The infirmary tent was quiet, save for the occasional cough or rustle of blankets. Outside, the weather had turned gray, a soft drizzle pattering gently against the canvas roof. Inside, the air was warm but heavy with the smell of herbs and the quiet sighs of those too tired to move. Illness had passed through the camp like a shadow, leaving a handful of people bed-bound and restless. Spirits were low, energy lower.
That’s when Luna and Venya arrived.
Venya pushed open the flap of the tent with his usual flair, a sly grin on his face and a small satchel slung over his shoulder. “Good morning, esteemed patients!” he declared dramatically, bowing low with a flourish. A few of the sickest barely opened their eyes, but those who were a little stronger cracked a smile.
Trailing behind him was Luna, the great black panther, her steps light as mist. She made no announcement. She didn’t need to. Her presence alone drew attention. Even the weakest of patients turned their heads slightly to look at her, eyes wide with wonder. Luna padded to the center of the tent, gave a deep, rumbling purr, and slowly lowered herself onto the floor, her tail curling around her body like a soft black ribbon.
“She’s safe,” Venya said quickly, sensing the tension. “Gentle as a feather—unless you’re a squirrel.”
Someone laughed. A good start.
Venya got to work, pulling handmade puppets from his satchel. They were crude but colorful—stitched together from scraps of cloth and carved wood. He slipped two over his hands and launched into an over-the-top puppet show about a mischievous raccoon who tried to steal Luna’s dinner. Every time the raccoon made a grab for the imaginary food, Luna let out a low, perfectly timed growl from her spot on the floor.
The children in the infirmary lit up. One little girl, who hadn’t smiled in days, actually giggled when the raccoon puppet took a flying leap and was intercepted by a dramatically swooping Luna tail.
Venya switched voices, leaping between accents and characters, all the while weaving in jokes, rhymes, and gentle jabs at the patients’ grumpiness. Luna played her part too—raising a paw at the right moment, yawning theatrically when a story dragged, and occasionally creeping toward the puppets like a hunter mid-stalk. She even rolled onto her back at one point, paws in the air, inviting someone to scratch her belly (which no one dared to do, though they all laughed at the attempt).
For nearly an hour, the tent was filled with something rare in times of sickness: joy. Laughter replaced coughing, and even those too weak to sit up managed a smile.
As the show wound down, Venya bowed again, Luna stood and stretched, and the two of them began to quietly exit. But before they left, Luna turned and gently licked the cheek of the little girl who had laughed the hardest. The child beamed.
Outside, the drizzle had stopped. Inside, hope had returned.
