Outing 4

The festival lights had dimmed to a softer hue now, casting golden halos across the cobblestone walkways. The energy that had once thrummed loud and bright was mellowing into something quieter—more intimate. The kind of warmth that made you linger, not for spectacle, but for the company that made the world feel bearable.

Cruzer strolled between Elara and Jean, one hand casually brushing against Elara's as their arms occasionally bumped. On his other side, Jean toyed with a small paper fan she'd won, flicking it open and closed with absent grace.

None of them were in a rush.

The poetry frog had, thankfully, fallen asleep after reciting a dramatic soliloquy about "the tragedy of unrequited love beneath moonlight." Jean insisted it was art. Elara insisted it was grounds for frog eviction.

"Do you remember," Jean began, her voice softer now, "when we first crossed that canyon outside the Hollow Ridge?"