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🌾 Whispers of the Countryside
Chapter Three: Eyes Open
The morning crept in slowly, soft and gray, the sky still damp from the night's quiet drizzle. Rain had kissed the earth and moved on, leaving the world cool and still, wrapped in mist.
Elara sat curled in the armchair near the hearth, a wool shawl draped over her shoulders. She hadn't slept — not really. Her eyes had closed for moments at a time, but her thoughts were restless. She'd checked the stranger's wound twice during the night and changed the cloth once, watching over him like a wary sentry.
When he stirred just after dawn, she was already watching him.
His breathing shifted, deeper, uneven. His brow twitched. Then his eyes opened — pale gray, sharp and unsettled. He blinked at the ceiling, at the flicker of the firelight, then slowly turned his head and met her gaze.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then, hoarsely, he asked, "Where… am I?"
"My home," Elara answered, her voice quiet but steady. "The countryside. I found you at my gate yesterday evening. You were injured."
He shifted, trying to sit up. Pain flickered across his face, but he didn't groan. He grit his teeth instead, holding his side with a freshly bandaged hand. His eyes darted around the room — to the closed door, to the window, to the fireplace.
She saw it instantly: the tension in his shoulders, the readiness in his eyes. He was preparing to flee.
"I won't stop you," she said gently, standing slowly from her chair. "But you should know — you lost a lot of blood. I don't think you made it here by accident."
He looked at her again, brow furrowed.
"I didn't mean to…" He trailed off, swallowed hard, and then shook his head. "Thank you. For whatever you did for me. But I can't stay here."
Elara didn't respond right away. She crossed the room and poured warm water into a mug, adding a few drops of her calming tincture. When she brought it to him, he hesitated — then took it with a slow nod.
"I don't need to know why," she said. "Not unless you choose to tell me. But you're in no shape to leave."
His lips pressed into a line. "It's not safe. For you."
Something about the way he said it — not a threat, but a warning — made her pause. She studied him, noticing now the bruises on his arms, the dirt beneath his fingernails, the slight tremble in his hand as he held the cup.
"I've lived here a long time," she replied. "Danger doesn't frighten me as much as regret does."
He looked at her again, longer this time. Something shifted behind his eyes — not trust, but maybe the beginning of it.
She turned away then, giving him his space, and returned to the hearth.
Behind her, he murmured, "What's your name?"
"Elara."
A silence passed, and then, quietly: "Caelum."
To be continued....