Westfall · Second evening

Day 2 — The Fields of Westfall

I have seen the sea!

Well, not quite the sea itself, properly speaking. More a distant glimpse of it beyond the hills, but I could smell the salt in the air, and that absolutely counts. I shall see it properly tomorrow, if I can.

Today I left the lovely green shade of Elwynn Forest behind and followed the road west.

I had been told that Westfall was farming country, and I imagined something rather picturesque. Little cottages, fields of wheat, perhaps a cheerful farmer waving from atop a hay cart.

There certainly are fields of wheat. Rather a lot of them, in fact.

And the wind! Goodness, the wind! It sweeps across the open country without the slightest regard for one's hair, cloak, or dignity. By midday I had given up trying to look like a respectable priestess and simply tied my hair back as best I could.

I rather enjoyed it.

There is something extraordinary about walking along a road with the whole world stretching out before you. No Cathedral bells announcing the hour, no familiar corridors, no one expecting me to be anywhere in particular.

Just the road, the sky, and the possibility that something wonderful might be waiting around the next bend.

I caught myself smiling for no particular reason. Several times. I think I am going to like being an adventurer.

But Westfall is not quite what I expected.

The first thing I noticed was the farms.

Some are still tended, but others seem to have been abandoned. Fences lean at odd angles, buildings stand empty, and fields that ought to be full of people working the harvest have been left to whatever creatures care to wander through them.

And there are people here who have very little. I met families who have lost their homes, farmers struggling to keep what remains of their livelihoods, and weary travellers who seem to have nowhere in particular left to go.

There is a place called Sentinel Hill, where the local militia do what they can to keep order. They seem terribly overworked.

I had imagined that being so close to Stormwind would mean these people were reasonably well looked after. After all, the city is not so very far away.

Yet here they are.

I cannot quite understand it.

At the Cathedral, we collected donations for the poor. We prayed for those suffering hardship. We organised food and clothing whenever we could. I helped with those efforts myself. And I was proud of them.

But I don't think I ever properly understood what it meant to have nowhere safe to sleep, or to watch your children go hungry while fields that once sustained your family stood empty.

It is one thing to hear about suffering. It is quite another to look into the face of someone who has grown accustomed to it.

I spoke to a woman today who had very little to offer me, yet insisted that I share what remained of her bread.

I tried to refuse. She insisted. I explained that I was a priestess and had come to help people, not take food from them. She laughed and said that being a priestess didn't mean I could walk all day without eating. I thought that sounded remarkably like something Mother would say.

So I sat with her for a little while. We talked about ordinary things. The weather, the road, the difficulties of keeping a roof in good repair. I wanted to ask her how she managed, but I couldn't quite find a way to do so without making her feel as though she were an object of pity. Instead, I listened. When I left, I thanked her for the bread. She thanked me for the company.

I have been thinking about that all afternoon.

There are dangers here, too.

Not merely the sort that growl at you from the undergrowth, although Westfall seems to have its fair share of those.

There are reports of thieves and bandits, and people speak of the Defias Brotherhood with a mixture of anger, fear and, occasionally, something I cannot quite identify.

I know very little about them yet. I suppose I shall learn. I have already discovered that carrying a prayer book does not persuade every unpleasant person to behave themselves. A pity, really. It would make travelling considerably simpler.

I helped where I could today, tending a few scrapes and injuries, carrying supplies, and lending a hand with the sort of work that needs doing regardless of whether anyone is available to do it.

Nothing particularly heroic. But then, I never came here to be a hero. I came because I thought there must be places where an extra pair of hands could make a difference. Westfall appears to be one of them.

I must confess something.

This afternoon, I felt angry. Not the sort of anger that makes one shout or throw things. A quieter sort, which sits somewhere beneath the ribs and refuses to go away.

These people are so close to Stormwind.

So terribly close.

How can there be such need within a day's journey of all those fine stone buildings, busy markets and comfortable homes? I don't know whose responsibility it is to put things right. I don't know what has happened here, or why so many people seem to have been left struggling. I ought to learn more before making judgements. But surely someone must be able to do something.

I found myself thinking of the Cathedral, of its beautiful windows and polished floors, and of the countless hours we spent discussing the proper expression of the Holy Light.

I still love the Cathedral. I always shall.

But I wonder whether we sometimes spend so much time talking about goodness that we forget how much work there is to be done outside our doors.

I can almost hear Father Aldren telling me that matters are rather more complicated than I understand.

He would probably be right. He usually is, which is extremely irritating.

Still. Complicated or not, people are hungry. And hungry people cannot eat explanations.

It is evening now, and I am tired in a completely different way from yesterday.

My feet still ache, of course. I suspect that will become a permanent feature of my adventures.

But I am also troubled. I had expected the world beyond Stormwind to be full of wonders, and it is. The wide golden fields, the endless sky, the unfamiliar roads — all of it makes my heart feel as though it might burst with excitement.

I want to keep walking. I want to see mountains and oceans and cities whose names I can barely pronounce. I want to meet dwarves and elves and all the extraordinary people I've only ever read about. I want to discover what sort of person I might become when everything around me is new.

But I think I understand something now that I didn't yesterday. The world is not waiting for me to arrive so that it can show me beautiful things. It is simply going about its business, with all its joys and sorrows, whether I am there to witness them or not.

And if I truly mean to help people, I must be prepared to see things that make me uncomfortable. Perhaps even things I cannot put right. Especially those.

I don't like that thought very much. But I suppose wanting to be useful means accepting that I won't always know how.

I shall stay in Westfall a little longer.

There is work to be done here, and I would like to understand these people better before moving on.

Perhaps tomorrow I shall find a way to help someone keep their farm. Perhaps I shall mend a broken arm, deliver a parcel, or simply sit with someone who needs a little company. And perhaps, if I am very fortunate, I shall finally see the sea.

I am still so very happy to be here.

That feels a little strange to write, after everything I've seen today.

But I am. I am happy to be alive, happy to be travelling, and grateful beyond words that I have the chance to make something of this life. I only wish everyone I met today had as much reason to feel hopeful.

P.S. A rather alarming mechanical creature wandered past me today. I am told it is called a harvest watcher. I had assumed anything called a watcher would be content to watch.

It was not.