Remembering
609 Words
We stayed like that longer than I could measure.
My head against his shoulder. His arm warm beneath my hand. The forest breathing around us like it always had—patient, indifferent, ancient. Somewhere far off, a laugh carried, then faded. Life continuing without asking what it had just witnessed.
I shifted slightly, more out of instinct than intention.
Silas felt it immediately.
“Too much?” he asked, low.
“No,” I said. “Just… different.”
He nodded, understanding without explanation. He adjusted just enough so the stone edge didn’t dig into my back, his knee angling closer to block the wind without touching me.
I noticed the care in it.
That, more than anything, made my throat tighten.
Footsteps crunched nearby.
Not hurried. Not cautious. Familiar.
I lifted my head as Saera came into view again, this time with a folded cloth under one arm and that look on her face—the one she wore when she was trying not to hover.
“There you are,” she said, stopping a few paces away. “I figured you’d end up here.”
I didn’t move away from Silas.
Neither did he.
Saera noticed. Of course she did. Her gaze flicked to where my hand still rested on his arm, then back to my face. No judgment. No surprise.
Just a quiet recalibration.
“The elders are starting to reorganize patrols,” she said. “Nothing urgent. Just… noise.”
“I don’t want noise right now,” I replied.
“I figured,” she said gently. “That’s why I told them you were resting.”
Something eased in my chest at that.
She held out the cloth. Inside, I caught the faint scent of herbs and something grounding. Familiar.
“For later,” she said. “If the headaches come back.”
“Thank you.”
She hesitated, then added, “You feel steadier.”
I glanced down at my hand on Silas’s arm before I could stop myself.
Saera followed my gaze.
A corner of her mouth lifted—not teasing. Reassured.
“Good,” she said. “You deserve that.”
Silas inclined his head slightly toward her. Respect. Gratitude. No words.
She returned it.
“I’ll keep the path clear,” Saera said, already stepping back. “Take your time.”
When she was gone again, the quiet didn’t shatter.
It settled deeper.
Silas exhaled slowly. “She’s good for you.”
“She always has been,” I said. Then, after a beat, “So are you.”
The bond warmed—not flaring, not demanding. Just… acknowledging.
We sat a while longer, the light shifting through the trees, shadows stretching. Eventually, the cold began to creep in around the edges, gentle but persistent.
“I should check in with my father later,” I said softly. “Not now. But… today.”
Silas nodded. “I’ll walk you back when you’re ready.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
I smiled at that.
I stood first this time, brushing dust from my palms. He rose with me, unhurried, close enough that when I swayed slightly, his hand came to my elbow automatically—then paused.
He waited.
I leaned into the touch.
He steadied me, light and sure, then let his hand fall away again like he trusted me to keep standing.
We started back toward the path together, steps falling into the same rhythm without effort.
No declarations.
No promises.
Just two people moving through the same day, choosing each other in small, quiet ways.
Behind us, the forest watched.
Not waiting.
Remembering.
- Writer
