Porlyusica didn't leave that evening.
Not dramatically.
Not announced.
She just… didn't go.
I noticed it when the sun dipped low and she was still sitting at our table, checking the last pot of medicine like it might suddenly decide to explode out of spite.
Dad noticed too.
Neither of us said anything at first.
She glanced at the window once, then at the medicine, then at Dad. Her tongue clicked softly.
"I'm not walking back in the dark," she said. "And I need to see how they react overnight."
That was it.
No discussion. No asking.
She pulled a chair closer to the wall, leaned her staff against it, and sat down like she'd already decided hours ago.
Boots still on.
I blinked.
"…So, uh," I said, scratching the back of my head. "Do you want the bed, or should I just sleep standing up like a heroic broom?"
Dad coughed—half laugh, half actual cough.
Porlyusica didn't even look at me.
"You talk too much," she said. "Sleep."
Fair.
That night felt… strange.
Not bad. Just different.
The house was quiet, except for Dad's steady breathing and the soft clink of Porlyusica adjusting jars now and then. She didn't hover. Didn't fuss. She just watched.
I lay on my mat, staring at the ceiling.
My body felt tired in that deep, earned way. The kind where my muscles buzzed faintly, like they were still moving even when I wasn't. The vibration under my skin was there, gentle and steady. Not louder. Not stronger. Just… present.
Like it was keeping me upright from the inside.
I rolled onto my side.
"…You snore?" I asked quietly, because silence makes me nervous and my brain hates it.
"No."
"…Good. I do. Loudly. You've been warned."
Silence.
Then, after a moment:
"If you snore, I'll wake you."
I smiled into my blanket.
Morning came with the smell of boiled herbs and burned toast.
Dad was already awake when I sat up, looking less pale than yesterday. Still weak, but… better. Enough that he noticed me watching.
"What?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Just checking you didn't turn into a ghost overnight."
Porlyusica snorted.
That was new.
The village didn't magically bounce back.
No one was running. No one was shouting.
But people were sitting outside again.
Miko waved at me from a stool, wrapped in three blankets, holding a cup like it was sacred treasure. Taro was nearby, arguing with his mom about whether coughing "a little" counted as being sick.
Progress.
Porlyusica watched it all without comment.
Later, while Dad rested, she motioned for me to follow her toward the edge of the fields.
"We're going back out," she said. "The common plants helped them stabilize. That's all."
"So… no miracle cure?" I asked.
She shot me a look.
"This isn't a storybook."
"Right," I nodded. "My bad. No sparkles."
We searched for hours.
Not rushing. Not wandering.
She described what she needed in short, sharp pieces. I listened. Really listened. I didn't interrupt this time.
Leaf shape. Root texture. Where it wouldn't grow.
At one point, I stopped and frowned at a patch of ground.
"This soil's wrong," I said. "Too dry underneath. Even after the rain."
She paused, looked where I pointed, then nodded once.
"…Good eye."
I tried not to grin.
Failed.
The hunter returned that afternoon.
Garron looked exhausted. Dirty. Worried.
When he saw people sitting up, actually talking, he froze like he didn't trust his eyes.
"Still breathing," I said helpfully. "Mostly."
He stared at me. "You're awful."
"I try."
That night, while Garron ate like he hadn't seen food in a week, Porlyusica finally spoke to Dad properly.
Not about medicine.
About me.
"You taught him well," she said.
Dad looked surprised. Then thoughtful.
Later—much later—after Garron had fallen asleep and the house was quiet again, Dad called me over.
He didn't say anything at first.
Just put a hand on my head.
"You were always looking beyond the fields," he said softly. "I thought it meant you wanted to leave us."
I swallowed.
"I didn't," I said quickly. "I just wanted to be ready."
He smiled, tired but warm. "I see that now."
He hesitated.
"…If you learned healing," he continued, "you'd be safer. And maybe one day… you could help others like you helped us."
I tried to joke. My mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
For once, I didn't have one.
Porlyusica stood by the door, arms crossed, pretending very hard not to listen.
"I won't take him," she said flatly. "Unless he wants it. And unless you agree."
Dad looked at me.
Really looked.
I took a breath.
Not yet.
But… maybe soon.
And for the first time since the sickness began, that thought didn't feel terrifying.
Just… heavy.
In a way I could carry.