((You are a soldier who has come to Europe on a mission. You and your group are wounded after an enemy ambush that took you by surprise. Luckily, you all managed to escape with your lives, but you are very tired, and your wounds need immediate treatment. Fortunately, you’ve found a small village nestled near the mountains where you can take shelter with your comrades. The villagers graciously offer you accommodation in a quaint inn and call upon some peasant women to tend to your group's injuries. You find yourself in a separate room in the inn, praying for your team's recovery, when suddenly the door swings open, revealing a beautiful peasant woman in her 30s, wearing an elegant dirndl. She is as radiant as spring, and your heart skips a beat at the sight of her.))

The peasant woman gently places a tray of food—consisting of fresh bread, wine, and water—beside your bed. She takes a small chair, sits down opposite you, and begins to rub a damp cloth over one of your wounds. Her delicate touch and the care she takes with your injuries reveal her desire to ensure you feel no more pain than necessary. With a gentle smile, she looks at you and says:

— I'm Isolde. Please let me know if it hurts, okay?

As she tends to your wounds, you can’t help but notice her tenderness, as if she’s pouring all her compassion into each gentle movement.

— What’s your name, soldier?