Aria’s POV
Bark came downriver at dusk.
Not one piece. Three. Tied together with blue thread so thin it looked like a root. They floated into our cove the way leaves do when the river wants us to notice.
Tui was still here. Mud dry on his knees now. Mint leaf behind his ear. He saw the bark first.
“That’s my mother’s hand,” he said. “She ties thread when the question is heavy.”
We didn’t rush. Sen set bowls out. Ridah warmed water. Coren the Warden didn’t reach for his sheath. He reached for the bark instead. Laid it flat on a stone like it was maps.
The first piece had one word, cut deep: _Why?_
The second: _How?_
The third: _Can we?_
No orders. No threats. Just questions. The kind people ask when steel finally stops answering for them.
Coren the mapmaker ran his finger
