I have spent these past several days alternating roles as healer, scavenger, chef, woodsman and carpenter. Though I strive to complete construction of the infirmary, the needs of my patients are much more urgent. Therefore lumberjacking and carpentry receive the lowest priority.
My daily routine is to wake and check on the ill, attending to those in most dire need first. I administer water and medications before starting the cauldron and going out to the meadow to collect herbs, moss and leaves. I cook a light hoosh breakfast and serve it in the infirmary. Then comes time for sponge baths to those who need it.
This is the most interesting time of the day – the time when I can really feel these people. Not physically, I mean. Rather, I get a sense of who they are, where they come from, how they lived their lives. Most are too weak to talk. Others are too wary of me. Still, some I manage to get a name out of: Lim, Ham, Nögg and Fit I can remember now. But the one I find most intriguing is called Garm.
I do not yet know how much these people remember of the Old World, but surely this one must, for he too has seen many winters. And surely he would also know the tale of Garm, the fettered beast who bit off the hand of Hod and would eventually devour the moon at Ragnarök. Surely he knows, for even his eyes tell stories.
About the eyes – they all have a distinct band of pigment that runs horizontally across the face at eye level. The band is patterned differently for each elf, like a thumbprint. It is a curious thing. I did not know of such a mark on any man in the Old Age.
Garm is the oldest of the survivors, yet uncannily he is the strongest. He is still weak, but he can speak better than the others. The Mörkalfen – that is the name of their people; it means dark man in the ancient tongue – avoided battle at Ragnarök and lived nomadically, scavenging for food and seeking shelter where they could find it.
Their demise began with the sickness. A disease swept over the land. I had seen it spread across the south, decimating populations of man and beast alike. It chased the Mörkalfen northward. But it was the dwarves that drove them underground. Competing for food, they were hunted by Ymir’s maggots. They hid under the mountain and doomed themselves to starvation.