Morning broke in golden haze. The watchers remained, now settled. Some moved slowly across the orchard; one meditated at the well's lip. Each seemed to integrate into life, not to watch, but to be part of pattern.
Jude walked among them, tracing branches, ribbons, moss lines. He patted a watcher's mist-arm. It glowed in response, light pulsing under his palm. Intimate greeting from presence beyond.
Grace joined him, carrying the children. Raven offered a handful of wildflowers to a watcher. It knelt, slowly, mist swirling, and accepted, a delicate gesture. A moment passed like a heartbeat. The watcher rose with the flowers in mist, then drifted off, carrying petals to a sapling stump to the east.
Jude whispered, "They not only watch, they tend."
Grace kissed her daughter's head. "They nurture memory as much as we do."