The Ebb and Flow of Things

Silver.

It flows through my fingers like blood from a fresh wound, slipping away as quickly as it comes to me. Yet another too thin waif, soaked to the skin wandered into my parlor, and shivered by the fire, dripping upon the thick soft carpets. Another cloak out of my closet, a backpack with a few essentials, and a promise I would search my contacts for work for the poor thing, or find some other way to improve her situation.

No sooner had she gone, than still another entered, the carpet still wet from where the previous lingered. My last spare cloak, my favorite, handed over to the girl. She's a friend and caught between her oath and her own right to survive and prosper. I hand her the cloak and offer again to help her any way I can, and she smiles, grateful and humiliated to have to take my handouts. It infuriates me her master has allowed her to exist like this with no concern for her well being.

How often that scene feels the need to constantly repeat itself in my life. Some young, neglected, desperate soul just needing a little help, a warm place out of the storm. A new friend reminded me, that it is indeed hard to succeed in my line of work, when I care more about the girls that find their way into my life, than the silver that keeps passing through it. And so yes, while Darkfall brings silver into my hands, it also brings the urgent need to pass it along to others who struggle just to exist at all.

I am barely keeping afloat, but I MUST juggle those I help with those I owe as long as I can. Hopefully the need will ebb while the flow of silver continues, but I know somehow, it will not, and I will be walking that very thin line for a long time to come.