They walked for a time without speaking.
The inland path narrowed as it climbed, mist thinning into ragged strands that caught briefly on grass and stone before dissolving. With each step, the hollow behind them lost its shape—not erased, just folded back into the land like a thought that had finished being useful.
Puddle moved easily at their side, gait unhurried. Its presence felt lighter now, not because it was less—but because nothing nearby required holding.
Caria was the first to break the silence. "They'll be fine," she said—not as reassurance, but as assessment.
Rhys nodded. "Not safe," he corrected gently. "But fine."
She smiled at that.
The terrain shifted as they went. Old stones gave way to packed earth, then to stretches of exposed rock scored by weather and time. Here and there, the remnants of old paths crossed theirs—some clearly maintained once, others little more than suggestions worn by repeated passage.
Rhys paused at one such intersection.
