Where the River Steamed at Dawn

At the edge of the valley, where stone softened into soil and the air always smelled faintly of minerals, a river ran warm even in winter. People said the heat came from dragon bones beneath the earth. Scholars said geothermal activity. Both explanations existed comfortably side by side. That was how things worked here.

I arrived before sunrise, when steam lifted from the water like slow breath. The bathhouse and tea pavilion sat together by design. Healing required more than one method, and separating them had never made sense. Water for the body. Drinks for the inside. Cleaning for everything else.

Before anyone arrived, I worked.

The stone benches were scrubbed with hot water and soap, then rinsed again. Warm, damp environments allow microorganisms to persist if surfaces are not regularly cleaned, especially where many people gather (Kramer et al.). Fantasy did not change that. If anything, magic intensified what neglect allowed.

I rinsed cups next, checking each rim for chips. A cracked cup could harbor residue, and residue could cause problems for people already unwell. This was basic practice, but the reason mattered. Small oversights accumulate.

By the time the first light touched the river, the kettles were warming.

The plants grew behind the pavilion in raised beds: mint, thyme, chamomile, lemon balm. I checked the leaves for discoloration and pests. Healthy plants produce better infusions, and stressed plants lose potency. Environmental conditions directly affect plant chemistry, which in turn affects their supportive properties when consumed (Van den Berg et al.).

The first guest was Tomas, a fisherman with stiff hands and tired eyes. He soaked silently while I prepared his drink. Warm water can ease muscle tension and increase circulation, offering relief for chronic stiffness (Mooventhan and Nivethitha). I poured him ginger and rosemary tea, explaining that it was meant to support circulation and warmth, not replace medical care.

He nodded. People respected honesty here.

Later came a mother and daughter traveling through the valley. The daughter spoke little and kept touching her mouth. White patches marked her tongue, and her lips were dry. Oral thrush. Likely worsened by fatigue and dehydration from the road. Candida thrives when the oral environment is disrupted, especially when saliva flow is reduced (Pappas et al.).

I offered water first. Hydration supports saliva production, which helps regulate microbial balance in the mouth (Humphrey and Williamson). Only after she drank did I prepare a mild herbal tea with chamomile and a small amount of honey.

“This will soothe,” I said, meeting the mother’s eyes. “It will not cure. She will still need proper treatment.”

They thanked me for saying so. Love, in moments like that, was respect for truth.

Between guests, I cleaned again. Floors dried, benches wiped, cups washed and set to steam. The river mist crept into everything, and vigilance mattered. Cleaning was not an interruption to care. It was care.

As the sun climbed, the fantasy of the place became more visible. The river hummed faintly. Leaves tilted toward voices. Cups retained warmth longer than expected. None of it replaced evidence-based practice. It simply responded to intention. Places, like people, reacted to how they were treated.

In the afternoon, an elderly healer arrived, one who had trained long before written guidelines were common. She watched quietly as I worked.

“You do this the slow way,” she said finally.

“Yes,” I replied. “The slow way holds longer.”

She smiled. Research supports that consistent, routine-based environments reduce stress and support healing, especially in communal health spaces (Ulrich et al.). She did not need the citation, but the principle aligned with experience.

As evening approached, the river cooled slightly, steam thinning into ribbons. I cleaned one final time, hands steady, movements practiced. The plants were watered. The kettles emptied and dried.

When I closed the pavilion, the river continued to glow softly, holding the heat of the day. Fantasy lingered, but it did not demand attention. It rested alongside soap, water, plants, and patience.

Love lived there too, not as romance, but as continuity. Showing up. Doing the work. Making sure the cups were clean for whoever came next.

Works Cited (MLA)

Humphrey, Susan P., and Richard T. Williamson. “A Review of Saliva: Normal Composition, Flow, and Function.” Journal of Prosthetic Dentistry, vol. 85, no. 2, 2001, pp. 162–169.

Kramer, Axel, et al. “How Long Do Nosocomial Pathogens Persist on Inanimate Surfaces?” BMC Infectious Diseases, vol. 6, 2006.

Mooventhan, A., and L. Nivethitha. “Scientific Evidence-Based Effects of Hydrotherapy on Various Systems of the Body.” North American Journal of Medical Sciences, vol. 6, no. 5, 2014, pp. 199–209.

Pappas, Peter G., et al. “Clinical Practice Guideline for the Management of Candidiasis.” Clinical Infectious Diseases, vol. 62, no. 4, 2016, pp. e1–e50.

Ulrich, Roger S., et al. “Stress Reduction Theory and Health Care Design.” Journal of Environmental Psychology, vol. 30, no. 1, 2010, pp. 1–13.

Van den Berg, Agnes E., et al. “Health Benefits of Nature Exposure.” Annual Review of Public Health, vol. 36, 2015, pp. 183–201.