The morning was crisp, the kind of coolness that invited one to linger outdoors. Lucas and I had decided to explore the old Vale woods for some fresh air and nostalgic memories. The woods had always been our childhood playground—a place of towering trees, winding streams, and secrets that only we knew.
Our task was simple: gather some rare herbs for Mother’s soup, a family recipe meant to keep everyone healthy as the weather turned colder. Lucas carried the basket with ease, his expression calm as always, while I jabbered on about memories from when we were younger.
“Remember that time we built a ‘fort’ out of fallen branches, and it collapsed on you?” I teased.
Lucas laughed softly. “And you cried harder than I did because you thought I was dead. You’ve always had such a flair for dram
