Time passed. Little Isabella grew into a leggy, spritely little girl who loved to wear cloth masks. Dulcet's mother had a healthy baby boy, thanks to me being nearby to heal her hemorrhage. The older children became full on teenagers and began to hanker for the day they'd be allowed to leave the village with Danny Merchant, to seek out their fortune and match. But Danny Merchant stopped taking others with him the summer I came. News and signs of the war heightening in violence to the south had reached the north, and he could barely risk gathering and selling wares let alone taking others with him. By the end of fall, I could tell, by the haggard weight to his face, that there would be no trips next year. He didn't speak of what he'd seen to the children, but I heard whispers of it among the adults when they'd all gone to bed. Villages and whole cities razed with fire, their inhabitants burned alive. Those not burned alive were slaughtered alongside the soldiers defending them.