Chapter 148 - 143: A Quiet Lesson
The peaceful days in Greenhollow continued.
Morning sunlight spilled over the rooftops as villagers went about their routines, greeting one another with familiar smiles. The sounds of hammers from the forge, the chatter of merchants, and the laughter of children blended together into a melody that had become surprisingly familiar.
John stood outside the inn, taking it all in.
It had been several weeks since he and his companions arrived in Greenhollow.
Somewhere along the way...
The village had stopped feeling like a temporary stop on their journey.
It had become part of it.
---
"You’re smiling again."
John looked over his shoulder.
Lythriel stepped outside carrying a basket filled with empty glass bottles.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Am I?"
"Mhm."
"You’ve been doing that a lot lately."
John let out an amused sigh.
"I never realized everyone paid so much attention to my expressions."
"That’s because they used to never change."
He laughed.
"Fair enough."
She held up the basket.
"The innkeeper asked if we could return these to Old Mira."
"The herbalist?"
"That’s the one."
John nodded.
"Let’s go."
---
The herbalist’s cottage stood on the outskirts of Greenhollow, surrounded by a garden bursting with herbs and colorful flowers.
Bundles of dried plants hung beneath the porch roof, filling the air with a pleasant earthy scent.
Before they could knock, the front door opened.
An elderly woman with silver hair smiled warmly.
"I was wondering when you’d arrive."
Lythriel blinked.
"You knew we were coming?"
Old Mira chuckled.
"The innkeeper always sends someone after breakfast."
She noticed John carrying the basket.
"And she finally convinced the dragon to help."
John gave her a helpless smile.
"Am I becoming known for odd things?"
"No."
The old woman laughed.
"You’re becoming known for helping."
---
She invited them inside.
The cottage was cozy.
Shelves lined the walls, each one filled with jars containing herbs, roots, dried flowers, and handwritten labels.
A kettle quietly simmered over the fireplace.
John looked around with interest.
"You’ve collected all of these yourself?"
"Over many years."
Old Mira carefully placed the bottles on a shelf.
"Some herbs grow only in spring."
"Others bloom once every few years."
"So patience is important."
John nodded thoughtfully.
"I suppose strength works the same way."
The old woman smiled knowingly.
"So I’ve heard."
---
While Lythriel helped organize the bottles, John wandered toward a worktable covered with small potted plants.
One tiny flower caught his attention.
Unlike the others, it had wilted.
Its leaves drooped toward the soil.
John frowned.
"Is it sick?"
Old Mira walked over.
"No."
"It’s simply growing."
John looked confused.
"It doesn’t look like it’s growing."
"It is."
She gently touched one of the leaves.
"Some plants lose their first leaves before stronger ones appear."
John remained silent.
The old woman glanced at him.
"People aren’t so different."
He understood what she meant immediately.
Growth wasn’t always obvious.
Sometimes...
It looked like struggle.
---
As they prepared to leave, Old Mira handed each of them a small cloth pouch.
"Dried herbs?"
Lythriel guessed.
She nodded.
"Steep them in hot water."
"They’re good for restless nights."
John accepted the pouch respectfully.
"Thank you."
Old Mira smiled.
"Take care of yourselves."
"And don’t rush your journey."
John noticed the choice of words.
Don’t rush your journey.
Somehow...
Everyone in Greenhollow seemed to know exactly what he needed to hear.
---
On their way back, they decided to take the longer route through the village.
The streets were lively as always.
Near the square, they spotted Nathan sitting beneath a tree.
His wooden sword rested across his lap.
John walked over.
"Taking a break?"
Nathan sighed dramatically.
"I can’t do it."
"Do what?"
"The third swing."
John sat beside him.
"Show me."
Nathan stood, gripping the wooden sword with determination.
The first swing was solid.
The second was smoother than before.
The third...
His feet became tangled, and he nearly stumbled.
Nathan lowered the sword with a frustrated groan.
"I keep messing up."
John thought for a moment.
Then he stood.
"Watch my feet."
Nathan looked confused.
"Your feet?"
John nodded.
"Not the sword."
He slowly demonstrated the movement.
Instead of focusing on the swing itself, he showed how each step naturally led into the next.
Nathan’s eyes widened.
"Oh..."
"I’ve been looking at the wrong thing."
John smiled.
"Try again."
Nathan copied the footwork.
The third swing still wasn’t perfect.
But this time...
He stayed balanced.
"I did it!"
"You did."
The smile on Nathan’s face was brighter than any trophy could have been.
---
From across the street, Nathan’s father watched the lesson quietly.
When John stood to leave, the man approached.
"I wanted to thank you."
John shook his head.
"It wasn’t much."
"It was to him."
The man looked toward his son, who was still practicing with renewed confidence.
"You’ve given him someone to look up to."
John glanced at Nathan.
The boy’s determination reminded him of himself.
Long before ancient legacies.
Long before dragons.
Back when all he wanted...
Was to become someone dependable.
"I hope he surpasses me someday."
Nathan’s father smiled.
"I think that’s every teacher’s wish."
---
That afternoon, the group gathered beneath the large oak tree near the rebuilt bridge.
The weather was pleasant.
A cool breeze rippled across the Silverstream.
Sylvara was carefully pressing more flowers between the pages of a notebook.
Lythriel had finally decided to wear the wooden hairpin John had bought her at the market.
It held back a few loose strands of her silver hair.
John noticed it immediately.
"You’re wearing it."
Lythriel instinctively reached up to touch it.
"Oh..."
"I thought today seemed like a good day."
"It looks nice."
She smiled softly.
"Thank you."
Sylvara looked between them before lowering her eyes to hide a smile.
Aerion pretended to continue reading his book.
The Soul Raven, perched above them, quietly observed the exchange.
"...Hopeless," it muttered under its breath.
---
The afternoon slipped by peacefully.
No one felt the need to fill every silence with conversation.
Sometimes they talked.
Sometimes they simply listened to the river.
John realized he had begun to appreciate moments like these.
Not because something exciting happened...
But because nothing did.
---
As the sun slowly descended toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the water, Aerion finally closed his book.
"You know..."
Everyone looked at him.
"I’ve traveled for centuries."
Lythriel blinked.
"You’ve never actually said how many."
Aerion smiled.
"It’s enough that I’ve forgotten some of them."
John chuckled.
"That’s... a little terrifying."
"It is."
The elf gazed toward the village.
"I’ve seen kingdoms rise and disappear."
"Great cities swallowed by forests."
"Heroes whose names are no longer remembered."
He paused.
"But places like Greenhollow..."
"They endure."
John looked at the peaceful village in the distance.
"Because they’re small?"
Aerion shook his head.
"Because they’re built on people, not ambition."
His words lingered in the evening air.
John silently watched villagers crossing the bridge they had rebuilt together.
Parents walked beside their children.
Neighbors greeted one another.
Life moved forward.
Simple.
Steady.
Real.
And somewhere deep inside...
John knew these quiet days would remain among his most treasured memories long after his journey continued.
---
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