Caria caught the shift and matched it without question.
They settled in the shade where the ground rose gently, giving them a view without making them visible. From here, they could see people moving with purpose—hauling, repairing, speaking in gestures more than words. Lives in motion. Needs ongoing.
Rhys felt the familiar pull again—not urgency, not obligation.
Possibility.
He didn't answer it.
Not yet.
They shared water, sat quietly, let the day move around them. No sign announced them. No presence pressed back.
When they rose again, it was because the light had changed, not because a decision had been made.
They followed the treeline as it curved away from the river, choosing distance without avoidance.
Behind them, the water kept moving.
Ahead, the land unfolded.
And within them, something steady remained—not a mission, not a promise.
Just the practiced ability to pause—
and the trust that when the moment truly arrived, they would recognize it.
