I learned very quickly that Porlyusica's idea of a lesson was different from mine.
"Sit."
That was it. That was the instruction.
We were halfway up a rocky slope overlooking the valley, morning sun just starting to warm the stone. Birds circled above. Somewhere far off, something howled and immediately regretted it.
I sat.
Minutes passed.
Then more minutes.
"…So," I said carefully, "is this the part where I meditate, or the part where I slowly lose feeling in my legs?"
She didn't answer.
She stood a few steps away, arms crossed, eyes on the treeline below us.
I shut up.
Five minutes later, my legs started shaking.
Ten minutes later, I noticed something else.
The forest wasn't quiet.
It was paused.
Leaves didn't move the same way. Insects stopped buzzing. Even the wind felt like it was holding its breath.
That faint vibration in my body shifted—not stronger, not louder. Just… tighter. Like everything in me knew it was a bad idea to move.
My fingers twitched.
I didn't.
A shadow passed between the trees.
Large. Low. Wrong.
Porlyusica raised one finger.
Don't move.
The creature stepped into view.
It looked like a boar, if a boar had too many scars, one broken tusk, and eyes that didn't blink right. Old. Territorial. Not hungry—just angry that something existed where it didn't belong.
My pulse jumped.
My body wanted to run.
Instead, I stayed still.
The vibration steadied me. Not courage. Not bravery.
Control.
The boar sniffed the air, snorted once, then turned away, crashing back into the undergrowth.
Only when the forest started breathing again did Porlyusica speak.
"That," she said, "is why you don't fight everything."
I exhaled. Slowly. "I feel like that should've come with a warning."
"You noticed it," she replied. "That's enough."
⸻
Running Is a Skill
We didn't rest long.
"Now run," she said.
"…You're kidding."
She wasn't.
She kicked a stone downhill.
It shattered against something unseen.
A moment later, the forest moved.
"Left," she snapped.
I ran.
Not blindly. Not wildly.
I remembered Garron's lessons. Uneven ground. Roots. Breath control.
The vibration surged—not power, not speed—but coordination. My feet hit where they needed to. My balance corrected mid-step. When I slipped, I didn't fall—I rolled.
Branches scraped my arms. Rocks bruised my ribs.
Behind us, something chased.
I didn't look back.
Porlyusica vaulted a fallen log like gravity was optional.
"…I'm seven!" I yelled. "This feels unfair!"
"You'll be eight eventually," she shot back. "Keep moving!"
We broke through the trees into a narrow ravine.
She stopped suddenly.
I copied her without thinking.
The creature barreled past our hiding spot, blind with momentum.
Silence followed.
I leaned against the rock wall, panting.
"…Okay," I said between breaths. "I admit it. Running is useful."
She nodded once.
⸻
Books, Bruises, and Boundaries
That night, she added two more books to my pack.
One on monster behavior.
One on field medicine.
"You're not learning spells," she said. "You're learning judgment."
I flipped through the pages. Diagrams. Notes. Warnings scribbled in the margins.
"…You really don't hold back," I said.
She glanced at me. "You don't have the luxury of mistakes."
That sobered me.
Then I added, "But if I die, I'm haunting you."
She snorted.
Progress.
⸻
Writing It Down
Later, by firelight, I wrote again.
Day ???
Lesson: don't move.
Also lesson: move very fast.
Almost died.
Didn't. Still winning.
I paused, then added:
Note:
Running isn't cowardice.
It's choosing tomorrow.
I closed the book.
My body ached. My hands trembled slightly.
But I wasn't scared.
I was learning how to stay alive.
And for now, that mattered more than fighting.