He made his way to the river, where Grace already stood, crouched at the bank. Her hair, dark and damp, framed her face, and her cloak, woven from vine fiber, shivered with droplets. Spotting him, she smiled softly, pushing damp strands behind her ear. "Morning feels different today," she said, voice light.
Jude knelt beside her and cupped the river's clear water. As he lifted it to his lips, he noticed blue sparkles reflected beneath the surface, tiny fragments of watcher light. Grace dipped a bowl, offering it. Their fingers brushed in water, the contact sending warmth through both.
They drank in silence, eyes on the water. Underneath them, ripples pulsed gently, more than mere current. The river seemed alive with soft memory. Grace traced patterns with her finger and whispered, "They left something…"