The rain started without asking.
Not dramatic.
Not a storm.
Just enough to be annoying.
I pulled my hood tighter and squinted ahead. The forest smelled different when it rained—wet bark, damp earth, something sharp underneath it all.
Porlyusica didn't slow down.
Of course she didn't.
"…You ever notice," I said, hopping over a shallow puddle, "that weather always waits until people are tired?"
"No," she replied. "You just notice it more when you're tired."
"…That's somehow worse."
She stopped near a fallen tree and crouched, brushing rain off a cluster of low plants.
"Book," she said.
I blinked. "Which one?"
"The thin one. Brown cover."
I dug through my pack, fingers clumsy with the damp, and handed it over.
She flipped to a page, then pointed at the ground beside the roots.
"What does it say about this?"
I crouched next to her, peering closer. Leaves wide. Veins darker than the stem. Soil slightly raised.
"…It grows where water pools but drains fast," I said slowly. "Roots are shallow."
"And?"
"…Ground's unstable."
She nodded once.
I leaned back instinctively.
A second later, the earth near the roots gave way with a soft collapse, sinking in on itself.
"…Okay," I muttered. "That would've been embarrassing."
"Painful," she corrected. "Embarrassment comes later."
⸻
When the Book Is Right
We detoured.
Not far. Just enough.
Rain made everything slick. My boots slipped once—twice—but my body adjusted before I fully went down. That faint internal buzz kicked in, steadying my steps like it knew the ground better than I did.
I didn't smile.
Didn't celebrate.
I just moved.
Porlyusica watched from the corner of her eye.
"You noticed sooner," she said.
"The ground?"
"And yourself."
"…That's a compliment, right?"
"Yes."
I grinned despite myself. "Wow. Marking the calendar."
⸻
Small Trouble, Big Lesson
It happened fast.
A hiss.
A flicker of movement.
Too close.
I jumped back as something thin and fast snapped where my foot had been.
Snake.
Long. Dark. Not huge—but fast enough.
I froze.
Not panic.
Choice.
Porlyusica didn't shout.
She didn't move.
She just said one word.
"Still."
I stayed still.
The snake reared, tongue flicking, unsure.
I felt my pulse in my ears. The vibration under my skin tightened, like everything inside me was holding position instead of pushing forward.
Don't run.
Don't step.
Don't rush.
After a tense second, the snake dropped back into the brush and vanished.
I exhaled slowly.
"…I was about to do something stupid," I admitted.
"Yes," she said calmly. "You were."
"…Thanks for stopping me."
She glanced at me. "You stopped yourself."
That felt… different.
⸻
Writing It Down Before It Fades
We made camp early because of the rain.
I sat under a tree, pulled out my notebook, and wrote with stiff fingers.
Day 13.
Rain changes everything. Ground lies when it's wet.
Books help if I actually look.
Didn't run today. Didn't fight either.
Stayed still. Lived.
That counts.
I hesitated, then added:
Porlyusica didn't save me. She trusted me not to mess it up.
I closed the notebook and leaned back.
"…Hey," I said. "Do you ever get tired of teaching?"
She stirred the fire, rain hissing against the embers. "I'm not teaching."
"…You keep saying that, but—"
"I'm letting you learn," she said. "There's a difference."
I thought about that.
"…So when do I get the scary books?"
She looked at me over the fire, eyes sharp.
"When you stop joking to hide nerves."
I opened my mouth—
Then closed it.
"…Noted."
The rain softened as night settled in.
My legs hurt. My head felt full. My pack felt heavier than it had that morning—not with weight, but with things I needed to remember.
Tomorrow, the forest would test me again.
And this time—
I'd watch where I stepped.