It had been a long year. The longest year of her life, maybe—worse, even, than when she was expelled from her clan and forced to make her way alone in the world. That had been an unbearable tragedy, yes, but then she'd found the solace of the circle... and perhaps things were never perfect, but they were tolerable. Pleasant, even. She had learned so much, and in turn taught what she knew to others like her. She'd found kindred spirits and minds alike, and even entertained a heated romance or two! Maggie had never chafed under the order's thumb as her peers had. Not really. The templars had only occasionally mistreated her, and otherwise let her be—or, in fact, had been remarkably kind to her! As a Libertarian, Maggie sought autonomy and a separation from the church... but she'd never wanted it to happen like this.

She'd spent most of the war huddled in pop-up tents, filled with stretchers occupied by the wounded. The worst among them were brought to her—not only because a shallow laceration or some nasty contusions could be handled by a field medic or a surgeon, but because she was a very talented healer. She could produce gouts of flame and bolts of lightening, sure, but her real talent was mending the ill, injured and infirm. So they'd brought her every maimed, dismembered or otherwise nearly-dead man and woman they could scrape off the front lines, and she'd done what she could to put them back together. It had been a tiring, often thankless job, but Maggie knew she was making a difference. That helped her sleep at night.

Haven was, blessedly, much slower-paced. When she had arrived the week prior, Maggie immediately located the makeshift infirmary and made herself available to the head physician, who was overjoyed to see an experienced healer. Very few mages had offered their services to the townspeople, apparently—more concerned were they with side-eyeing templar tents and watching their own hides. So, for nearly six days, Maggie had seen to every ailment and injury that came her way. Most of the wounded were travelers having just arrived in Haven, but occasionally a militia member would get hurt on patrol, or there would be a work accident among the carpenters trying to beat Haven back into shape. She took all comers, templar, mage or otherwise. Nobody deserved to languish in pain, as far as Maggie was concerned.

But tonight had been slow, thankfully. She was doing her best to eat and keep her energy up, but healing so many people over such a short period of time was taking its toll on her physical form, draining her of what little energy she'd arrived in Haven with. Just the night prior, when settling down for bed, she was certain she could feel her ribs through her dress, protruding angrily. Perhaps she'd have to see if the chantry could provide a little extra for her service. For now, though, she simply settled herself on a chair just outside the mouth of the infirmary tent, beneath its awning, and shrugged into her robes, watching passersby 'til somebody came to her for help.