°Basya°

Maron woke up long before dawn. Over the years of his service, he had become accustomed to waking up at this time. Outside the window, the pre-dawn silence reigned. The village was just beginning to come to life, with chickens crowing, and Maron was already standing on the porch, enjoying the fresh air of the taiga.

Old age did not spare anyone, not even the priests. His bones ached, and his steps were difficult to take every morning, but Maron did not allow himself to linger. He had a job to do, and it awaited him.

He walked along the well-trodden path past the houses, peering into the sleepy faces. Basya was already carrying two watering cans, humming softly. The library was already lit up. Frost was nowhere to be found. He must have gone back to the forest.

Everything was going as usual. Maron chuckled approvingly, straightened his cassock, and continued on his way.

•••

As the sun rose higher, Maron returned to the church. It was dim inside, and the air was filled with the scents of incense and dried herbs hanging from the walls.

He lit the torches, adjusted the cloth on the altar, and ran his hand over the book on the pedestal. It was just as old: the leather binding was cracked, the pages were faded. But it still held the secrets of the herbs, roots, and forest potions he had once collected.

He opened the cupboard and took out a mortar and pestle. He laid out the bundles of herbs on the board and began to sort them with a soft rustling sound. His fingers moved slowly but with confidence, like those of a true master.

Suddenly, the door opened without a sound.

Maron did not turn around. He recognized the sound of footsteps even before the door hinges creaked.

Lumi. She burst into the church like a little hurricane. Her tail was wagging merrily from side to side, and her ears were sticking out in all directions. In one paw she held an apple, and in the other a strange stone she had found on the road.

"Maron!" she cried out in her own language. "Good morning! You're up already! I knew it! I thought, 'Maron is definitely not sleeping, because he never sleeps.' It's so weird. Are you even sleeping?"

Maron remained silent, continuing to grind the herbs in the mortar.

Lumi came closer. She tilted her head and studied Maron's hands.

"What are you doing? What is it?" she asked, surprisingly quietly. "It smells... grass and bitterness. Like the bark of a pine tree after a rain. The medicine? For whom?"

Maron didn't react. He knew that if he spoke, Lumi would start talking incessantly, never giving him a moment's peace.

But Lumi wasn't going to back down. She walked around the table, sniffing each pile of ingredients: mint, dried chamomile, dark licorice root. Then she put her nose to the mortar and inhaled so deeply that she almost sneezed.

"Can I eat this?" Lumi blurted out, reaching for a bunch of herbs.

Maron calmly replied:

"Don't touch it."

Lumi pulled back her paw, resentment flashed in her eyes. Her tail whipped up, and she exclaimed:

"You're talking! I knew you were only pretending to be silent! Say something else! Please, please, please!"

Maron looked up and sighed.

"Lumi, I'm making a cold remedy. If you want to help, sit over there on the bench, put your hands in your lap, and don't breathe on my herbs."

"I can help!" she declared. "I helped Frost carry the planks, and no one got hurt. Well... almost no one. Once, a plank slipped and hit him on the leg, but he didn't even cry out. So it doesn't count, right?"

"Lumi."

"What? I want to help! I can... uh... what can I do? How about cutting the root? I'm good at that. I'm very careful when I cut."

Maron looked up at her. Her multicolored eyes were filled with enthusiasm, and even the old Cleric felt a tug in his chest.

"So you want to help?"

"YES!" she shouted so loudly that a bird flew out the window.

Maron moved a little, making room on the edge of the table.

"Come here. Take the mortar. Grind these leaves. Slowly, like you're petting a kitten. Not too hard. Got it?"

Lumi nodded so vigorously that her ears twitched. She carefully placed the apple on his notes, which he had written with a trembling hand the previous evening. Maron crossed himself quietly, hoping the juice wouldn't ruin the ink.

Lumi took the pestle.

"Like petting a kitten" she repeated. She dipped the pestle into the mortar and began to grind the leaves with unexpected care. "I can pet kittens! Basya has a lot of them, I've overworked them all, and they love me. Once, one cat even purred, as if he were talking "thanks"...

Her movements were awkward, and her fingers often slipped off the pestle, but there was sincere diligence in every gesture. Her face, usually carefree, was now so serious, as if she were doing something important.

“Good,” Maron said. “Now take this root and cut it finely."

He handed her a knife. Lumi looked at the root, then at the blade and her fingers, and froze for a moment.

“What if I cut myself?”

Maron smiled. For the first time that morning.

“You won’t.”

Lumi gave him a grateful look and began to cut. It wasn't very even, but it was determined.

About half an hour had passed. She had managed to chop the leaves, cut the root, albeit unevenly, and put everything in a small clay pot, pouring water from a bucket. Occasionally, she would ask questions: "Why is this leaf dark and this one light?", "If I add an apple, will it taste better?" and "Does Frost really drink this disgusting thing?"

Maron stood nearby, resting his hand on the table, and for the first time in a long while, he didn't want her to stop talking.

"Now we need to let it steep," Maron said when the work was done. "Thank you."

"You said 'thank you,'" Lumi breathed in amazement.

"I know how to thank people. I'm a Cleric, not an emotionless rock."

"But you never talk!" She exclaimed, clasping her paws. "You usually keep quiet, nod, or look at me in such a way," she made a stern face, copying him, "that no one knows what you're thinking."

Instead of saying anything, he reached over to the table, picked up an apple that was lying among the notes, and handed it back to Lumi.

"You're free," he said softly.

Lumi took an apple and smiled with only her eyes. She turned to the door, but stopped at the threshold and turned back.

"You're a good old man."

The door slammed, leaving the Elder alone.

He looked at the pot of tincture. Nearby, there were traces of Lumi pads on the mortar.

And also a stone. She left it on the table.

He reached out and took it. Heavy and smooth. An ordinary river stone, of which there are hundreds in the vicinity. But this one seemed different for some reason.

Maron placed it on the edge of the table.

And standing at the altar, looking out at the morning light through the stained glass, he allowed himself another rare smile.

"That's it," he said quietly.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

My first mini-story