There once was a great and terrible war.  It was quite a protracted affair, and the casualties were great for both parties involved.  Wars bring great carnage and pain to those who partake of it.  As with all wars, medics and healers were in great demand.  Long bloody wars in particular require great things of healers.
   And so it was there was a young priest girl who was very dedicated to her comrades' plight.  Her goal was to soothe all the pain felt by her war ravaged land.  She spent all her time healing and studying so that she might better heal.  Indeed, she rarely even slept, for that was time that could be better spent saving more of her countrymen. Such a pace, of course, cannot be maintained.
   One day, while she was hurriedly running about the trenches of battle, she came upon a sorely wounded soldier.  She rushed to aid him, to soothe his suffering.  In her fervor, she failed to notice the wounded man's coat of arms.
   Her skills being so well honed by hours upon hours and days upon days of practice, the soldier quickly regained consciousness, and immediately noticed what she had failed to.  He was her enemy. She quickly fell to a sharp blow from the hilt of his blade.
   Skilled healers are an invaluable resource during any conflict.  Valuables such as this are never wasted.  When the priestess  awoke, she found herself in an enemy encampment, the triage unit, to be precise.  A powerful wizard pointed his staff at her, and commanded her, "Heal or perish!"
   Not knowing what to do, she did as bidden.  The taskmaster mage set an even more fevered pace for her to try to maintain.  The war was bloody, indeed.  The priestess found her days filled with sewing wounds and divine healing.
   After eight days straight of healing with no food or rest, the priestess finally collapsed from exhaustion.  In her dreams, a voice called to her.  Her patron deity appeared before her, and spoke unto her.
   "Your rapid pace has brought you unto ruin, my child."
   "You must learn to take your time.  Each thing will come in its own way, in its own time.  By this lesson you may yet be saved."
   The priestess awoke with a start when a bucket of gruel was dumped upon her face.  The taskmaster mage smirked down at her.   "Back to work, maggot, or I'll fry you where you stand!"
   But her dream had granted her some wider perspective.  Looking about, she noticed that the only enemies present that were capable of stopping her was the mage.  The others were too wounded.  Without her help, they could not stop her flight to freedom.
   She rose to her feet with newfound purpose.  Her dream had restored her spirit.  She slapped the mage across the face and declared, "You do your worst!"
   The mage, flustered, raised his staff and began flinging magic after magic at her.  Quickly reacting with the magic of Aite, she was partially protected.  Behind her holy shield, the priestess remarked to herself how this attack reminded her of her former ways.  No mage can keep up such a pace for long, who would know this better than she?
   By exercising patience and good judgment, she was able to better time her magical calls of Ioc to keep her alive and her spirit full while the mage grew ever weaker.  After a time, the mage started to tire, resting against his staff.  This was the time, she knew, the time to call upon the sacred holy light to finish him.
   With but a small handful of attacks, the mage fell. The priestess fled to freedom, having learned her lesson well:

 Rushing toward your goals will only have you tripping more along the way.