CHAPTER 59: THE GIFT OF MEMORY
Autumn painted the ridges in burnt gold and deep red, and the valleys filled with the noise of harvest. Every cart creaked under sacks of grain, every yard hung with drying fruit and herbs, and every gathering place rang with plans for shared storehouses and winter work crews. But even as we turned toward the season of rest, Kael spent more and more time alone in the small archive room we had set up in Black Rock’s lower level, sorting through piles of letters and journals we had recovered from hidden caches.
One evening I found him sitting by a lantern, holding a tattered leather notebook bound in worn green thread. He looked up when I entered, his expression soft and a little sad.
“This was Elias’s,” he said. “I never knew he kept a journal. It was tucke
