- Chapter 37 -

                                    

                                          
Jovan awoke amids waves of pain. Regaining consciousness somehow proved worse than the notion of wandering aimlessly through the darkness that filled his mind because of the poison. He felt the poison in his body. He recognized its sharp bolt when it shot all the way down to his feet. The sensation of the arrow piercing his chest was merely an afterthought when compared to the excruciating rupture caused by the mixture of poisons.
                          
But, alas, the poison gave way to Bojana's healing powers. Jovan was certain of it. After all, he was still breathing. He was still alive. 
                          
Alive...
                          
That could only mean one thing. They defeated Zora and Jagoda was free to accept her rightful place. Which... meant one thing - whether he was ready to accept it or not. Whatever her choice, whatever the tradition begged for, Jagoda could only lead her people once she married. And that... was a fact neither of them could overlook.
                          
Did he love Jagoda? Of course.
                          
Did she love him back? Without a doubt.
                          
Did they risk their lives to save one another, time and again? Yes.
                          
Were they willing to risk her position as the head of all the tribes, villages, and lands that now had befallen under her rule? That... was a concern which Jovan took more seriously than the poison which threatened his life.
                          
As much as it was clear, it was unavoidable. Jovan knew they would need to face that hard obstacle. But as long as they did so together, just the two of them, he would accept Jagoda's decision. He would accept what would surely come. He would face it, holding her hand.
                          
Or, would he...?
                          
He awoke. Finally. His head hurt. But his head was the least of his concerns. His chest somehow felt as if it had been mauled by a wild beast. Poison. He grit his teeth as he made every attempt to open his eyes. He stirred, and swore - with barely a whisper. He moved, and it felt even worse. With a gentle sigh, limited in volume, strength, and temper, he finally managed to straighten his back. He opened his eyes, and froze.
                          
"No..." he whispered almost silently. "No..."
                          
The sharp and indescribably desperate shock that shot through Jovan had nothing to do with the poison. Not even with the pain still battering his chest. No, this jolt brought on sheer panic instead of suffering. And it brought on monumentally more agony. 
                          
"I... I can't be back. Not now..." He tried to raise himself up on his elbows, utterly devastated to see the interior of Bojana's hut - the 21st Century interior. He was back in the cabin he had not seen in close to two months. The only thing that bore any resemblance to the hut he saw before losing consciousness was the location of the bed. He thought he was dreaming. He begged the heavens above for it. He could not be back. Not back to the 21st Century. Not now. Not NOW!?! 
                          
To make matters worse, the thrust of vividly authentic ache that radiated from the wound left behind by the poisoned arrow showed Jovan just how weak he still was. Resigned, he fell back against the pillow under his head, and he swore, not at all pleased that this time he had enough anger inside to swear out loud.
                          
"That is a foul mouth You have there. If I were You, I would watch Your manners around me," said a gentle voice in the Old Albanian dialect from the other side of the room, across the kitchen. Whoever the voice belonged to spoke quietly, but with sincerity. So much so, that his immediate feeling of suspicion gave way to curiosity. 
                          
"Yes, ma'am," Jovan replied at once, unable to figure out who he was speaking with. Was it Bojana? Was it his Bojana? Whoever it was, Jovan knew that good manners were in his blood, and apparent time travel - or injuries - did not change that. "I am... sorry, ma'am."