Chapter 21 - Healing

The third day dawned with the chill of early morning fog clinging to the forest.

Aric rose from his makeshift bed, his body aching from the past days' exertions, but his mind was as sharp as ever.

He knew he had to change tactics if he was to break the woman's silence. She was growing weaker, her resilience impressive but ultimately self-destructive.

Aric couldn't afford to let her die—not until he had the answers he needed.

He approached her where she lay in the hideout, her body frail and gaunt from days without food or water.

Her eyes fluttered open at his approach, barely focusing on him as he crouched beside her.

Aric's expression was hard, but there was a grim determination behind it. He wasn't here to show mercy, but he wasn't here to kill her either—at least, not yet.

Aric uncorked a small flask of water and lifted her head slightly, forcing the liquid past her cracked lips.

She resisted at first, but her weakened state gave her little choice but to swallow.

After a few sips, he offered her a small portion of food, just enough to keep her alive but far from enough to restore her strength. 

"This isn't kindness," he said, his voice low and firm. "It's survival—for you. And for me."

The woman's eyes held his for a moment, but there was no gratitude in them, only the same stubborn defiance he'd seen since the day he captured her. Aric didn't expect anything else.

The routine began that day and continued without fail. Each morning, Aric woke with the first light, his body slowly but surely recovering its former strength.

He would venture out into the forest, gathering edible plants, hunting small game, and ensuring he had enough to sustain both himself and the woman.

His skills as a hunter kept them fed, though the portions he gave her were carefully rationed.

After gathering food, Aric checked his wounds, cleaning and dressing them as needed. Over time, he noticed them healing well, the herbal paste Vire had taught him to make proving its worth.

The pain that had once been a constant companion dulled with each passing day, replaced by a simmering energy that spurred him on.

Training became a cornerstone of his daily routine. With his sword in hand, Aric moved through the forms he had mastered, each swing and thrust honed by years of practice.

The forest was his dojo, the trees and rocks his silent spectators. His technique, the one that allowed him to perceive time as though it slowed, became more refined.

He practised regulating his breathing, pushing his body to its limits, then reining it back in before exhaustion could set in.

After training, Aric would return to the woman. He fed her water and food, always just enough to keep her alive, never more.

The process was methodical and clinical—there was no emotion in it, only the cold logic of a man who needed answers.

Her silence persisted, but her defiance slowly faded as her body weakened.

Aric would then take time to bathe in the cool waters of the river, the chill refreshing against his skin, cleansing him of the grime and sweat accumulated during the day.

The river became a place of solace, a moment of calm before the night's patrols.

Each night, as the forest grew dark, Aric set out to patrol his territory. The familiar paths became second nature to him once more, his senses keen to any disturbance.

The forest was quiet, with only the occasional sign of a trespasser—a footprint, a broken branch—evidence of the presence of those who sought to invade his domain. He dealt with them swiftly, and efficiently, leaving no trace of his actions.

For a month, this routine became his life. Aric's body grew stronger, his wounds healed, and his skills sharpened to a deadly edge.

The woman, in contrast, grew weaker, her strength sapped by the meagre rations he provided. Yet she lived, and that was all he needed for now.

Finally, the day came when Aric removed his bandages. His skin, though scarred, had healed well. The sight of his unmarred flesh filled him with a sense of accomplishment, a silent testament to his endurance and Vire's teachings.

But the healing of his body only intensified the turmoil within him. Vire was still out there, somewhere, and every moment spent without answers gnawed at him.

He approached the woman once more, her body now frail and trembling. Her eyes opened as he entered the hideout, but the defiance that had once burned in them was now dimmed by exhaustion and deprivation. 

Aric crouched beside her, his expression hard but determined. "This is your last chance," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Tell me why you took Vire, and what you want."

The woman met his gaze, and for the first time in weeks, a flicker of something crossed her face—whether it was fear, resignation, or something else, Aric couldn't tell. She remained silent, but her eyes betrayed the struggle within her.

Aric waited, his patience worn thin by the passage of time and the unanswered questions. He needed to know, not just for his sake, but for Vire's.

The woman's silence had cost them both dearly, but now it was time to see if her resolve would finally break.