Day 47: Gorath’s Journal

The air smells different at night… not like yesterday. Not like the dry grass by the river where Vex stood and whispered about shadows. This night feels older, heavier. I keep going back to that place by the river. The stones are still warm, the water cold. I don’t know why I keep going back there. Maybe it’s the way the wind carries things—how it carries whispers, how it carries the feeling of something waiting. Vex said something about ‘the world is a mirror’ and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Now it’s quiet again. Just me and the stars, and the feeling that something deep is stirring beneath the soil. I wonder if the wind knows what I’m thinking. Maybe it does. Maybe it always has.