#was thinking about how the cadauceus is the symbol of medicine when it should be the rod of Asclepius

[happyk44]

A doctor rushing to a small town on horseback, praying diligently to Hermes for safe and speedy travel so that they may make it before the patient is too sick to help. Hermes hearing this - and curious by it. People often ask for safety from thieves. Thieves ask for luck amongst the roads, potential targets to snag and steal. Merchants request shortcuts so they may sell their wares quicker. Rarely does he ever hear prayers for safety, for speed, for luck so that someone may help another.

So he follows silently, a little sparrow soaring above. Slips down from the air to the ground, as tiny as a mouse, and darts rapidly behind running boots. Watches from the corner of a room as a child weakly breathes and a doctor patiently attends to them.

It's interesting to him, the care. He's not yet seen it much in travelers - seen it in families, of course, in friends. But never in strangers. People are wary of those they meet on roads. Strangers on hidden paths, far away from helpful eyes and warrior swords, prickle with potential danger.

And yet...

It's interesting to watch the colour rise back to a pale face, cheeks flushed, lungs drained of fluid and now breathing clearer. A medicinal paste is rubbed into a lanced wound. Clear words, clear instructions.

The doctor stays for a few more days, attending to small ailments, checking in on the child. And then they're off to the next town, praying for safety and speed so they may help those who need it before it's too late.

He follows. He watches. He learns.

It fascinates him. Healing, helping. Traveling roads endlessly to take care of others. Even at cost, it's baffling. The effort, the drive - how do they manage it? Aren't they tired?

All travelers settle down eventually. Nomadic lifestyles run thin as age impacts movement. Energy. And yet on and on this doctor roams. And others soon follow.

Please, Lord Hermes, they whisper into rushing wind, please let me make it in time. Before someone falls prey to Death's cold scythe. I just want to help.

Okay, he whispers back, inaudible to their ears but not to their growing spirit. Run, my child. You will make it. You will help.