Date: March 24, 541 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonorable.
Time here, in this clearing, had lost its meaning. Only the wind rustling through the dead branches, only her breath gradually steadying, only the strange, new warmth spreading through her body, filling every cell, every torn muscle, every oozing wound.
Ulviya raised her head. The sky above her was gray, low, and somewhere in the distance, to the west, a weak, pale beam broke through the clouds. The sun was setting. She had sat here all day.
Her body obeyed poorly — her legs trembled, her back ached, blood still oozed from the wound on her thigh. But she stood. Took a step, then another. The ground beneath her feet was solid, and that was good. Solid ground was what you needed when you did not know where to go but knew you had to keep moving.
The three bodies lay around her, and their gray, patchy hides were already beginning to blend with the earth. The corruption was leaving with the life, and where recently there had been a dead, scorched patch, the first timid shoots were already pushing through. Ulviya looked at them, and in her chest, where a storm had just raged, a stillness settled. Not the frightening one she had feared, but another — calm, deep, like water in a forest lake.
Slowly, leaning on the trunks, moving her legs, feeling each step echo with pain in her side, her shoulder, her thigh. But she walked. The forest around her changed. Where she walked, the gray, dead trees remained behind, and ahead appeared living ones — with green foliage, with bark smelling of resin, with branches rustling in the wind as if greeting her.
She emerged onto the path, the very one she had taken this morning. This morning? It seemed like an eternity had passed. She stopped, catching her breath. Blood had dried on her clothes, on her hand, on her glove. The glove was heavy, slick, but she did not take it off. For some reason, she felt that if she did, she would fall.
The path wound between the trunks, and the forest became lighter, more alive. The oppressive silence that had pressed on her shoulders was gone. Here, birds sang, and the wind smelled not of dampness, but of pine needles and flowers. Ulviya walked, and each step came easier. Not because the pain was subsiding — it was not subsiding — but because now Ulviya knew she could keep going even when it hurt.
The guards, the two with boar heads, saw her from afar. One of them jumped up, the other reached for his weapon, but recognizing her, lowered his hand.
"You..." he began, but Ulviya shook her head.
"It's alright," she said. Her voice was hoarse, foreign. "I just... came back."
Somewhere children were laughing, someone was arguing by the fountain, steel rang in the House of Crafts, and the light, warm, golden, fell upon the earth through the leaves. Ulviya walked, and people turned, looked at her, at her clothes, torn and bloodied, at her face, pale but calm, at her hand, clenched into a fist in the heavy, bloodied glove.
Her legs carried her towards the fountain, the place where she, Clii, and Bagurai used to watch the dawns. And there, by the fountain, she saw them.
Disak sat on the edge, his paws in the water. Ilnos stood beside him, leaning against a trunk. Viniya was cleaning her daggers. Urdash dozed, his back against a tree. Corvin was nowhere to be seen, but Ulviya knew — he was somewhere nearby. They were waiting. Not for her — probably just resting after training. But when she emerged into the square, they raised their heads.
Disak was the first to stand. He looked at her, at her clothes, at her face, at the way she held herself, and something like respect flickered in his eyes.
"Alive," he said. It was not a question.
"Alive," Ulviya answered.
She wanted to say something else, but the words stuck in her throat. Her legs gave way, and she felt the ground disappear from under her. Disak caught her, preventing her from falling. His paws were huge, warm, and smelled of honey and forest.
"Bagurai," he said to someone, and Ulviya heard the flapping of wings, someone speaking, the ringing of water in the fountain. Then she was lowered onto something soft, and she closed her eyes.
---
Hope stood on the windowsill, its leaves open to the sun. Nearby, on the table, stood a mug of herbal decoction, still warm, and a clean bandage lay. Ulviya sat up. Her body ached, but it was not the sharp, burning pain from the forest. It was a dull, pulling pain of healing wounds.
The glove was gone. Someone had removed it while she slept. The skin on her palm was clean, only a few fresh scars crossing it, reminders of what had happened. She clenched her fist, unclenched it. Her fingers obeyed, and that was good.
The city lived its own life. Children played by the fountain below. The llamas, the very ones who had given her the wreath, sat on its edge telling stories, and the little ones listened, mouths agape. The sun shone, leaves rustled on the trees, and everything was as it always was.
Ulviya took the mug, took a sip. The decoction was bitter, but warming, and that was pleasant. She set the mug down, took the clean bandage, wrapped her shoulder, then her forearm, then her thigh. Her movements were slow but precise. She knew what she was doing.
When she finished, she sat on the bed, leaned her back against the wall, and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be a new day. She would go to Clii, and Clii would probably say nothing. Just nod. She would go to Bagurai, and Bagurai would probably also say nothing. Just push another pot of a plant towards her and say, "Feel." And she would feel. Because now she knew not only how to feel, but how to win.
Hope stood on the windowsill, and its two small, pale-green leaves stretched towards the light. Ulviya smiled.
"I'm back," she said quietly. "I'm back."
And in this silence, in this light, in this city that had become her home, she finally allowed herself to relax. Sleep came not immediately, but it was calm, without dreams, without fears. Only silence, only warmth, only a vague but so important feeling that everything would be alright. Or it wouldn't. But she would manage. As she always had.