The woman was walking through the forest path with a basket in her hand.
The air was calm.
Then the ground shook.
Once.
She stopped.
Twice.
Her grip tightened around the basket.
Three times.
Birds scattered from the trees.
Four.
She felt it in her chest now.
Five.
Silence followed.
A deep, unnatural silence.
She took a breath.
And then—
Something flew past above the trees.
Fast.
Too fast to be a bird.
She didn't see it clearly.
Only a blur.
A presence.
And then it was gone.
The forest grew quiet again.
She hesitated only a moment.
Then she ran.
In a small clearing ahead, something white lay among the grass.
She slowed.
Stepped closer.
There, wrapped in pale cloth, lay a baby.
She was crying.
Not loud.
But steady.
The woman knelt beside her.
For a long moment, she only looked.
Then she reached down and lifted the child into her arms.
Shhh…
She rocked her gently.
Held her close.
It's alright. You're alright.
The crying continued.
And then—
A laugh.
Short.
Soft.
Just once.
The woman froze.
Then she laughed too, surprised by herself.
She carried the baby home.
A small house.
One door.
Quiet walls.
She made a place for her to sleep.
She lit the fire.
She fed her.
And when the baby finally slept, the woman sat alone at the table.
She took out a piece of parchment.
She wrote.
She folded it.
She tied it with string.
She opened the door.
A bird landed nearby.
She placed the letter into its beak.
It flew away.
The next morning, the baby woke first.
She didn't cry.
She didn't laugh.
She only looked up at the woman beside her.
And blinked.
End of Chapter 8 – The Woman and the Wings