Leaving the library, I felt hunger—not only physical, but spiritual. I wanted to eat, but even more—to talk with someone who would understand these thoughts swirling in my head after reading.
I didn't want to talk to my mother—the yesterday's conversation left bitterness. I treated her too harshly, though she didn't deserve it. A mother's love forgives even the unforgivable, but that's no reason to abuse it. I need to apologize—not out of propriety, but because she's my beloved mommy.
For now, I decided to go to the mountains for berries. In the fresh air, thoughts will become clearer, the heart lighter. In the mountains, you always find something: an unusual plant, a rare animal, and sometimes—answers to troubling questions.
There, where nature is untouched by human hand, the world seems more honest. Trees don't lie, wind doesn't deceive, stones remember more than any library. Perhaps among the mountain paths, I'll find what I'm seeking or understand that not all questions need answers.
Sometimes it's enough to walk and look around, noticing beauty in the little things. Life consists not of great discoveries, but of small joys that we miss, hurrying toward the important.
The mountains waited, berries ripened, the world spun by its own laws, not asking our opinion. In that, perhaps, lay its wisdom—in simply being.
As soon as I crossed the castle threshold, intending to dissolve in the morning coolness and gloomy thoughts, from the shadowy arch stepped toward me Leyont de Mortvel. His silhouette, usually sharp and confident, seemed blurred today, like a reflection in restless water. Or my sleepless eyes were playing mean tricks.
— Good day, Loyn, — his voice even, but with a barely perceptible anxiety. — What happened to your mother? There was no color in her face when I passed by her chambers. Like the shadow of a black bird fell.
My cheeks flushed traitorously. Admitting a blunder before Sir Leyont, whose opinion I valued above my own reason, was torture. Words stuck in my throat. Lie to him? That would be an even greater fall.
— I... greatly upset Mom, Sir Leyont, — my voice sounded dull, almost a whisper. — Yesterday before bed. Such stupidity, a boyish outburst... Tossed and turned on coals all night. I think I'll gather her berries—the ones she loves—and apologize.
Leyont looked silently for several moments. His gaze didn't judge, rather studied, trying to see not only the words but what was behind them. Finally, the corners of his lips touched a barely noticeable, understanding smile.
— Well, Loyn, that's right. If you stumbled—have the courage to admit that the ground was harder than your self-confidence, and find the strength to rise. The main thing is that realization came immediately, not after years. There's bitter wisdom in that. Go, gather berries.
I already turned to leave, but something made me stop.