The shelter was no longer just a shelter. It was a hall.
Taren had opened the walls. Removed the thatch. Replaced it with living vines. Woven together. Strong. Green. The roof was leaves. The walls were branches. The floor was stone. Smooth. Polished by feet.
Children came. Not from the village. From everywhere.
They walked the paths. Some with parents. Some alone. They carried seeds. Stones. Feathers. Gifts for the Earth. For the Walker.
Taren sat on the stones. The circle. The staff leaned against the mound. Solan's mound. Covered in flowers.
The children sat in a circle around him. Quiet. Listening.
"Why do you walk?" a girl asked. She was small. Maybe eight. Hair braided with grass.
"To listen," Taren said.
"To what?" a boy asked. He held a stone. Grey. Smooth.
"To the Earth,"
