The second mistake came at night.
Not dramatic. Not loud.
Just late.
The rain had thinned to a steady drip, the fire reduced to a dull orange eye between stones. Porlyusica was sorting plants by feel, not sight, fingers moving automatically. I was supposed to be watching the perimeter.
I blinked.
That was all.
A short blink. Barely a moment.
Something moved.
Not a roar. Not a charge. A shift. A scrape of claws against wet stone.
Porlyusica reacted first.
"Down."
I dropped without thinking.
Something heavy swept over where my head had been a second earlier. Wind followed it, sharp and cold. The creature landed on the other side of the fire, hissing in irritation more than anger.
Too big to fight. Too close to run.
My heart kicked hard, my body begging to react.
The hum surged—
"Don't," Porlyusica snapped.
I froze.
Every instinct screamed at me to move faster, harder, now. My muscles twitched, electricity itching under my skin like it wanted permission.
I didn't give it one.
Porlyusica tossed a pouch into the fire.
Green smoke bloomed, thick and bitter.
The creature recoiled immediately, snarled once, then vanished back into the dark, more annoyed than threatened.
Silence followed.
The fire crackled.
Rain tapped leaves.
I stayed exactly where I was, breathing slow, controlled.
Porlyusica turned to me.
Not angry.
Worse.
"You hesitated," she said.
I nodded. "…I blinked."
"That's all it takes," she replied. "You weren't ready because you thought you were."
I swallowed. "I didn't trigger it."
Her eyes narrowed. "…Good."
Then she reached out and flicked my forehead.
Hard enough to sting.
"That was for being late."
I stared at her.
"…Fair."
She went back to sorting plants like nothing had happened.
I didn't sleep much after that.
Days Later
We moved faster after that.
Not recklessly. Cleaner.
Morning walks became drills. Not running—stepping. Where to place weight. How to move quietly without relying on strength. When to stop entirely.
I fell twice more.
Once on loose shale. Once crossing a stream too fast.
Both times, I stayed on my feet.
Both times, I paid for it later.
Sore joints. Shaking hands. Muscles burning like they'd been twisted the wrong way and left there.
Porlyusica never praised me.
She did start correcting me sooner.
"Too early."
"Too stiff."
"Again."
At night, I wrote everything down.
Not pretty. Not heroic.
Missed footing. Tried to compensate. Didn't fall. Pain lasted hours.
Reaction faster than thought. Still wrong.
She notices everything.
Sometimes she glanced at the notebook.
Once, she slid a thin book across the ground toward me.
No title. Just diagrams.
"Read," she said. "Then sleep."
I flipped through it later by firelight. Muscle lines. Nerve paths. Notes in cramped handwriting.
No magic spells.
Just bodies.
The World Keeps Moving
The valley changed.
Insects avoided certain paths. Birds shifted their calls. Tracks appeared where none had been before.
We adjusted.
We didn't chase danger. We didn't challenge it.
We learned how to arrive late enough to survive.
One evening, while I was stretching my leg near the fire, Porlyusica spoke without looking at me.
"You don't fight like someone trying to win."
I shrugged. "Winning sounds exhausting."
A pause.
"…You fight like someone trying to still be alive tomorrow," she said.
That felt right.
I smiled a little.
The hum under my skin stayed quiet that night.
Not gone.
Waiting.