I, Guinevere, am going to crush you, you curry stick, today!

"You are hurt……"

"A minor injury... though I'd like to say that, ouch, it hurts... it hurts so much..."

Beneath the shade of the trees, a figure crouched down, observing for a moment: "...It's indeed a minor injury." After saying this, the girl on the ground called out "Hey!" She smiled, intending to touch it, but then withdrew her arm. After the battle, sweat and dust mingled, making it unwise to touch the wound carelessly. She wiped it near the hem of her clothes, then searched her pockets and pulled out a handkerchief. "Let me help you treat it..."

Carrying a handkerchief might sound delicate and ladylike, but in reality, it's just a clean, square piece of cloth, mainly used for wiping sweat and sometimes for bandaging wounds. As for patterns, they're completely nonexistent. The figure lying on the ground turned her head, letting her wipe the blood from her face, looking obedient. After thinking for a moment, she added, "Don't worry, I washed it this morning."

"Oh……"

Startled, Guinevere realized what that meant and couldn't help but chuckle. The sticky, bloody sensation gradually disappeared with the other person's gentle movements, and the sunlight overhead seemed even more slanted than before. She took two deep breaths, her body suddenly feeling weak, unable to move even a finger. With the help of the person beside her, she slowly sat up.

"Is the matter resolved?"

"I don't know, I haven't even figured out what happened yet... It's so inexplicable." Guinevere pouted and recounted what had just happened: the Four Branches Shoal, the Red Branch Knights, and as for the black figure with the gun, she had a vague guess, but without evidence, she didn't say anything. Artoria blinked, her brows furrowing slightly: "The Red Branch Knights... I've never heard of that name before."

“It’s an organization from four hundred years ago, Al, it’s normal that you don’t know it.” She paused, thinking that her image of “knowing five hundred years ago and fifteen hundred years ago” might be even more imposing in Artoria’s eyes, and couldn’t help but feel secretly pleased. Despite the pain from her wounds, Guinevere chuckled twice. Then her expression turned serious: “Anyway, that demonic boar and the runes here… who’s behind this? And we just happened to run into them.”

Their eyes met, and Artoria whispered, "The mist spreads, and birds of death will be born from it, spreading their wings and singing, traveling alongside skeletons—" This was the prophecy uttered by the skull not long ago. The first few sentences were incomprehensible, but the mention of skeletons at the end had suddenly appeared before them.

A moment of silence. Gradually, strength returned to her body, and Guinevere stood up unsteadily. She sheathed her sword and fastened the scabbard to her waist. After defeating the dark figure, the Four Shallows Barrier disappeared. With a thought, a faint green leaf mark appeared on the back of her hand. Feeling the wind around her as if extending from her arm, she pressed the hilt of her sword, her mind filled with questions, yet she couldn't find the answers for the moment.

Uncle Druid was injured in the battle just now, and Tristan seemed to be escorting him back to the village to recuperate. Just as he was about to turn around and tell Al that he would go down the mountain to meet up with the two men, something suddenly flashed in the black ash in the corner of his eye.

It was a small pile of dark purple dust. After she defeated the gun-wielding figure, there was no blood splattering; instead, her entire body, gun and all, scattered into the air, most of it drifting away with the wind, while a small portion accumulating on the ground. The fleeting light emanated from this pile of dust.

She walked over, picked up a twig, and rummaged through the pile of ash. A small stone appeared in their sight—a stone about the size of a thumbnail, with a faint light gathering on it, and vaguely visible, two intersecting blades, one long and one short.

With a snap, the branch fell to the ground.

"This...how could this be..." In the sunlight of the forest, the girl swayed slightly, her voice filled with confusion and struggle: "This is Terena's...Nine Witch Mark..."

*****

The fierce battle in the mountains, with its music, the roars and screams of the giant beasts, the loud crashes of trees being torn apart and broken, and so on, naturally reached the ears of the villagers at the foot of the mountain. In their panic, a young man named Doug tried to go and see what was going on, but was stopped by others. Some people also noticed that the druid was missing, leading to another round of speculation. Even the most daring among them would not believe that Uru had gone up the mountain to fight the wild boar by himself... They knew his strength, so why would he want to die?

But soon after, Tristan carried the wounded middle-aged man down the mountain and told the villagers what had happened. The atmosphere of panic subsided, and the surprise, astonishment, doubt, and dissatisfaction with King Marco's oppressive rule during this period after the disaster suddenly loosened and were vented on Tristan, who was involved. All of this, like a farce, was not too surprising.

Guinevere and her companion, however, did not get caught up in the turmoil. They quietly descended the mountain and stayed in the small cabin in Uru, watching the noise and commotion in the square, waiting for the two people surrounded to return. As they did so, they rummaged through their bags and pulled out several medicines, some given by Hector, and others that the little princess had scavenged from the castle before her departure. They laid them out on the table and discussed which one to use on the injured druid uncle.

Ever since seeing the mark of crossed swords, Guinevere's expression had been rather unpleasant. She fiddled with her medicine, and while she smiled when speaking to Artoria, she fell silent when she stopped. "If Kai were here, perhaps he would say something," Artoria thought, but knowing her personality, she couldn't easily lighten the mood. As the girl remained silent, she pondered the mark and its meaning: the Fairy Queen of the Lake, the Fairy Land, the Nine Witches…

As the sun began to set in the west, the distant fields gradually blurred. Footsteps approached from afar, and the door was pushed open. Tristan and Uru walked in one after the other. The latter's back was covered in blood and gore, but it seemed that some kind of herbal paste had been applied to it. He was still conscious, though somewhat listless. The red-haired knight had a calm expression, but the hand holding the bow was clenched tightly, and his knuckles had turned white.

“This is too reckless…” His voice was soft, but there was a hint of anger in it. He nodded to the two people in the room. Although they had just met and fought side by side briefly, it seemed that their relationship had become a little closer: “I plan to stay here for the night. After I have seen that envoy… I will go back to report this matter to the king.”

Earlier in the square, Guinevere had seen him being verbally abused by several villagers, the words barely audible from a distance, but likely not pleasant. She initially thought his anger was understandable, and that his refrain from attacking was already a show of mercy. If it were one of her father's arrogant knights, being insulted by commoners, it would be normal for them to draw their swords and kill the person on the spot. However, judging from his words, his anger seemed directed not at those villagers. Her eyes flickered, and Artoria beside her nodded, "I'll stay too."

She had always possessed keen intuition, almost to the point of being able to foresee the future, as Merlin would say. But precisely because of this, she was exceptionally sensitive to the emotions of others. The atmosphere in the village, in Guinevere's eyes, was one of despair and suffocation, and what Artoria saw was even more unbearable. She had already been burning with anger when the druid mentioned the village's condition, and now, remembering that this wasn't a decision she should make alone, she quickly turned to look at her companion.

Guinevere, of course, wouldn't contradict her at this point: "Yes, we'll stay too." She nodded: "It's getting late, and we won't get very far if we set off now... Besides, we have an appointment with the uncle."

She smiled at Uru, and he returned the smile, though the pain from his wound made him grimace, giving the smile a somewhat "grotesque" appearance. Although she was very concerned about Terena's situation, seeing his mangled wound, she didn't want to urge him to speak. Guinevere sighed; "I have some medicine here, several kinds. Uncle, see which one you like… but it seems you've already applied herbal medicine…"

"Well, it's a folk remedy I got before, and it's actually somewhat effective. The advantage is that it works very quickly, but once the effects wear off, I'll be in a deep sleep for a long time..." With an injury on his back, it wasn't good for him to sit in a chair, so probably considering that there were guests, Uru just sat down on the edge of the wooden bed.

There were four chairs in the room, three of which were normal size, but one looked like it was for a child, a whole size smaller. Guinevere was preoccupied when she came in, so she casually pulled the chair over and sat down. After a while, she noticed that Artoria, who was about the same height as her, was suddenly a head taller than her, and that's when she realized something was wrong. But if she got up to change chairs now, it would seem like she cared a lot. As the saying goes, a person lives for their reputation, and a tree lives for its bark, so she forced herself to stay in the small chair and pretended that nothing had happened.

When Tristan pulled up a chair and sat by the door, the four of them formed a triangle-like arrangement. Uru tapped his knee with his fingers. "There's no time to lose... While I'm still lucid, let's finish what we promised this young lady—otherwise, if something goes wrong later, I'll be seen as a man of my word. Heh..."

"Should I excuse myself for the time being?" Tristan asked.

“No need.” Guinevere shook her head. “Since that’s the case, I won’t beat around the bush. You seemed quite excited when you mentioned Terena’s name at the village entrance… Uncle, what is your relationship with Terena?”

"...After so many years as an apprentice, even when I return to the village, I help everyone make some simple tools..." After a long pause, Uru slowly began to speak: "That chair—"

He pointed to the empty wooden chair in the corner: "It belongs to my wife. And the one you're sitting on now, little girl, I was originally going to save for my unborn child..."

Over these few words, a certain atmosphere gradually gathered. Another silence fell. Uru closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly back. The scent of herbs mingled with the stench of blood, permeating the small house—faint, yet so distinctly clear: "A year ago… my child was about to be born… the two old women in the village who knew how to midwife had both died. It was a night, raining heavily. I went to the next village to find someone, and on my way back…"

P.S.: Many people have said the plot is progressing too slowly, so I'll be focusing on the main storyline from now on! Please recommend, vote, and add to your favorites!

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Chaos (Part Two)

In my memory, it must have been a stormy night. The rain started in the morning, falling intermittently, gradually intensifying, and soon thunder began. Golden lightning flashed through the dark clouds, and the rain poured down relentlessly, turning everything into a white blur. When the raindrops hit my skin, I could feel a dull pain similar to being hit by sticks.

He walked around outside twice, wearing a rain cloak. In this kind of weather, wild animals occasionally came down from the mountains to attack people and livestock, resulting in several injuries and deaths. He greeted Angus and the others who were also on patrol, asking why Doug wasn't there. Doug replied that his brother was at home taking care of their father—some time ago, a strange disease had suddenly spread in the area, but fortunately it hadn't affected too much; only four or five weak elderly people, women, and children hadn't survived, and their bodies had been cleansed and buried in the cemetery outside the village. The village chief and his wife had been busy caring for the sick and had also fallen ill; the wife had died, and the village chief was still in a coma, but he had checked on him a few days ago and was at least out of danger.

After exchanging a few words, the group, dressed in simple rain gear that offered little protection in the downpour, returned home with their short spears. Their cloaks were half-ripped, and they were soaked to the bone. His wife, several months pregnant, came over, wiped his face and hair, and brought him hot water. He was happy to see her noticeably protruding belly, but also felt a pang of heartache seeing her busy herself. He went over and took over her work, but she resisted. After a brief struggle, he pressed down on her shoulders to make her sit down, and they chatted idly for a while.

"After our son is born... we need to get a bigger bed."

"Yeah, I'll change it in a few days." He nodded, then after a moment, casually added, "It might not even be my son..."

Hearing the sound of a chair being dragged, he turned around and saw his wife standing there, looking flustered, her lips trembling: "It's our son...it's him."

He went over and pressed his hand on his wife's shoulder: "Sit down, sit down and rest."

The woman nodded, sat down in a chair, and pressed her hand to her lower abdomen: "Look, he kicked me, so strong... It must be a boy. I will give you a healthy, chubby son..."

“Actually, I don’t care that much. Don’t feel pressured…” he comforted her.

I met this woman a few years ago. She had been married once; her husband seemed to be an ordinary farmer. I don't know why he became a bandit in the mountains, killing and robbing. He killed her and chased his remaining gang to their stronghold, a simple little mountain village. He released the other women he had abducted, leaving only one. She cried silently, but he couldn't just leave her in the mountains—she might be carried off by wolves that night. So he took her with him, and over the course of a few months, they ended up together in a messy affair. The woman wasn't pretty; she was thin and small with a pointed mouth. He usually wouldn't have looked at her, I don't know why… Not long after their marriage, she became pregnant, and thus gained some weight, becoming a little more pleasing to the eye. Of course, she was still not considered beautiful.

A casual remark had startled and terrified her, surprising him and, in a way, reminding him of how her ex-husband had treated her. A faint resentment welled up within him, but then he remembered how he had impaled the man with a short spear and pinned him to a rock; the man's face contorted with fear and pain was, in a way, revenge for his wife. But he couldn't tell his wife this, or he would frighten her again… After a while, he heard his wife ask, "Really…you really don't care?"

"I don't care," he replied. But in his heart, he thought he did care a little. This concern, however, wasn't for the reason his wife was thinking. Although a son or a daughter was about the same to him, in this chaotic era, to live with dignity, or rather, to live like a human being, under the same conditions, men always had an advantage... and it wasn't easy. He glanced back and saw his wife sitting there, gently stroking her slightly protruding belly, her eyes closed, the corners of her mouth slightly upturned. He looked away, then looked back a moment later. Outside the window, the rain was pouring down, but the woman's expression seemed to be bathed in light.

"You kicked me again..."

She laughed happily.

……

A few hours later, after a simple meal, the two went to bed. The wooden plank bed was hard and narrow, barely enough for the couple, but they would need a new one after having a child. He was a druid apprentice, and although he had no talent for magic, he was more than capable of woodworking. He could handle everything himself, saving a lot of money. He fell into a deep sleep and had several dreams, the contents of which he couldn't remember clearly. When he woke up, he could only vaguely recall a bright red and glaring bloodstain. He rolled out of bed, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of his chest. He put on his clothes and realized he was covered in a cold sweat.

Outside, the wind and rain raged, with thunder and lightning. A bolt of lightning suddenly flashed across the sky, filling the world with endless pale light. Amidst the ensuing thunder, the wife on the bed suddenly struggled and let out a heart-wrenching cry.

The baby is about to be born.

It didn't take long to confirm this. Looking at the weather outside, then at his wife in agony on the bed, he felt a mixture of joy and worry. He put on his half-tattered cloak, which hadn't been repaired in time, told his wife to bear it a little longer, and went out to knock on doors. But the two elderly women who knew how to deliver babies had both died in earlier infectious diseases. The remaining women were either completely bewildered or patted their chests, saying they could try, but clearly they were unreliable. Try? That would mean two lives at stake!

Left with no other choice, he braved the rain to seek help in a nearby village. But he wasn't sure if he could find anyone, or if anyone would follow him. Wild beasts were secondary; according to his former druid mentor, on stormy nights like these, one was highly likely to encounter strange and unusual beings, and it was best not to go out… But at this moment, he couldn't worry about that. His cloak completely broke halfway through, so he tossed it aside and walked on in the rain. The wooden bridge in the middle had been washed away, broken into several pieces. Looking at the rushing river, he gritted his teeth and stepped across.

He finally reached the village to the west, it was already late at night. He knocked on doors in a disheveled state, explaining his predicament and hoping to beg for help, but in this thunderstorm, no one was willing to come. Finally, one person showed interest, but upon seeing the broken wooden bridge and the river halfway there, he refused to go any further. Frustrated and annoyed, he even pulled out a short spear, intending to threaten her, but in the end, he just sighed and hurried back, soaked to the bone. After all this trouble, he wondered how his wife was doing…

He had rushed out without having time to light a fire, but when he returned, light was shining from inside the house. Angus was standing at the door, and when he saw him approach, his expression was a mixture of surprise and joy. "Brother Uru, there's... there's hope!" he exclaimed. After hearing his brief explanation, Angus was stunned.

According to Angus, it was just as he was setting off to seek help in the neighboring village that a woman appeared from the direction of the mountains in the rain. She was a plump woman, around thirty-four or thirty-five years old, wearing a simple cloak but dressed very elaborately, adorned with rings, necklaces, bracelets, and so on—clearly not an ordinary person. Because he had been asking around, the entire village had been awakened and was now worried about his wife's condition. Seeing the plump woman's attire, as if she had traveled through the night and crossed mountains, they were all puzzled.

The other person seemed equally curious as to why the villagers were still awake so late at night. After asking a few questions, he clapped his hands and said, "What a coincidence! I used to work in the court of a certain king, specifically in this kind of matter. If you don't mind, I can help you... No payment is needed, just let me stay here for the night. Look at this rain, it's really heavy..."

It was a perfectly reasonable request; even without help, the villagers would have let her stay the night in this weather. The decision was made immediately. The plump woman decisively went into Uru's house, washed her hands with clean water, and had a few things prepared. Some of the people who had witnessed childbirth before recognized these items as those used by the midwife back then, and nodded, saying to those around them, "This person is very reliable."

"Of course she's reliable, she's been in the palace. Look at that ring, it's sparkling, it's probably gold..." someone said enviously. At that time, there were no demonic boars in the mountains, and the king's orders weren't so unbearable. Plus, the fat woman had offered to help, clearly a kind-hearted person, so for a while, no one was tempted by the money. Only envious voices chattered incessantly. Angus, afraid of disturbing the fat woman inside, dismissed everyone. He took his weapon and, with two more serious middle-aged women, stood guard. If any foolish person came along and caused trouble, everyone would be unhappy.

The two women were not there at the time, but Angus calculated the time and felt that he should be back soon, so he sent someone to prepare some hot soup and food, clean clothes, etc., so that he could change into them as soon as he returned.

Having said all this, he understood Angus's considerations, sincerely thanked him, and promised to make a new set of furniture for the village chief's family free of charge in the future. Then he stood outside the door, waiting quietly. Knowing that he was worried, Angus talked to him casually to reassure him. The wind and rain were fierce, and the howling sounded like human cries. In this atmosphere, the vague unease from his dream resurfaced.

I don't know when, but the lights in the room started to flicker.

"Alright, ha, mother and daughter are safe—"

I heard a strange woman's voice, sweet as honey, and then the tightly closed wooden door opened slightly...

P.S.: First update~

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Chaos (Part Two)

The air began to move around, the lamplight flickered more and more frequently, and the wooden door opened a crack. No one or any sound came out immediately. Just as he was about to step inside, a hand suddenly reached out and pressed against his chest, giving him a gentle push. He didn't feel any force, but his body involuntarily took a few steps back, remaining rooted to the spot.

Angus cast a questioning glance at the slowly opening wooden door and the voluptuous figure inside. Indeed, as Angus and the others had described, it was a woman in her thirties. She had removed her raincoat, revealing a fur robe underneath. Her ten fingers gleamed with at least twenty rings—gold, silver, and various gemstones. Several bracelets adorned her plump wrists—three on her left and four on her right—and she wore five or six necklaces around her neck. This was no longer mere adornment; it was almost like the wife of an incredibly wealthy lord flaunting her wealth.

Normally, he would have been drawn to these luxuries for quite some time, but at this moment, he didn't even glance at the gleaming gold and silver jewelry. From the moment the door opened, he clenched his teeth, his eyes fixed on the cloth-wrapped object in the woman's arms, his body trembling in the rain.

It was a baby, a baby with its eyes closed, quiet and peaceful.

"Are you your husband?" The plump woman smiled brightly and said in a voice sweet as honey, "Congratulations, congratulations! It's a lovely and well-behaved girl... Look."

"My wife will definitely be unhappy if she finds out, I need to find a way to comfort her..." This thought flashed through his mind for a moment, and Angus also praised her a couple of times: "This child is so cute. This is wonderful! Let's have a big celebration tomorrow. If you're not in a hurry, madam, why don't you stay another day..." He paused as he spoke: "Why isn't she crying?"

"Oh. Right, I almost forgot." The plump woman suddenly feigned realization, her smile still on her face. The wind and rain filled her ears, but a voice inside her reminded her that everything around her seemed strange. She stood there, looking at the baby, her ears ringing, staring at the infant who appeared to be her own child… A sweet voice whispered in her ear, "Babies cry when they're born. Honestly, look at me, I even forgot something like that…"

Her tone was calm, yet an eerie atmosphere gathered and spread between her words. Rain washed over their figures, and Angus frowned, as if he too had sensed something amiss: "You..."

Suddenly.

"what--"

He roared, clenched his fist, and punched the woman in the face. "Brother Uru, what are you doing…" "Sweet little girl, come on, since your father wants to hear you cry, then cry a couple of times to cheer him up…" "You… what have you done to my wife!"

Shadows darted about, the dim light from inside the room spilling out. Angus reached out to block, but was shoved aside, his face showing astonishment. The plump woman patted the baby girl in her arms, but with an agility completely disproportionate to her voluptuous figure, she easily dodged his punch. He roared like a lion or tiger, pouncing again. The young man, shaking his numb arm, still tried to stop him: "Brother Uru, stop! What are you doing...?"

Before he could finish speaking, Angus met his crazed gaze and froze, his body stiffening. "Can't you see—" he roared, enunciating each word clearly, "that child is—dead!"

The essence of druids lies in mastering the power of life.

From the moment the door was opened, he realized that the woman inside, the one who was several months pregnant and had just told him that it would definitely be a boy, had lost her life.

However, it was also at this time.

The fat woman patted the baby in her arms: "Good child, cry..." In an instant, an indescribable, terrifying aura gathered, and the baby, whom he perceived as already dead, suddenly opened its eyes. The pupils were blood-red, even giving the illusion of movement: "Waaah, waaah waaah waaah—" The baby's cries echoed in the wind and rain, making his hair stand on end. He reached out, and vines instantly coalesced into short spears, about to stab, when the cries suddenly turned into laughter, "Giggle, giggle... Papa, Papa..."

"He can cry and laugh, and he can even call me 'Dad,' he's a smart child. He'll definitely have a bright future, hehe..." the fat woman said with a smile. As she thrust her spear forward, the young man next to her glanced into the house, his expression turning deathly pale. In his astonishment, his body began to tremble violently. The next moment, with a swing of her arm adorned with various jewels, even though the spear was still in its path, the slap struck him squarely on the right cheek.

His mind went blank, and his body was sent flying through the air, crashing into the house and overturning a chair with a loud thud. Splinters flew everywhere, and a sharp piece pierced his arm, drawing blood and causing excruciating pain. He rolled several times, touching something sticky—he tried his best not to think about what it was—and struggled to look towards the door, just in time to see Angus lunge at the fat woman before being slapped away as well.

The fat woman held the dead baby girl, who was still giggling, her two bloodshot eyes staring at him. Then, the fat woman carefully took the baby's tiny hand and waved to him, saying in a childish, babyish voice, "Goodbye, Daddy—" before turning to leave. He tried to brace himself to the side, calling out, "Stop! Don't go!" But he touched something slippery, and suddenly fell to the side. Struggling, he managed to sit up halfway and looked towards where he had just been supporting himself.

In fact, you can roughly guess what it is without even seeing it with your own eyes.

A thin, small woman, not particularly pretty, lay there, face up, a smile on her face, her eyes still open, but devoid of light. She lay in a small pool of blood on the ground, her hands folded over her lower abdomen, which had been cut open with a sharp instrument, a bloody mess; the blow had just struck half of her intestines, which were protruding. Under his gaze, blood continued to gush out.

The fat woman's so-called delivery method... was simply to cut open her abdomen and pull the baby out like that.

……

Both mother and daughter died.

……

……

"You probably guessed it already..."

The orange-red sunset hung over the distant mountains, painting the sky with crimson clouds, creating the most magnificent colors before nightfall. Inside the wooden house, however, all was silent. The middle-aged man tilted his head; his right ear had been knocked deaf at that time, leaving him with only one usable ear. He sighed silently, placed his hands on his knees, clenched them tightly, his knuckles cracking, and then smiled slightly.

“That woman… I later heard from Angus that when that woman came to the village that night… she initially gave her name…”

"Her name is Terena... one of the Nine Witches of the Lake."

P.S.: Second update! Double updates as promised, no hesitation. As the saying goes, the "green" in "green and white" refers to the unchanging green of the mountains, and the "white" in "green and white" refers to the white of a line of egrets soaring into the blue sky!

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Under the Moon

The bright moonlight shines before my bed, I wonder if it's frost on the ground...

In my past life, I wasn't the kind of literary youth who loved poetry and literature. My knowledge was limited to the Three Hundred Tang Poems and some poems that later circulated online for various reasons. As time has passed, more than a decade later, I still remember very little. But there are always one or two sleepless nights when my thoughts are churning and I recall a few lines of poetry that I once read and memorized. I close my eyes and recite them silently, filled with a sense of loss.

I raise my head to gaze at the bright moon...

It was midnight, perhaps the third watch of the night. Near the mountainside, on a flat, large rock, the moonlight shimmered like a cold, still lake, reflecting on its surface. It resembled a lake deep in a secluded valley, with a few leaves floating on its surface, emerald green, turning yellow and withering in an instant... The seasons passed, the traces of time, serene as a poem.

Soft footsteps approached and stopped in front of the stone. A slender finger gently wiped the edge of the stone, glancing at the dust on its tip. After a moment's hesitation, a large cloth was tossed open and spread on the ground. The person sat down, removed their boots, curled their legs, and pulled themselves into a sky-blue cloak. Head bowed…

The last few words lingered on her tongue, but no sound came out. From the very beginning, no sound emanated. She leaned silently against the large rock, and soon her entire body was pressed against it. Something was on her mind, yet her thoughts were blank. But this… wasn't right. A voice told her that after hearing those words and learning those things, she should think about something, she must reach a conclusion. Her body shifted beneath the cloak; she changed her position, resting the back of her head on a hollow in the rock. So cold… For a moment, she couldn't tell if the coldness came from the rock as her pillow or from the moonlight streaming in.

Pillow on a stone, rinsing my mouth with flowing water, before my bed... the bright moonlight...

A gust of wind blew from the forest, carrying the faint calls of birds. Because of the demonic boar, most wild animals had hidden themselves, but the birds, relying on their ability to fly, still lived in the woods. Those that still made noise at this time were probably owls or similar birds. Speaking of which, do they have owls in England…? The cloak covering her fluttered, drifting in the wind. She reached out to grab it, but couldn't reach it, so she lowered her arm. There were many ways to retrieve the cloak, but at this moment she felt listless and lacked the energy, simply watching the cloak sway and drift down the mountain.

From a distance, it looks like a large blue bird.

Looking back, the reason I like cyan is because this color reminds me of the sky, a cloudless azure sky, and then I think of birds soaring freely... and it evokes a sense of freedom.

However, the scene before her was, in a sense, more like a kite with a broken string, drifting and drifting, able to fly very high and very far, farther than ever before, but ultimately, it would still fall to the ground. She closed her eyes, humming an off-key tune. Without her cloak to keep warm, and with the strong mountain wind in the night, she couldn't help but shiver.

Suddenly, the wind shifted slightly, and some information came back to her. She still didn't move, not even opening her eyes. She heard familiar footsteps approaching, followed by a rustling sound. The fabric opened and covered her again. Without speaking or opening her eyes, she silently moved to the side, making room for a soft, warm body leaning in, carrying a faint fragrance.

"Can't sleep?"

Silence can often make people feel uncomfortable when they are with others, but this is certainly not the case. Time passed quietly for a while. Sensing the gaze on her, she pursed her lips and asked softly.