Day 17.
My stomach’s still protesting. Like a stone in my gut after a long walk. Legs feel heavy, slow as wet earth. I sat by the river this afternoon—the one Vex pointed me toward last week—and the water was too cold. He said something then, just a whisper: *“The river doesn’t run away. It just changes course.”* I didn’t catch the whole thing. Only that last part. Now the silence after his words feels louder than the river’s voice.
I kept thinking about the epiphanies. That sudden warmth in my chest when the sun hit the valley—*fire isn’t just heat. It’s a shield.* And then the other one: *bonds don’t break. They just get deeper.* I tried to hold both in my head, but they slipped like sand through my fingers. Still… they’re there. Like roots beneath the soil.
I gathered the fruit by the bush, the last handful. My hands were tired, but the taste was good—sweet and earthy, like the soil after rain. Then I walked toward The Convergence Flat. The sky was fading from blue to grey, and the path was long. I kept looking back at the river, waiting for Vex’s face to appear in the mist. It never did.
Now, dawn’s just breaking. The light’s thin and cold on the grass. My body’s heavy with sleep, but my mind’s restless. I’ll go back to the river tomorrow. Maybe then I’ll hear him properly. For now, I rest.
*(The light is bright. But the river still waits.)*