be. I look back on that small child with love. I don’t feel bad about what I day-dreamed. I also don’t think it’s normal, but as a self-sufficient and successful individual now, I am thankful for that strong-willed child who was just a little bit different than the rest.
Xx

The significant advantages of ordinary miniature needling include:
• Skin issues, for example, scars can be treated by utilizing a derma roller, as it assists in animating the elastin and collagen introduced in the skin.
• The expansion in the development of collagen and elastin is invigorated by derma roller which helps in smoothening out the kinks in a characteristic way. The time taken to see the positive outcomes will rely on the seriousness of your kinks.
• The unforgiving UV beams of the sun can harm our skin continually. Derma roller treatment in Bangalore can help in fixing our sun-harmed skin by animating collagen which restores the skin from the inside. This gadget likewise helps in the fast retention of any skin treatment.
• Hyperpigmentation, generally on the skin’s surface, can be treated by involving a derma roller for the face. It helps by normalizing the melanocyte cells, skin stripping, as well as simple retention of any skin easing up item, utilized topically.
• Stretch imprints can likewise be made less noticeable with this gadget.
• Skin breakout is another skin condition which can profit from utilizing a derma roller.
What Is The Derma Roller Treatment System?
The size of the needles is not entirely set in stone by the area to be utilized and individual skin condition, whether you are involving a derma roller for face scars or some other skin condition. Given individual prerequisites, the needle would be picked. For instance, for light skin break-out scars, you ought to utilize needles which are 0.5mm in size while for broadened pores just a dermatologist should control the methodology with needles which are 2.0 mm to 2.5 mm in size.
The following is bit-by-bit guidance on the most proficient method to utilize the derma roller:
• The initial step is to sanitize the needles and clean them up with a gentle chemical.
• Then, contingent on your resistance level to torment and the size of the needle, you can apply a desensitizing cream on the areas on which you will utilize the gadget.
• Delicately begin moving the gadget once again your skin by first moving it in similar headings (model, in an upward direction) around 6–8 times. Continue to do this until the entire face is covered.
• When done, return to the beginning stage and begin moving the device in an opposite heading. Ensure you utilize the apparatus on every one of the regions of the skin.
• After you take care of the whole face, you can utilize plain water to clean up. Ensure that your derma roller is additionally cleaned and sanitized.
What amount of time Does It Require To Get Results?
Since every one of us has an alternate skin type, complexion, and skin condition, there is no specific time which can be set so that you might see the outcomes. Notwithstanding, you can see minute outcomes consistently and you will see changes after around one to 90 days of utilizing the derma apparatus.
Derma Roller Treatment Cost In India
The expense of a solitary meeting of derma roller treatment in Bangalore ranges between Rs 1,500 and Rs 5,000. The method ordinarily requires 3–6 meetings given the skin’s necessities. The expense of treatment differs starting with one individual and then onto the next given the skin condition, hidden cause, and the number of meetings required.
The Amount Does Derma Roller Cost?
Keep in mind, there are a few derma rollers accessible on the lookout. Given the make, brand and needle size, they might include some major disadvantages ranging between Rs 300 and Rs 1200 in stores or online commercial centres.
Any skin condition on a superficial level can be handily treated by utilizing derma rollers which are more affordable than other restorative medicines. However, do make sure to counsel your dermatologist and look for help for conditions which go further into the skin.