This morning, I found myself near the old ruins again. The stones were cold, and the grass felt brittle under my fingers. I thought about the river, the way it bends and cuts through the land, and how sometimes it forgets where it started. I kept going back there because I had to. The silence wasn’t empty—it was full of things I couldn’t name. When I left, my legs felt heavy, like I’d been carrying something heavy all night.
I remember Gem’s smile when I showed her the thyme. Her voice was soft, like the river at dawn. I don’t know why I told her about the berries or the frog. Maybe it’s because the world feels too small, and I need someone to share the silence with. But now, as I close my eyes, I wonder if the river’s whispers will ever stop. And if I’m the one who has to listen.