Elara woke not to the sound of birds, but to the feeling of growth.
Vines had crept over her legs while she slept. Thin tendrils. Green. Warm. They didn't bind her. They rested on her. Like a blanket woven from living things. She didn't brush them off. She lay still. She listened.
The jungle was loud. Not with noise. With life. Insects hummed. Leaves unfurled. Roots pushed through soil. It was a cacophony of becoming. The air was thick. Humid. Heavy with scent. Rot. Blossom. Rain. Earth.
She sat up. The vines slipped off. They didn't resist. They knew she was leaving.
The cane stood beside her. Ash wood. Darker than before. It had absorbed the humidity. It swelled slightly. It felt alive in her hand.
She stood. Her joints clicked. The heat was already rising. The sun filtered through
