I write to implore upon your healer’s compassion, not for my benefit but for the benefit of those who need more help than is presently available to them.

A boy died before me not a week ago, and how unnecessary it was has stuck with me, for had he money, he would have had access to the local hospital, to trained healers, to actual supplies, to life. With myself at the end of my own rope, I find I relate more and more to these down and outs, and have decided that in my exile, I should help them. Unfortunately, the means available to me are somewhat lacklustre compared to what I am accustomed to, and it is for that reason that I fear I must trouble you.

If there is anything useful—commonplace supplies, overstock, and their ilk—that you might be able to procure, I and my patients both would thank you most ardently for it. I apologize for troubling you under the circumstances; if I saw any other route to take, rest assured that I would.

Yours,

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I did not expect so quick a response, or so favourable. I should have learned long ago that you are not to be underestimated. I thank you most ardently for whatever aid you are able to muster.

Yours,

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