Rain came. Heavy sheets of water brushed leaves, flooding paths. Yet watchers stayed, straddling saplings, boundaries, waterline, refusing to retreat.
They withdrew into mist only when storm ended, dawn filtering white and clean.
Then they returned, to circle, shape orchard, carry memory into wet earth.
Months passed. Orchard produced ripening fruit; seeds turned into saplings at cave, cove, riverbank; watchers guided; river carried offerings beyond sight; children learned watchers' names as real.
Jude and Grace walked one evening to the river edge where watchers had shaped statues of mist. They kissed under watchers' glow and launched a final set of raft‑tokens to sea: messages of gratitude, homegrown seeds, Cloud-sown memory.
They watched them drift until the horizon swallowed them.
Grace leaned on his shoulder. "They'll remember us."
He closed his eyes. "We will, always."