It is said that Love is the most powerful force in the universe. Stronger than even the strongest of spells and darkest of evils, and able to conquer all adversity.

If that is true, then the most powerful form of love itself is undoubtedly the love of a mother for her children: the eternal bond between parent and child, as ancient and eternal as life itself, nothing in the world as strong or as pure.

And in all the hearts that beat within the land of Nimh, perhaps no other beat with such love as the heart of Elizabeth Brisby.

As far as most rodentkin went, Mrs. Brisby was a very normal mouse. She was an exceptionally-beautiful doe, perhaps, but that didn't have an impact on how she lived. Like most of the mice that lived in the open plains of Nimh, she was a humble farm-mouse who lived by the way of the land: growing and harvesting the food that would feed her and her children through the continent's harsh winters. No means an adventurous nor glamorous life like the tales of old, by any means, but it was safe, comfortable, and warm.

And for a young mother whose children were the light of her life and heart alike, this was more than enough to ask for.

But even the happiest of lives can fall to the darkness of loss and sorrow.

It had been no more than about half a year ago, and she remembered the events leading up to that day well: It had begun like any other day, she and the rest of her family were working hard to gather the late summer harvest for winter, when a messenger from Rosebush City arrived at their doorstep and handed Johnathan Brisby, her beloved husband, a summons from King Nicodemus. It wasn't the first time he had been summoned by the King of the Rats, but Mrs. Brisby wasn't happy to see it either way: every time he received those letters meant several weeks of him being gone, leaving her to worry for his safety.

But he promised her that he would be back before the first snowflake fell. So, goodbyes were said, kisses were shared, and she and her furlings watched him ride off into the horizon.

That would be the last time she ever saw him.

She had been cooking dinner that fateful autumn night when a heavy knocking rattled the door. At first, she thought her beloved Johnathan had come home early, and she rushed to open the door with a happy smile…but said smile faded when she saw Justin, Johnathan's friend from Rosebush City, standing on her doorstep instead. The normally cheerful and clever-witted rat's eyes were wet and mournful, and he could only meet her gaze with an apologetic loss, all the while holding Johnathan's broken sword to his chest.

He didn't even need to tell her the awful truth. She realized it the moment she saw the sword.

The tray of freshly-baked cheese bread she had been carrying fell to the floor with a clatter, and she followed soon after, as if the very world had been torn out from under her feet. Justin dropped the broken blade and caught her before she could hit the ground, holding her tight as she bawled her heart out into his shirt, letting her cry long and loud into the night.

Johnathan Brisby. Her husband. Her love. And the father of her children…was dead.

The following winter was especially cold that year.

But now said winter had passed, the snow melting away to the warmth of early spring, allowing her and her now-broken family to face the world again. The time spent sheltered in her home in the company of her furlings had helped soothe the pain of her husband's death, if only a little. But with the arrival of spring came a troubling realization: Johnathan, who had always been the provider of the family, would no longer be around to lead the upcoming harvest, and all other harvests from this point on.

How was she going to take care of her home and feed her family without him?

They had barely managed to get through the past year, as none of their friends from Rosebush City could spare the time to aid her husband in the heavier farmwork; he did have help from the children, bless their hearts, but that was only with the minor things. It would be years before any of them, even Teresa, would be strong enough to help with the greater tasks. And yes, Auntie Shrew provided help whenever she came to visit, but that was barely a change: the shrew lived in Dapplewood, which was several days away from the stone, and could only visit every now and then when the year allowed it. Plus, while she was as 'spirited' as ever, she was getting older with each visit, and it wouldn't be too long before she was too old to make the trip, let alone help with the work.

As for herself? She was a simple housewife whose paws were soft and uncalloused, with no experience with a hoe or a plow. At best, she knew how to milk the livestock, do laundry, and cook meals, but was otherwise unfit for farm work.

And now she had an entire farm to grow and tend to on her own.

The idea of her children starving because of her own incompetence was beyond soul-crushing.

Then, as if the universe had decided that they hadn't suffered enough already, the claws of fate decided to cast another cruel hand to her family: her youngest son, Timothy, had fallen ill.

The fever had only reached a dangerous high the other day, but she suspected it may have started much sooner: during the earliest days of spring, when the cold of winter had passed but the frost was still covering the ground, she would allow her children to go out to play in the snow. They had all been more than eager to, like every spring before: to finally leave the burrow after being cooped up inside for the entirety of winter. Perhaps it had been a little too early. Perhaps the cold was still lingering. Perhaps the snow, wet from melting but still clinging to the earth, wasn't dried off enough after their play.

Whatever the cause, it had now gotten serious.

It had started as a simple cough, nothing too troubling at first, but then it grew into raspy breathing and tightness of the chest. And soon enough, he had broken out into a full fever; one so high it left the poor furling's forehead burning hot to the touch and his fur wet with sweat, even as he shivered from loss of warmth. And despite her best efforts to help him, all the ointments and remedies she had stored in her cupboards, it was only getting worse.

It became clear that if he didn't get help soon, he wasn't going to make it.

Along with most of his duties as leader of the family, Johnathan had also always been the one to brave the wilds visit Mr. Ages whenever needed. The list of predators that would be more than happy to snap up a defenseless mouse was incredibly long, and Johnathan was the only one of them who had any real survival-battle experience that he could use to fight them off.

But now that he was gone, it was another one of his previous tasks that now fell to her, and she was by no means prepared for an encounter with any short of hungry weasel, hawk, fox, etc.

Not only that, but it was the beginning of spring: everything that had spent the winter hibernating would be coming out soon, bellies empty and hungry for flesh.

The very thought of that alone had left poor Mrs. Brisby a wreck of nerves, even before she had left the safety of beneath the Stone. The wall of giant trees that stood at the western edge of the glade completely blocked out the horizon, casting a looming shadow over the forest floor. The entrance to the main path looked to all the world like a cave maw leading into the depths of the earth, just waiting to devour all that foolishly wandered inside.

But she couldn't allow fear to win.

Timmy's life was in danger, and she would do whatever it took to save it.

So, after finishing a very early breakfast and making sure her children were safe with Auntie Shrew, she donned her cloak and set off on the long journey to the old ruins, the sun just staring to rise.

But against all expectations, the trip to the runs had been completely uneventful.

To the point of being unnatural.

For the entire time it took for Mrs. Brisby to get from her house to the ruins, the forest had been gravely silent. With the exception of a few insects in the brush and a few birds darting about the trees, she hadn't seen or heard a single trace of any other animal; not even the larger ones, which felt no fear toward the Rodentkin and their dug paths and would often cross it to get to the other side of the woods.

And during the scarce few times she had spotted them, they were as silent as the forest was: the insects remained still as stone where they were, which was often under things such as leaves and rocks, and didn't produce a single note of their daily chorus of life. As for the birds, she heard them more often than she saw them: the quick, frantic fluttering of wings as they darted from tree to tree, at speeds so fast Mrs. Brisby barely had time to look up and catch them in the act. They also moved beneath the canopy, avoiding the patches of open sky that dotted the sea of green.

The only sound that could be heard was the wind rustling the early-spring leaves in the trees and whistling through the grass.

Not a single cricket chirped. Not a single squirrel chattered. Not a single bird sang.

That honestly made it even scarier than usual.

The shade of the tall grass broke as Mrs. Brisby pushed the stalks aside, allowing the light of the mid-morning sun to shine upon her face.

She squeaked softly as she squinted against the glare, rubbing the string from her eyes with one hand and holding the grass to the side with the other. With a little effort, she managed to step through the thick tangle of plants and pull herself free, only for the skirt of her dress to catch on some loose roots. Still disoriented, she stumbled around and pulled her skirts loose from the plant's grasp, almost tripping over her own tail in the process.

She gave a sigh of relief as she gathered her footing, taking the moment to smooth the wrinkles out of her clothes, as well as shake off all the seed burrs and grass strips that were sticking to her; the fields were still dry and hard from winter's cold, and not as easy to travel through as it would be during summer.

Still, she had made it. It had taken a few hours, but she had arrived at her destination:

The Human Ruins.

Mrs. Brisby stared up in awe at the colossal structure, the once great building standing tall and imposing amongst the trees that surrounded it, even as it was slowly crumbling away to Time. Johnathan had been the one to first show it to her when they moved to the stone; he said it once served as home and fortress to one of the lording human families that ruled Nimh with an iron fist.

The…she couldn't quite remember the family name…the Fitz-something was all she could recall. According to him, it had once been a mighty and impressive castle of stone, made by stripping the very land of minerals to build where they wished, rather than build with the land as their kind did.

Now it was nothing more than a relic of a dead empire, slowly falling to the sands of time: the towers that were once as unmoving as the mountains were crumbling to dust and stone, mounds of broken rocks that had once been their walls piled at their bases. The wooden support beams had long rotted to breaking from both rain and termites, and anything that remains of the roofs of the main buildings had long since turned to dust. And the lands that had once been massive farms had been reclaimed by the forest years ago, with only the crumbled line of stone that had once been its borders to show the former boundaries, as were the twisted metal skeletons of the once-mighty machines of coal and steel that stood scattered about the trees, eaten away by centuries' worth of rust.

But where man had faded to time, the wilderness had stepped in to reclaim: moss painted the rocky surfaces in a deep green, while vines and roots ran down walls and through debris in a serpentine web of plants, painting a wild mosaic of life across the ruins.

She was also able to see animals living within the shelter of the ruins, safe from whatever was scaring the ones in the forest: birds nesting in the walls and perching on the remaining support beams, squirrels scampered about the halls and played amongst the rotten furniture, and feral rodents, the still-animal counterparts to the Rodentkin, scurrying about the rubble for scraps. There were even a few magical creatures as well, such as a school of will-o-wisps floating about the beams, the glowing jellyfish-like creatures swimming through the air as if it was water.

Mrs. Brisby paid little mind to it all as she hopped through a crevice in the farm's outer wall and hurried down the path; she was here for a reason and couldn't afford to waste it admiring the scenery.

*KA-BOOOOM!*

A loud explosion shook the ruins, sending the birds scattering to the sky and the critters fleeing to the forest in panic. Mrs. Brisby gave a frightened squeak as she instinctively dove for cover behind one of the ancient machines.

Shortly after the rumbling ceased, a large column of smoke rose from the ruins, accompanied by the strong smell of chemicals burning. The spooked doe peaked her head out from behind her hiding place, her nose wiggling as she sniffed the air; an action she regretted as the pungent stench burned her sinuses. Bad-smelling explosions seemed to be a common occurrence in these ruins, but she doubted she would ever get use to it no matter how many times she visited.

She coughed into her paws, clearing the smell from her throat as she returned to the path, her eyes slightly watering from irritation.

The doors to the main hall had long since rotted away, with only the rusted remains of the large door-buckles and handles scattered near the bases of the entrance to the castle; an entrance that towered over the small mouse and was easily wide enough to allow an entire line of mice to fit through at once. The ceiling was also all but gone at this point, with only the metal support beams still clinging to the top of the high walls, from which long vines hung down into the room. There were also trickles of water dribbling from them as well; the last bits of winter snow melting away in the midday sun to form large puddles across the stony floor.

There were four towers connected to the main hall, two on either side, that had a door leading into a spiral staircase within them: the staircases of the ones on the right both led downwards to the underground chambers, while the one on the left had the first leading down while the second led upwards towards what was left of the second floor.

It was in the underground chambers where Mr. Ages had moved into: the second tower on the right had a makeshift door of sticks and leaves built into its doorway, to replace the one that had long since turned to mulch.

Though said leaf-door was currently lying on the ground, having been blown off the frame, smoke rising from within. A result of the explosion that had happened seconds before.

As her eyes adjusted to the change in light, she realized that she wasn't alone in the ruins either. Laying in the middle of the grand hall, tucked away in its shell, sleeping the day away without a care in the world, was a Common Box Turtle the size of a rhinoceros. The black, orange-spotted reptile was strapped via shell-harness to a large, four-wheeled wagon.

Mrs. Brisby recognized this turtle. It was Jedidiah, Ages' personal beast of burden. One that the old mouse only used when he was going on a trip, which he seemed to be preparing for, judging by the wagon.

Looks like she got here just in time.

As she approached, Jedidiah shifted in his sleep and cracked open a single ruby eye. When she saw her, he opened both eyes and lifted his head out of his shell with a pleased gurgle, his tiny tail wagging like a dog's. The mouse smiled warmly as she reached the reptile, placing her paws on the sides of his lower jaw and bringing his head to her, allowing him to nuzzle her cheek affectionately.

"It's good to see you too, Jed." She giggled as the turtle gently nibbled her cheek-fur.

After a moment of exchanging greetings, she pulled away and turned her attention to the wagon he was harnessed to. It was a supply wagon, the kind used for carrying large items and/or heavy loads, with larger wheels in the back for support.

And given the sheer size of the cargo, she understood why Ages had opted to use it.

A confused frown twisted her features as she examined them, though, as she was unable to tell what they were. They almost looked like rocks: large, flat rocks that were each easily bigger than she was, but were flat and wide like plates. It was as if Ages had taken a boulder and cut it up into bread-like slices...but they couldn't have been made of stone, as they had been wrapped completely in several layers of blankets and fastened down firmly with several ropes: as if they were incredibly fragile and needed to be as cushioned as much as possible, lest they break.

And their appearance was only half of the mystery.

She could feel something more about them. Something strange…something foreboding, deep in that instinctive ancient part of her blood. Not that the 'rocks' themselves were dangerous, but they were…connected to something that was, for lack of a better term. Like the ominous clouds on the distant horizon that preluded a raging storm that would destroy the land.

Yet for the life of her, she didn't know why.

She reached a paw out to touch the one sitting at the bottom of the pile.

What on earth were they?

*CRASH!*

A loud clatter of metal striking stone shattered the tense silence, followed closely by the angry yells of Mr. Ages. Another alarmed squeak escaped Mrs. Brisby's lips as she jumped several inches in the air, snatching her paw back to her bosom as if it had just touched hot iron.

From within the staircase to the lab came the scampering of several clawed feet and panicked animal shrieks, growing louder as they grew closer. Then, like a burst of smoke from a chimney, a horde of about three dozen feral mice came tumbling from the doorway, scrambling up from the depths in a panicked stampede of fur and squeaks, as if fleeing from an angry cat.

Mrs. Brisby followed suit, jumping up into the seat of the wagon to get out of their path. She sat down and watched with wide eyes as the rodents swarmed around the wagon like river-water around a large rock; they rocked the wooden transport a bit when they shoved each other against it, but otherwise avoided it completely as they scampered out the front door, followed by a very angry Mr. Ages, who swung a broom about like a club.

"OUT! OUT! ALL OF YOU MANGY BEASTS! GET OUT OF HERE!" He shouted in fury, swinging his makeshift weapon back and forth; he didn't let up until every last wild mouse had fled from the ruins altogether; only then did he flop back on his behind, wheezing for breath as he clutched his chest.

Despite the commotion, Mrs. Brisby was glad beyond words to see him.

"Oh, Mr. Ages…" She sighed with relief. "I'm so glad you're home!"

The old mouse coughed a haggard breath, taking his glasses off so he could wipe the sweat from his face with his sleeve.

"Primitive, disruptive vermin!" He snapped, winded from the exertion of his aging body. "No sense of respect for one's property! I'm beginning to see why the humans didn't care for them…"

It was then that he finally noticed the doe watching him from the seat of his wagon.

"Oh. Elizabeth…wasn't expecting you." He stated simply as she clambered back to his feet, before his face turned into a displeased scowl. "I assume the purpose of this visit is of actual importance this time, and not more of your aunt's 'fairy' nonsense…"

"O-Oh, yes…I-I do apologize for all that." Mrs. Brisby stammered apologetically as she stepped down from the wagon's seat, taking care not to step on her skirt as she did so. She couldn't stop her eyes from wandering to the top of his head at those words, or more specifically at the large red bump that was poking out through his fur; a courtesy of Auntie Shrew's walking stick following their argument. "Mrs. Shrew means well, but she can get…well…a little excited about these things."

"That's putting it too kindly..." Mr. Ages grumbled, aware that she was staring at the bump, which was still sore. He took off his glasses to clean them, wiping them with the edge of his work tunic. "If an apology is all you're here for, then I must ask that you leave." He said as he turned away to head back to his lab. "I'm currently dealing with something extremely import-ACK!"

He was cut off as a heavy weight seized his tail, pulling him back mid-step and causing him to fall on his rump again. Flustered, he scrambled to look over his shoulder, only to see Jedidiah's foot pinning his tail to the floor.

"J-Jedidiah! Get off, you cantankerous shellfish!" He snapped, trying to pull his tail free but with no success.

Jedidiah stared at him with a flat, almost disapproving stare, as much of one that a reptile's face could make. With a guttural hiss, the turtle motioned its head to Mrs. Brisby, who was watching with a nervous silence, as if prompting the older mouse to give her a moment. 'You can spare a moment of your "precious time" to hear her out', he seemed to say.

"Mr. Ages, I'm truly sorry for disturbing your work, but this is an emergency!" Mrs. Brisby pleaded, remembering why she was here. "It's my son, Timmy! He's gotten so sick..."

"Timmy? The youngest boy, right?" Mr. Ages asked, adjusted his glasses as he tried (and failed) to pull himself free. "Well, it's nothing a little pipsissewa-"

"No!" Mrs. Brisby cried, shaking him desperately by the shirt. "No, he's sick with a fever!"

That gave Mr. Ages pause, a look of genuine, if conflicted, concern coming over his face. Looking between the desperation in the eyes of his friend's widow, and the fact that Jedidiah wasn't going to let him go unless he helped her, he ultimately gave in, shaking his head in exasperation.

"Well…oh, I suppose I could fix up something." He grumbled.

The brown-furred mouse beamed with joy. "Oh, thank you!" She exclaimed as Jedidiah gave a grunt of approval, lifting his foot and allowing Mr. Ages to stand and dust himself off. The older mouse then returned to the door to his lab, motioning her to follow.

"Follow me but don't touch anything, understand?" She nodded in response before following him down the staircase. "Now, just how high is his fever?"

"He's burning hot to the touch." Mrs. Brisby explained as they traveled down into the dark depths of the ruins. "And soaking wet with perspiration, but he shivers with cold at the same time."

"Keep him wrapped in a blanket?" Ages continued to ask.

"I do."

"And his pulse?"

"So fast that you cannot tell one heartbeat from the other."

"His tongue?"

"So coated that it looks purple."

"How does he breathe?"

"Very rapidly, and there's a raspy sound when he does, as if he can't catch his breath."

"But he does not cough."

"No." By the time she had answered all of his questions, they had reached the bottom of the stairwell.

Mr. Ages' home had once been a large storage cellar for the castle, converted into a makeshift house/laboratory by the old mouse; deep underground, protected by the very earth from the elements and intruders alike. The lab was made up of the old alchemist machines and instruments that had been relocated down here, rusted and worn down by time, but kept in functional shape; the large candle-lamp for boiling potions stood in the very center of the lab, connected to many glass tubes and bottles for mixing and boiling chemicals. The inside of the room was simple yet homey, with rabbit-pelt carpets across the floor and many old decorations, herbs, and tools hanging from the walls.

Mr. Ages walked over to his work desk, which was littered with all sorts of items: books for alchemy, open on pages of illustrations of ingredients. Numerous clay pots and bowls, some empty while others were filled with either powder or caked plaster, and glass vials filled with different colored liquids, to name the more common ones. He cleared out a spot, pushing items to the side and picking up a single bowl from the clutter.

He then cleared his throat before making his diagnosis: "Your son has Pneumonia."

"Pneumonia?" Mrs. Brisby repeated; she had never heard of it, but the very name sounded monstrous.

"It's not an uncommon disease, but without treatment you will die from it." He told her, gathering ingredients from different containers around his desk, mixing them together with the pestle he kept tied to his belt.

"Oh, please Frith, no…" she muttered to herself, the icy grip of dread squeezing her heart. Wasn't it enough to lose Johnathan to the cruel jaws of death? Was she cursed to lose Timothy, her own son, as well? The mere idea of it nearly broke her, and it was all she could do to hold her resolve and not openly cry.

"The most important thing is that your son stays warm. Keep him in bed and bundle him up." Mr. Ages instructed her as he continued to make the medicine, pulling down a string that hung overhead. The candle-lamp shot a steady stream of flame toward one of the glass pipes, heating the ball base and forcing the liquid inside to a boil. Said liquid traveled through the winding tube until it dripped from the end of the nozzle into the bowl in his hands. "Not to go outside for at least…at least three weeks." He concluded as he continued to add ingredients.

"But the farming is about to begin. A-And Moving Day will be coming to Dapplewood soon." Mrs. Brisby stammered; two events that required as many Rodentkin to help as possible.

"Absolutely not!" Mr. Ages snapped in a warning tone. "Your son is in no condition to partake in either of them! His lungs will be incredibly sensitive to the cold, even after he takes this medicine: one breath of winter's chill will be the death of him." Brisby wordlessly nodded, dropping the subjects entirely, watching silently as Ages poured the medicine mixture into a large envelope of paper. "He must stay in bed. Now, mix this-…this powder into a broth and make him drink it." He instructed her. "It will bring down the fever."

"Oh, bless you sir!" Mrs. Brisby said with immense gratitude as she was handed the envelope.

"No, bless yourself. You'll need it." He told her as he led her back to the stairwell. However, at the first step, he paused, another conflicted look coming over his face.

"Actually, there is another matter that may very well concern you and your family." He said with a little hesitation. He then motioned her to follow, and the two began to climb back up the stairs. "Tell me: have you seen anything unusual in the forest as of late?" He asked.

The doe blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?" she asked, hugging the medicine to her chest.

Mr. Ages paused for a moment before speaking again. "There's been these strange…happenings taking place over the past couple of days, and it's causing all the animals to act strangely. I'm sure you've noticed all the new additions to the ruins." That last point was said with heavy distaste.

Mrs. Brisby nodded, her mind wandering back to her trip through it…and how deathly quiet it had been. "The forest was strangely quiet today." She told him. "I barely saw any other animals. Are they all here?"

"Some of them. There's something new in the forest, and it's been scaring them out of their usual territories or into complete silence." Mr. Ages warned her in a dark tone. "The birds refuse to sing out of fear of altering it to their presence, and the critters have either fled to safer pastures or remain hiding within their burrows." He shook his head in confusion. "Not even wolves can bring that kind of fear throughout the woodlands."

"Is it Dragon?" She asked in fret; the giant cat was the only creature she knew of that could have such influences over the land. Him and the Great Owl, but the Owl never came out during the day.

Mr. Ages shook his head. "No, no. It would actually be easier to explain it all if it was." He told her. "For the past five days, I've been investigating the woods and found several traces of a potentially-new creature: Truly enormous footprints of the likes I had never seen before, that don't match anything within the Bestiary Records of Rosebush's Archives."

He paused to catch his breath, and to clean his glasses again.

"I'm afraid, Mrs. Brisby, that we could be looking at the arrival of a new Titan Beast."

That brought a look of alarm to the young mother's face. A new Titan Beast?! As if Dragon and the Great Owl weren't enough, there was the chance that a third one had come to Nimh?

And it was in the forest near her home?!

"I felt that you needed to know, given that you or your children might encounter it." He warned her. "If this creature ever comes near the farm, barricade yourself and your family in your home and do not come out until it leaves." They reached the top of the stairs, stepping out into the main hall of the ruins. "And pray to Frith that will be enough."

"B-But what if there's an emergency?" she asked. "What if Timmy needs more medicine?"

"The medicine I made you will be enough to last until he fully recovers." Mr. Ages told her as climbed up into his wagon. Jedidiah took this as the sign to get ready, slowly extending his legs from his shell and standing up with a bit of effort, causing the wagon to bob with his movement. "That being said, I'm going to Rosebush City to report my findings to Nicodemus, and I won't be back until Dapplewood's Moving Day."

He sat down and took the reins, but as he did, he pointed to the envelope she held with urgent emphasis.

"That envelope is the only one you'll have until then; whatever you do, do not lose it, or Timothy will die. Do you understand?"

Mrs. Brisby nodded vigorously; the only thing that could save her son's life now rested in her hands. If it was lost, then so was Timmy.

"I understand." She told him, hugging her very precious cargo as if her own life depended on it, eyes wet from several emotions. "Thank you once again."

The old mouse simply waved her off before he lightly whipped the reins against Jedidiah's shell; even if he wasn't doing it gently, the sheer strength of the box turtle's natural armor made it impossible to be harmed by the whip. But the sensation was enough to signal it was time to move, and Jedidiah took the first steps of the long journey to Rosebush City; the wagon's wheels creaked under the weight of their cargo as they began to turn, but the reptile had no problem with said weight, effortlessly pulling it along as if it was nothing.

Mrs. Brisby followed them out of the ruins, stopping in the doorway to watch them travel down the road to Dapplewood, which would eventually lead to Rosebush City.

The same road Johnathan had taken on his very last adventure.

"Thank you so-!" She began to call after them, clutching the envelope even tighter to her bosom; her voice faltered as she realized that they were slowly moving out of hearing range. "-much…Goodbye." She murmured instinctively, even though she knew they couldn't hear her. She waited for a little longer to watch them go, until she decided it was time to leave herself; Timmy was waiting for the relief the medicine would provide.

She tucked the envelope into her cloak and wrapped said cloak around her for extra protection before beginning her own trip home.