He began to find small, hidden pockets of life: a sheltered valley where a patch of wild greens thrived near a trickling spring, their leaves slightly bitter but edible. He even managed to catch a few small, swift lizards using a crude snare made from twisted vines, their meager meat providing a much-needed boost of protein. Each small victory was meticulously recorded, not just in words, but in quick, precise sketches. He felt a profound sense of connection to his surroundings, an intimacy born of necessity and deep observation. The wilderness was not just a place of exile; it was becoming his classroom, his library, his home.

His love for cataloging deepened, transforming from an intellectual pursuit into a vital survival skill. Every plant, every insect, every rock formation became a potential clue, a piece of the vast puzzle of Vasal. He started to recognize patterns in the distribution of plants, the types of soil they preferred, the way they interacted with light and shade. He was devising his own system, unburdened by temple classifications or ancient, often inaccurate, lore. This empirical approach was what the elders had feared, and out here, it was keeping him alive.

Elos's Journal - By the Whispering Crag Found a cluster of luminous fungi growing in the damp shadow of a granite crag. They emit a faint, pulsing light, almost like a heartbeat. Non-edible, I suspect, but their beauty is startling. It reminds me that even in the harshest places, there is wonder, an artistry that defies simple function. Experimented with the Mountain Potato Bush root. Roasting over a low fire for an hour, then grinding it into a paste with stream water, significantly reduces bitterness. Edible, and surprisingly filling. A true gift. This process of trial and error, of methodical testing – it is my new prayer. Observed a small, black-feathered bird, iridescent in the sun, feeding on tiny red berries I previously thought poisonous. It paused, studied the berry, pecked, then flew off. Is its digestion different? Or is my classification incomplete? Must observe more. Every living creature is a potential source of knowledge. My clothes are tattered. My boots are wearing thin. But my mind feels clearer than it ever did in Veridia. The air is sharper, the thoughts less clouded by other people's expectations. Poem: The Sun-Blessed Light They spoke of light, a burning gaze, That judged the soul in temple's maze. But here, the sun, a gentle friend, Unjudging, warms from end to end. It coaxes life from stubborn stone, And asks no prayer, no humbled moan. A true light, not a searing fire, But quiet warmth, and green desire.

Days turned into weeks. Elos traversed ridges and navigated through thickets of gnarled, ancient trees. He learned to listen to the whispers of the wind, not as a metaphor for the divine, but as a messenger of changing weather, of approaching animals. He refined his foraging skills, discovering various types of edible mosses and lichens, learning which roots were fibrous and nourishing, which berries, though small, provided concentrated bursts of energy. He learned to track small game, though he rarely managed to catch anything larger than a ground squirrel or a plump mountain bird. His body grew leaner, stronger, honed by constant movement and sparse sustenance.

His knowledge of healing, too, began to evolve. Without the limitations of temple dogma, he could truly experiment. He noticed how certain plants, when applied to a cut, not only prevented infection but accelerated tissue regeneration. He started to understand that some properties were not merely 'healing' but 'restorative,' 'cleansing,' or 'strengthening.' He began to think of the body not as a vessel for a soul, but as a complex, self-regulating ecosystem, susceptible to imbalances, but capable of remarkable repair if given the right tools. He felt a profound satisfaction in this work, a sense of purpose that resonated deeply with his soul's wants. This was his true calling, unadulterated and pure.

The greatest challenge, however, remained the vast loneliness. There were moments, especially as the sun dipped below the jagged mountain peaks, casting long, purple shadows, when the silence was deafening, the solitude crushing. He would remember the distant laughter from the village, the comforting scent of woodsmoke from familiar hearths, the sight of an Elders kind, though misguided, face. In those moments, a wave of despair would threaten to engulf him.

"What if I made the wrong choice? What if I die out here, alone, unmourned?" he muttered to himself about his foolish choices. Ivy, sensing his despair, nudged his hand with her soft nose, then began methodically licking his fingers, a surprisingly gentle and grounding sensation. "Alright, alright, I get it," he chuckled, pulling his hand away, a small smile forming despite himself. "You're right, I'm still here. And so are you." Ivy responded with a soft, knowing bleat, then butted his side, as if to remind him of her steadfast presence.

But then, he would look at his hands, calloused and scraped, yet capable of coaxing a fire from nothing, of identifying a life-saving root. He would look at his journal, filled with the intricate sketches of new plants, the theories taking shape, the nascent poems. He would feel the quiet, ancient presence he prayed to, not as a demanding god, but as the underlying harmony of Vasal itself. The love and compassion he sought was not in a temple, but in the resilience of a desert flower, in the quiet strength of a towering pine, in the constant, restorative cycle of life and death. And he would sometimes cry for his lost family, trying to keep their faces sketched forever in his mind.

Elos's Journal - Hidden Spring Oasis Stumbled upon a small, hidden oasis in a rocky depression. Water so pure it tastes like chilled moonlight. A small patch of earth here, surprisingly rich and dark, unlike the surrounding scree. Found a new species of broadleaf, slightly aromatic, with vibrant blue berries. Small, but very sweet. Edible. A true find! I call it 'Azure Bloom' for now. Must observe its growth cycle, its interaction with the spring. Is it a unique microclimate? Or does it thrive on something specific in the water? Healing Idea: Observed how the desert 'Stone Lizard' sheds its skin, leaving a surprisingly strong, flexible outer layer. Could this be ground and mixed with resin for a protective, breathable bandage? Needs testing. The body's own processes are the best teachers. Art: Sketch of the Azure Bloom. Its leaves are unusually broad for this arid region, almost succulent. The berries grow in tight clusters, like tiny sapphire beads. Will try to replicate its distinct leaf venation.

Poem: The Oasis's Heart In shadowed rock, a whisper flows, Where life, unbidden, softly grows. A spring of silver, pure and deep, Where secrets of the Vasal sleep. And Azure Bloom, a sapphire gleam, Reflects the wanderer's lonely dream. No temple bells, no chanted plea, Just quiet wisdom, wild and free.

He had devised a crude way to test the properties of unknown plants. A small section of his journal was dedicated to a system of observation, a kind of flowchart for identifying properties. First, visual and tactile assessment: color, texture, smell, sap. Then, a tiny taste – always a minuscule amount, just on the tip of the tongue, waiting for any tingling, numbness, or immediate adverse reaction. If safe, a slightly larger taste. Then, controlled application: on a minor cut, a small rash, a dull ache. He recorded every single reaction, positive or negative, with a methodical precision that would have terrified the temple elders, for it relied solely on empirical evidence, not faith.

This was how he found the desert cactus, its plump, waxy pads seemingly designed to hoard moisture. He recognized it from ancient texts, a legend of a 'hunger-quenching desert giant.' Cautiously, he extracted its clear, viscous pulp. It wasn’t delicious, but it was profoundly hydrating and filling, capable of staving off the worst pangs of hunger for an entire day. Even more astonishing, when applied to a lingering internal ache he’d developed from a fall, it eased the discomfort with a surprising efficacy. This was a true breakthrough, a tangible manifestation of the 'older wisdom' he believed in. This wasn't merely survival; this was thriving, expanding his knowledge, fulfilling his destiny.

The more south he had traveled, the more comfortable he had felt. The vastness of Vasal, once terrifying, now felt less like an abyss and more like an endless opportunity. The mountains and sparse forests, initially a source of despair, now offered a challenging but rewarding classroom. He was no longer just Elos, the exiled healer. He was Elos, the nomad, the scholar, the explorer, a living testament to the power of observation, the resilience of the human spirit, and the boundless, compassionate wisdom of the world itself. The Sun-Blessed One's abandonment had, in a profound and unexpected way, set him free. He prayed daily, not out of ritual, but out of a deep, abiding connection to the silent, true creator, the source of love and compassion, whose presence was in every life form, every flowing stream, every resilient plant. His journey had begun, and with every step, he was not wandering lost, but finding his way. He was truly thankful to the great healer of the sky.