Lira walked.
The staff felt light in her hands. Not because it was small. It was full grown. Ash. Birch. Oak. Willow. Fused together. Bound by vines that had grown around them while Taren slept. But it felt light because it wanted to walk. It hummed against her palm. A low vibration. Like a purr. Like a bird singing in the morning.
She was ten years old. Her hair was braided with grass. Green. Fresh. She wore a tunic of woven nettle. Soft. Brown. Her feet were bare. She felt the earth beneath them. Warm. Soft. Alive.
She walked down the path. Away from the Cliff. Away from the village. Into the world.
The world was green.
The road was not asphalt. It was packed earth. Stone. Grass grew in the center. Flowers bloomed on the edges. Red. Blue. Yellow. They nodded as she passed. Not becau
