"Yes... yes." She subconsciously raised her hand to rub her swollen, stinging temples, but her fingertips touched rough bandages.
Looking down, she realized she was also wrapped in many bandages, and the smell of iodine and herbs filled her nostrils.
The scent of alcohol made Serie swallow with difficulty, her dry throat feeling like it was on fire.
"Was... was it you who saved me?" she asked hoarsely, her gaze falling on the Old Woman and the trembling Red-haired girl behind her.
"Yes, this child found you by the edge of the forest and dragged you back."
The Old Woman nodded, her rough palm gently stroking the Red-haired girl's messy red hair.
Seeing the Red-haired girl still shaken behind the Old Woman, even too scared to look at her, and her shrinking posture.
Looking at the glaring bruise on the Red-haired girl's neck, Serie's guilt almost crushed her: "I'm sorry, truly... I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to..."
The Red-haired girl, feeling her gaze and apology, did not relax; instead, like a startled fawn, she buried her face deeper behind the Old Woman, her thin shoulders trembling slightly, not daring to cast even a glance in Serie's direction.
"Child, you... are you a Soldier?" The Old Woman, noticing the lingering smell of gunpowder on Serie, gently changed the subject, with the understanding of someone who had seen much.
"My son was also a Soldier. War is like a maggot gnawing at his heart; after he came back, just like you, he was plagued by nightmares every night..."
She paused, a hint of pain flashing in her cloudy eyes, which then transformed into deeper tolerance, and she sighed softly, "I just didn't expect... you to be so young, and already..."
"Hmph, it's all the evil deeds of those inhuman politicians!" The Old Woman snorted, her words carrying the unreserved sharpness and indignation characteristic of a country woman, but this sharpness, when facing Serie, transformed into a warm, embracing current.
Little did the Old Woman know that the woman before her, seemingly young, actually carried an age possibly not far from her own, or even... much longer.
The roaring guns, the burning house styles, the Soldier's uniform styles in her chaotic nightmares...
All exuded an aura that did not belong to this era.
"Yes, I suppose so. Thank you... truly..." Serie said softly, struggling to prop herself up, "But I have to go."
She didn't want to escape this kindness or the immediate guilt, but rather the ever-present fear—the pursuit by the Control Bureau.
If her stay were to cause this kind grandmother and granddaughter to be branded with a terrible crime like "harboring an anomaly," leading to their ruin...
Then she would truly go insane with guilt!
However, her body was far more honest than her will.
As soon as she exerted force with her arm to push off the bed, attempting to stand, a sharp pain, as if tearing her apart again, suddenly exploded from her lower abdomen!
The pristine white bandages, just recently changed, were instantly soaked by a gush of warm liquid.
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