Elara took the lead down the slope, her stride sure but unhurried, like she wanted the land to remember them as they passed. Cruzer followed, his pack snug against his back, the seed pouch tucked securely in an outer fold where it brushed against his side with every step—a quiet reminder of promise.
Behind them, the terraces remained alive with motion. Not frantic, not urgent—just alive. Zaya's music softened as the wind shifted, the notes drawn into the trees, carried beyond their hearing but not beyond their reach. Tesia had taken a group of kids to begin building wind chimes from hollow reeds and string; laughter rippled through the air like threads of gold.
At the treeline, Charlotte caught up with them, breath slightly short from jogging. "I'll walk with you to the creek," she said. "Just until the bend."
Cruzer nodded. "Thanks."
