ENG-Leriana-Days of Waiting

CHAPTER 35 "Days of Waiting" The days pass in Jores with an uneasy calm. There are no attacks. No screams. But there is no peace either. On the first morning after the rumors, some villagers gather in the square with tense faces, speaking in low voices. They point toward the northern roads, toward the fields, toward the forest they now watch with a new caution. The tracks keep appearing. Large. Deep. Unmistakable. But increasingly farther apart. “It’s no longer bleeding,” a farmer says one afternoon, returning with a pale face. “Before, it left dark stains on the ground… now it doesn’t.” Another nods. “It’s moving better.” The news spreads quickly. The purple wolf is still there. And it seems to be recovering. Inside Anastasia’s house, the atmosphere is more contained, more disciplined. No one speaks about the monster out loud during meals, but everyone thinks about it. It can be felt in the silences, in the glances, in the way doors are closed before night falls. A week begins to take shape. A week of waiting. A week of preparation. The mornings fill with work. Leriana helps Anastasia attend to the villagers, prepare ointments, and sort medicinal herbs. She moves with speed and precision, learning something new every day. Her notebook is always open, filled with small, orderly notes. Anastasia watches her in silence many times. She says nothing. But she smiles. Because she sees progress. Because she sees responsibility. Because she sees strength. In the afternoons, training becomes routine. It is not military training. It is not preparation for war. It is something simpler. More practical. More real. In the small clearing behind the house, Anastasia places stones and logs as improvised obstacles. The ground is firm, the light soft, the air calm. Leriana stands before them. She breathes. She focuses. She raises her hand. A sphere of water appears in the air, slowly spinning, obedient to her will. She keeps it steady for a few seconds, then transforms it into a thin liquid layer that spreads out in front of her. A shield. Solid. Fluid. Controlled. Anastasia nods. “Better,” she says calmly. “Hold the shape.” Leriana presses her lips together slightly, concentrating. The shield trembles. But it does not break. A few steps away, Forau watches the scene, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes follow every movement carefully. “If that shield had been there a week ago,” he comments lightly, “I would have saved myself a couple of hits.” Leriana lowers the shield and looks at him, slightly flushed. “It worked,” she replies. Forau raises an eyebrow. “Yes,” he says. “But there’s always room to improve.” The young woman frowns with quiet determination. “Then teach me.” The silence lasts a second. Forau watches her. And a faint smile appears on his face. “Well…” he replies, “first you need to learn not to rely on me to take every hit for you.” The remark draws a small laugh from Anastasia. Leriana crosses her arms. “I don’t.” Forau shrugs. “Of course you don’t,” he says gently. “You just happen to stand right behind me.” The blush returns to Leriana’s cheeks. But this time she does not look down. “Because I know you won’t leave me alone.” The answer is simple. Honest. And it leaves Forau silent for a moment. Then he looks away, scratching the back of his neck. “Well…” he murmurs, “I try to maintain my reputation.” Anastasia watches the scene without intervening. Her smile is small. Almost invisible. But full of understanding. The nights are quieter. Slower. More silent. The village settles early, and the lights go out sooner than usual. The neighbors speak less, but listen more. Every distant sound seems important. Every crack in the forest is analyzed carefully. And yet… The monster does not approach. It stays far away. Watching. Waiting. Healing. One afternoon, a hunter arrives at Anastasia’s house with a serious expression. “I saw it,” he says. The room falls silent. “It’s stronger.” A pause. “The wounds have almost disappeared.” The weight of those words settles into the air. Forau sits by the window, listening without interrupting. His fingers rest on the wood, relaxed, but his gaze grows deeper. More calculating. More aware. Time is running out. And yet, between the tension and the waiting, there are also moments of calm. Small moments. Human moments. One afternoon, Leriana sits in the garden with her notebook open, reviewing notes while sorting medicinal plants. Her fingers move carefully, arranging leaves and roots with patience. Forau approaches slowly. He stops beside her. He observes. For a few seconds, he says nothing. Then he tilts his head slightly. “How many pages are you up to now?” Leriana looks up. “Thirty-two.” Forau lets out a soft whistle. “That’s more than I wrote in my entire childhood.” She smiles. “Didn’t you write?” Forau shakes his head naturally. “I tried once.” A pause. “But I blew up the inkwell.” The silence lasts a second. Then Leriana lets out a soft laugh. Clear. Sincere. Forau watches her. And without realizing it, he smiles too. It is not a wide smile. It is not loud. It is quiet. Warm. As if, for a moment, the weight of the world felt a little lighter. The week moves forward. The rumors continue. The tracks keep appearing. The purple wolf recovers. And somewhere, far from Jores, a response begins to travel from the capital. Still unseen. Still silent. But drawing closer with each passing day.