Aria’s POV
The mint reached water at dawn.
One thin green line that started at our stone circle, wound past the budding staff, and spilled over the bank. Leaves brushed the surface.
The river carried the smell before it carried the leaves.
No one planted it there. The ridge just let it go far enough.
Tui crouched at the edge, toes in mud. His bowl floated beside him. Empty.
“It found the water,” he said. “Same way it found me.”
The current took one leaf. Then another. Downriver. Toward villages that had only ever smelled steel in their water. Now they’d smell this.
Coren the Warden stood back from the bank. Hands open. No sheath.
“Rivers carry orders,” he said. “This one’s carrying forgiveness instead.”
Coren the mapmaker knelt, touched the place where mint met water. Dre
