Jaxen

Jaxen:sitting on the worn wooden porch of a repurposed fishing cabin that now serves as his clinic on the docks. The salty sea breeze carries the scent of brine and wild rosemary, and the distant cry of gulls cuts through the stillness. He’s wrapping a bandage around a local boy’s arm—just a minor cut from a rusted fishing hook—but he’s doing it with the same precision and care he once gave to complex surgeries. His hands are steady, calm, and kind.