Gara looked up at the sky, which was already darkening despite the sun not yet setting. Thick storm clouds were rolling down from the mountain.
He quickly gathered the herbs drying by the side of the house. The moment he stepped into the kitchen, the first drops of rain began to fall.
After closing the door behind him, he carefully stored the now-dried herbs in their proper place. Then he hurried to Wina's room and his own to shut the windows.
Finally, he went to the front room to close the last window, where puddles had already started to form from the rainwater that had splashed in.
He stood by the door, eyes fixed on the mountain, anxiety churning in his chest.
The rain grew heavier, blurring his vision. Through the mist, he caught sight of silhouettes—figures running down from the mountain. Among them, he saw his mother.
Alongside Wina were Uncle Tirian and his wife, neighbors whose home stood some thirty meters away, hidden behind dense trees.
