Winter didn't arrive politely.
It just showed up one morning and decided to stay.
The ground was stiff under my boots, every step crunching a little too loud. Breath came out white. The valley looked different like this—edges sharper, colors quieter. Even the monsters felt less eager, moving only when they had to.
Porlyusica walked ahead of me, cloak pulled tight, steps measured and annoyingly perfect.
I followed.
Slower than before.
Not because she told me to.
Because the ground had already taught me twice what happens when I hurry.
I tested each step now. Heel first. Weight after. No rushing, no forcing my body to catch up with my thoughts.
Behind me, my pack didn't shift.
Good.
Porlyusica glanced back once, eyes flicking to my feet.
"…You're not tripping today."
I blinked. "I can trip if you miss it that much."
"Hmph."
That was praise. I was pretty sure.
We stopped near a frozen stream, thin ice clinging to the edges. Porlyusica crouched, brushing snow aside with careful fingers.
I knelt too—but didn't reach in.
I waited.
She noticed.
Good.
She scraped away the last layer and frowned. Not annoyed. Focused.
"…There," she muttered.
I leaned in. Between two rocks, something dark pressed through the frost. Not a leaf—too thick. Not bark either.
"Root?" I guessed.
She nodded once. "Barely."
I tilted my head. "That looks… miserable."
"It should," she replied. "If it looked healthy, it wouldn't survive winter."
Fair point.
She pulled a small knife free, working carefully around it. I watched the way her hands moved—slow, exact. No wasted motion. No hurry.
I realized something then.
This wasn't about speed at all.
It was about timing.
She paused, then glanced at me. "Don't just stare. Look."
"I am looking."
"You're watching," she corrected. "Not seeing."
I squinted harder, then noticed it—the way the surrounding moss leaned inward. How the ice hadn't fully sealed there. How the snow around it was thinner.
"…The ground protects it," I said.
She didn't answer right away.
Then: "You learn faster when you stop trying to impress me."
"…I'm seven," I said. "That ship sank early."
She snorted despite herself.
Definitely praise this time.
Later, while we rested near a stand of bare trees, I pulled my notebook out.
Porlyusica raised an eyebrow. "Writing again?"
"Yep. If I forget this, I'll trip over it later. Literally."
I scribbled quickly.
Cold ground lies. Ice hides weak spots. Don't rush—wait for the ground to give permission.
I paused, then added:
Being slow isn't being weak. It's being alive.
I hesitated, then muttered, "That sounded cooler in my head."
Porlyusica leaned over, glanced at the page.
"…Don't write poetry."
"I'm offended."
"Good."
We moved again as the light shifted.
Snow started falling—not heavy, just enough to soften the world. Footprints filled slowly behind us, then vanished.
As we climbed higher, Porlyusica stopped suddenly.
Not tense. Curious.
She crouched, brushing snow from a stone marked with old scratches. Too clean. Too deliberate.
"…This area was harvested before," she said quietly.
My head snapped up. "By people?"
"Long ago."
She traced one of the marks. "Carefully. Whoever it was knew what they were looking for."
My heart skipped—not panic, not excitement. Focus.
"…The plant you're looking for," I said slowly. "It's been found here before."
She stood.
For the first time, she looked genuinely interested.
"…Yes."
I swallowed. "So we're close?"
"Closer than I like," she replied.
I frowned. "That's… reassuring?"
She smirked. "It shouldn't be."
Snow thickened around us. The valley felt quieter. Watchful.
Porlyusica adjusted her grip on her pack.
"From here on," she said, "we move slower."
I nodded immediately. "Trust me. I've learned my lesson."
She glanced sideways at me. "…Good."
The hum under my skin stayed calm. Steady. Like it agreed.
Winter pressed in around us, cold and patient.
And somewhere ahead—beneath ice, beneath time—something rare was waiting.