Elisabeth began her day before sunrise. After feeding Falko, she took advantage of the dog's distraction to sneak into the room where the stranger lay. The faint light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the curtains, illuminating his face in repose.
"When you're not talking, you're quite attractive," she thought, observing his relaxed features. But then she noticed the sheen of sweat on his forehead and frowned. Carefully, she reached out to check his temperature, comparing it to her own.
"You seem to have a fever," she murmured.
At that instant, his eyes snapped open like lightning. His hand moved with surprising speed, catching Elisabeth's wrist. The sudden movement made her lose her balance, falling half her body on top of him, her face pressed against his chest. A thick silence filled the room.
"What... what are you doing?" his hoarse voice resonated in her ears, sending a shiver down her spine.
Elisabeth remained paralyzed. The sensation was overwhelming: the warmth of his body, the weight of his hand on her waist, the accelerated beating of his heart under her cheek. Everything was so... confusing.
"How much longer do you intend to stay like that?" he asked, breaking the spell.
She sat up abruptly, her brow furrowed and her cheeks flushed.
"I was checking your temperature! What else would I be doing?"
He raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"I don't know. Why should I believe you? Maybe you were practicing some witchcraft."
"What nonsense are you talking about?" she retorted, indignant. "What would I gain by doing witchcraft?"
It was then that she realized: he was the one holding her. His large hand enveloped her wrist firmly, while his other arm held her by the waist.
"If you're so bothered by me touching you or afraid I'll do witchcraft, why don't you let go?" she challenged.
Dietrich seemed to realize the contradiction at that moment. Slowly, his fingers loosened, freeing her. Elisabeth moved away with a brusque movement, shaking her clothes where she had been in contact with him.
"You have a fever," she said in a tense voice, though still worried. "I'll bring you some herbal tea."
As she left the room, Dietrich watched his own hand that had moments before held her. He closed it into a tight fist before letting his arm drop to his side, his eyes fixed on the door through which she had disappeared.
Elisabeth soon returned with the promised tea. She handed it to him with an impassive gesture and turned to leave, but he stopped her with a quick movement.
"What's your name?" he asked, surprising her.
She blinked, disconcerted by the sudden interest of this rude and arrogant man.
"Elisabeth," she replied laconically, trying to continue her way.
But he didn't release her arm.
"Just Elisabeth?" he insisted.
"Yes," she replied curtly. "You can let go. I have things to do."
Dietrich frowned, an expression almost of indignation crossing his face.
"Aren't you interested in knowing my name?"
"That's useless," she replied, surprising him. "You're someone who's just passing through. When you leave, I'll forget your face, your name, and even your rude behavior. So it's useless."
Her tone had a melancholic quality, as if she were too accustomed to detachment, to loneliness.
"Dietrich," he said abruptly. "My name is Dietrich."
She started almost imperceptibly.
"Mr. Dietrich," she repeated formally. "Could you let go?"
Throughout all this, Elisabeth kept her back to him, something that inexplicably irritated Dietrich. However, he had no reason to hold her any longer. When his fingers opened, she left the room without looking back even once.
"This woman..." he thought, staring at the closed door. "She really seems to do everything with disinterest... She has no idea who I am, and she doesn't seem to want to know either..."
He stopped, his icy eyes fixed on the entrance. For some reason he couldn't explain, a deep irritation took root in his chest.
Elisabeth exhaled sharply, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. "Dietrich..." she thought, gently biting the inside of her cheek. "A name appropriate for such an arrogant man... Still, it's..."
"What am I thinking?" she reproached herself quietly, shaking her head as if to ward off those thoughts. "I'll do the healing, give him breakfast, and continue with my work. He must get better soon to leave here."
With determination, she gathered the fresh bandages and medicinal herbs. Entering the room, she did not wait for permission or a response. She simply stood next to the bed and announced:
"I'm going to clean your wound."
Dietrich turned his gaze to the window, but soon his eyes returned to her almost against his will. Elisabeth was undeniably beautiful, her blonde hair, carelessly gathered, captured the light of dawn like fields of wheat, and her green eyes shone with an intensity that rivaled the spring forests.
Suddenly, the words burst from his lips before he could stop them:
"Where did you learn about medicine?"
Elisabeth tensed her shoulders almost imperceptibly. The question took her by surprise.
"Reading," she replied dryly, without looking up. "I live alone, I must know at least that. There are no doctors who attend without upfront payment." A bitter smile curved her lips. "Do I seem like the type of person who can afford a doctor?"
Instead of the silence she expected, Dietrich replied in a defiant tone:
"You don't seem like the type who can afford medical books either."
The comment made Elisabeth shudder, but she simply gritted her teeth and continued her work in silence. When she finished, she gathered her things and left without adding a word.
Dietrich watched her go, intrigued by her unusual reaction. "Why didn't she answer?" he wondered, feeling an inexplicable pang of frustration and his curiosity increasing toward her.
Minutes later, Elisabeth returned with a simple tray: black bread, goat cheese, and a steaming infusion.
"You can leave it aside when you're done," she said, placing it on a bench next to the bed.
"Where are you going?" the question came out more abruptly than Dietrich had intended, and his hand closed around her wrist before he realized it.
Elisabeth looked at him with narrowed eyes, confused by his almost... urgent tone.
"I have to work," she replied, trying to free herself.
"Work?" he repeated, with suspicion.
"I'm going to the forest to collect herbs," she clarified, suppressing a sigh. "Don't worry, I don't plan to reveal to anyone that there's a stranger in my house."
Finally, Dietrich loosened his grip, allowing Elisabeth to withdraw. But his eyes followed her until the door closed behind her, leaving in the air a question that even he could not answer: "Why do I care what this woman does? It's because she tried to find out my intentions towards her... Nothing more." He answered himself, convinced of it.
Elisabeth walked with a firm step among the bushes, her hands tearing herbs with more force than necessary. The leaves of wild mint crackled under her rough fingers, releasing their fresh aroma that contrasted with the fire of her irritation. Falko trotted beside her, casting worried glances at his mistress whenever a branch cracked more violently than usual.
"What does that guy care!" she muttered under her breath, tearing a handful of thyme with such force that the roots came completely out of the ground. The damp soil stained her fingers already reddened by the morning cold.
Falko emitted a small whine, pushing his snout against the palm of her hand. Elisabeth sighed, letting her shoulders drop.
"You're right, I must calm down," she whispered, absentmindedly stroking the wolfdog's pointed ears.
But the rage did not dissipate easily. It was not the question itself that had upset her, but the memories it had unearthed. Visions of her childhood in the family library, spending hours studying dusty volumes of anatomy and herbology while other children played outside. She had done it out of necessity, because she had seen her parents count coins again and again, never enough to pay a doctor when the dry cough began to echo through the halls.
Her fingers closed around a bunch of rosemary, but her mind was far away. She remembered with painful clarity the day when all her study had been useless. The smell of camphor and sickly sweat that permeated the room. Her mother's hands, increasingly thin, rejecting her help with a weak gesture.
"I don't want you to see this, don't come near, it's dangerous," she had said in a voice that was no longer her own.
"It was all useless," she whispered to herself, throwing the herbs into the basket with too much force. Several branches scattered across the moss-covered ground.
Falko picked one up between his teeth, carefully depositing it back in the basket. Elisabeth could not help but smile sadly.
"At least you never abandon me," she murmured, scratching behind his ears.
The sun was beginning to rise, filtering through the branches of the birch trees and painting the forest with golden rays. Normally, that was the moment Elisabeth enjoyed the most, when the world seemed to hold its breath between night and day. But that day not even the beauty of the dawn could calm the knot of emotions in her chest.
She knelt beside a patch of wild marigolds, their orange petals shining with the morning dew. With more careful movements now, she began to collect the flowers, remembering how her mother had taught her to distinguish the medicinal from the poisonous ones. "The ones that heal are usually more modest," she would say while running her fingers through her hair. "Like good people."
A sudden noise made Falko raise his head, his ears perked up and alert. Elisabeth held her breath, following the dog's gaze towards the thicket. But there was nothing there, only the wind playing with the fallen leaves.
"Imaginations," she whispered, although her fingers instinctively sought the small knife she always carried tied to her waist.
Upon rising, she noticed that the sun was already high. She had spent more time than she thought immersed in her memories. With a last look at the forest, as if making sure that no one was following her, she picked up her basket and began the way back.
"Come on, Falko," she called, adjusting the weight of the herbs on her arm. "We have an unpleasant guest to feed."
But even as she spoke those words, a part of her knew that it was not just irritation that she felt towards the mysterious Dietrich. It was something more complicated, something that she was not prepared to examine too closely. Not yet.
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