Days passed, and the tremors grew stronger. Pots toppled from shelves, water rippled in bowls, and the ground shook beneath their huts. The villagers could no longer deny it—the mountain was restless.
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the cliffs, a plume of smoke rose from the mountain's peak. Dark and heavy, it curled into the sky, blotting out the stars.
"Look!" Cindy cried, pointing. "The mountain is burning!"
Timmy's voice trembled. "She was right. She said it would wake."
The villagers gathered in the square, staring at the rising ash. Fear spread like fire. Elder Ramos bowed his head. "The mountain speaks indeed. We must flee."
But Lira stepped forward, thumb pressed against her lips, listening. The wind carried the mountain's voice, deep and rumbling: Ash will fall. The sky will darken. Find shelter, or be buried.
She removed her thumb, her voice steady. "We must go to the caves again. The mountain will send ash and fire. It will swallow the village."
The people trembled, but this time they did not doubt. They gathered their baskets, their children, their elders, and followed her toward the cliffs.
As they entered the caves, the mountain roared. Fire spilled from its peak, ash rained down, and the sky turned black. The village below was swallowed in smoke.
Inside the cave, the people huddled together, their faces lit by the glow of the eruption. Cindy whispered, "She saved us again."
Timmy nodded, awe in his eyes. "She hears what no one else can."
Lira sat quietly, thumb pressed against her lips, listening. The mountain's voice was fierce, but beneath it she heard the wind's whisper: You are the keeper of silence. The world speaks through you.