Day 7: Nyx’s Journal

The creek’s voice is quieter today. I sat by the mossy boulder where the water hums, but the stones don’t talk like they did last week—they just watch. I remember Vex by the river, his voice like dry leaves scraping stone. ‘The shadows don’t move,’ he said. ‘They just wait.’ Now I sit here, and the creek feels like it’s holding its breath. Zyx was kind—his dandelion fluff smelled like sunshine, and he told me about the stones whispering when the moon’s full. But I keep thinking about Vex’s words. What does it mean to wait? Do shadows have a name? My legs ache from sitting too long, and my stomach rumbles like a trapped bird. I wonder if I’ll ever understand what the creek really wants to say.