You can't help everyone, Yona
Hak's words echo in my head as I wander around the village, toting my bow and arrow as usual. Sometimes I call Hak a professional put-downer, but I see some sense in his words.
"Owch!" I hear someone yell. Then I hear crying.
When I turn around, I see a girl about my age sitting on the ground, cradling what looks like a very nasty cut from one of the sharp rocks that litter the small village road. She is barefoot.
"Let me help you," I tell the girl. She sniffs aside her pale hair to look at me. "Are there any good healers here?"
She gives me directions to the healer's. I notice her feet are cut and dirty, so I lend her my slippers and support her as we go to the healer's.
When we get there, the girl shrugs off my arm with a small, "Thank you," and heads in.
But I can help some.