It's obvious enough that the best place to start would be the beginning. The origins of my tragedy were innocent, if not, naïve. But you remember all of this, don't you, Alicia? Remember that day, seventeen years ago- one year before that night- when Daddy fell on his way home from the Poison Marsh? I do. That was when I realized he was sick. I had suspected it before, but that was when I first really knew. You were too young then, and I didn't want you to worry, so I didn't say anything about it at first. I asked him about it, but of course, he denied it. It wasn't until much later, half a year almost, that he would finally admit to us that he was ill- not that he even had any choice by that time. I already knew it, like I said, and I think you did too. There was a certain quietness you held when he would have a coughing fit, and a particular way you bowed your head sadly if he struggled under the weight of the wood.

Remember now? Daddy came home late that night, after dark had already set. We were waiting for him on the porch; the dinner we cooked had gotten cold. We both grew very worried. You looked scared- I was too. When he finally got home, a man had an arm around his back to help him walk. He was breathing raggedly and covered in all manner of muddy filth. You and I jumped from the porch and ran to them.

"Is he drunk?" I asked, pretending to be ashamed, but actually hoping that was the case. I knew it wasn't.

The man shook his head and Daddy didn't talk. I saw your eyes get very wide and misty, and then you darted inside the house, the door slamming behind you.

"...What happened?" I asked, not sure I wanted an answer.

The man waited before answering, choosing his words delicately. "I can't say for sure. I found him lying like this in the marsh."

I could tell I winced; something inside me cried out. To hide my grief, I demanded, "What were you doing in the marsh? That ground is holy."

He nodded. He knew. He was from Ozette, I recognized him, and he knew that our father was the man who harvested the Sacred Wood. "Are you Presea?"

With an exhalation declaring defeat, he realized I wouldn't be satisfied until I had my answer. "Your dad has gotten weak in his illness. He's hired me to help him these past few weeks. We separated for a few minutes, and then I found him like this."

So it was true. My lips quivered as I bit back tears. "You had no right," I began to scold, my voice wavering. Though I didn't intend it to, my next sentence came out as a blubbering shriek. "That's my family's duty! That's our job!"

The man stared back at me, surprised. Saline tears stung at the corners of my eyes. I don't know why that made me so angry... Perhaps it was just because I was upset at the fact that our father had fallen ill without even telling us. I had been fearing for his life, and he wouldn't even admit to anything being wrong.

"I... I'm sorry..." he stuttered at length. When I only balled my fists and clenched my teeth in reply, he continued. "Your father, he asked me, practically begged me-"

"Tradition!" I wailed, stamping my foot.

"Presea!" Finally, our daddy spoke, though he sounded pained and didn't bother to raise his head. There was a long pause, and then he sighed, asking to be taken inside.

That was the night we cried together, Alicia. The man led father inside to tend to his wounds and clean him, and I took you outside. We sat on the fallen log and just wept for a long time. We were both confused, but more than anything, we were hurt. It became clear to me that life as we knew it up until that point was over, and that frightened me so badly. After I had shed all my tears, you continued to bawl. That was the last time I cried in my life. As I pressed your shuddering frame to my side, hugging like it was you that were sick, I realized that I would have to continue our family's duty. Traditionally, it would have been for the eldest brother to fulfill the position, but mother- may Martel accept her soul- had died young, and bore only we two children. I was too young. Even a male my age wouldn't have begun to wield father's axe yet, but I knew that to preserve our family's dignity, I must begin to learn. I made no vow that night, but rather, I discerned my obligations. I did not have to promise myself I would be strong; that was already to be expected of me.

Shortly after that revelation, the man who had been tending to father exited the house and approached us again. He first looked from you to me, and then introduced himself as a human named Derryl. He proceeded to apologize to me again and again, even mumbling a few in your direction. You were still fighting tears back. I had lapsed into quiet anguish. We both sat there, silent as the sleepy town not far in the distance. Derryl continued to speak, hoping to evoke either relief or forgiveness from one of us.

"...He should be fine tonight," Derryl pressed on. I had tuned out while he prattled forward for a few seconds. "I'll send the doctor as soon as I return to the village. If he leaves at once, he could be here within twenty minutes." Derryl was clearly a strong man, but lean and tall as well. He was dressed plainly, like any other hard-working man in the area, with the same kind of feature I recognized of the men in town. Short haired, average in looks, and, all in all, very plain and normal. Such was the way of Ozette. Let's see- How old was I, eleven? Yes, that was it, weeks away from my twelfth birthday. That would make you... Close to four months away from being ten. Derryl must've been my elder by seven or eight years.

I don't know what kind of reaction Derryl was trying to provoke by telling me such things, but I gave him nothing. I think it made him sad that he couldn't console us. I must have looked awfully bleak.

After a few minutes, he sat beside me, keeping his distance, and began to speak again. "I'll take your father's place while he ails," he offered somberly. "I'm sure this will pass. It must."

"No," I replied so simply that it must have sounded cold.

"No, no," he insisted. "I want to help you two, as well as your father. He was-" color drained from his face- "that is to say, he is a good man. I won't charge anything."

I crossed my arms and faced him, my cheeks growing hot. "I am going to harvest the Sacred Wood."

Derryl looked startled. "But-"

"You are not of my line," I stated in a tone as dignified as my voice could muster. "It is not your right."

"I get it," he replied tartly, rising up. I suppose I offended him. That was not my intent, but it had to be said. "When the Church is breathing down your neck for that wood," he continued, "just maybe then you'll think otherwise." He began to walk off, then turned back around. "I guess you'd rather have the Papal Knights tearing down the trees, huh? Fine by me."

I stared back grimly. Derryl left.

When we went back inside, Daddy was already asleep, so we decided it was best to let him rest. You went to bed, too. I wasn't sleepy. I just went outside and sat on the porch again.

It was about twenty minutes later when another stranger came down the path to our home, but it wasn't the doctor. Rather, it was a brunette woman dressed in a prudent white skirt and blouse, with blue leggings and a white cap that I recognized as a nurse's. She had a general calm and quiet aura about her, and by that I knew she wasn't from nearby. Ozette women were just as civil as she, but they always seemed to be making a fuss about something. They couldn't contain their boldness. Nor did they cross their wrists over their laps and walk so properly as she.

"Hi," she greeted warmly as she reached the porch steps. "Are you one of the daughters?"

"I'm Presea," I rejoined eagerly, standing up. Finally, some real help. I would've preferred a doctor, but she was the next best thing. "Can you help my daddy?"

She patted my head, making her way past me to the door. "I hope so. I will see what I can do."

"He's trying to sleep," I warned. "Alicia too."

The nurse paused, her hand on the doorknob. "Oh? In that case, perhaps I should come back tomorrow."

I deliberated with that thought for a moment. He did need help as quickly as he could get it, but he really seemed like he needed his rest as well.

"I'll see what I can do," the woman echoed in answer to the question I never answered.

We proceeded into the back bedroom that our beds shared. I sat on one of the finely handcrafted chairs that resided in the room while she went to his bedside. We talked while she did a quick physical examination of the patient. I found out that her name was Erica, she was from Sybak, and she was training to be a full doctor. That required a certain amount of field training, so that sent her out to Ozette. She told me the doctor had been busy with a flu epidemic and probably wouldn't make it for at least a couple days. And I told her what had been happening in our household these past few months.

Father stirred only slightly as Erica looked him over. Every once in a while she'd stop to jot something down on a pad, tutting and shaking her head. I could tell, too. His eyes were watery, his breathing irregular, his skin clammy. I had seen this before, but regrettably, I blocked it out. She learned from me that his fingers trembled when he held a fork, that he drew breath raggedly when he returned from work, and that sometimes he stumbled and fell under the weight of the Sacred Wood. I learned from her that- and she was only telling me this because she thought I was a big girl- that although she wasn't sure what was wrong, it was very possible that Daddy was dying.