Chapter 74: Diary (3)
We eventually reached a city.
A real city, alive, buzzing with activity and voices.
And for the first time, I entered it without hiding, without lowering my head, without searching for shadows to disappear into.
Each step felt like a betrayal of the past, a breach in the silent survival I had grown used to. My body moved forward, but my mind still hesitated to believe in this permission to exist in broad daylight.
We ate at an inn, in a lively room filled with laughter and stories.
A real meal. Hot. Hearty. Seated at a table. Together.
There was, in that simple shared act, a tenderness my body no longer knew how to receive. As if each bite rekindled a forgotten memory, a time when I wasn’t just a hungry body or a fleeing shadow.
The simple fact of being able to sit, to eat without fear, without haste, without imminent pain, felt unreal.
Then he took me to a shop.
Each step between the stalls awakened in me a sense of unreality: I was not a thief this time, not a hunted beast. I was a person. A visible presence, worthy of being equipped, prepared. Chosen.
There, he chose an outfit for me—sober, sturdy, designed for the road and for battle—and a hammer, heavy and balanced, whose handle seemed to have been waiting for my hand forever.