The trees changed first.
The farther we traveled, the more the land shifted. The thick, dark woods of Thornridge gave way to gentler slopes, sunlight filtering through leaves that didn't seem so heavy. The air felt cleaner. Softer. Like it hadn't been touched by pain or blood.
We had been traveling for days. The small group that chose to come with us moved quietly, respectfully. They understood what this journey meant. Not just distance. But change.
I looked over at Darius. He rode beside me, our daughter wrapped against his chest in a soft sling. Erya slept peacefully, her tiny breaths steady even through the bouncing path. She didn't cry much. Somehow, it felt like she understood that this journey mattered too.
