Time did not pass in days. It passed in rings.
Lira sat beneath the tree. The Walkers' Tree. It grew fast. Not like a weed. Like a memory.
Year One. The trunk was thick. Ankle-wide. The bark was multi-colored. Patches of white ash. White birch. Brown oak. Green willow. The leaves changed with the wind. White. Blue. Yellow. Red.
Year Ten. The trunk was waist-high. The roots spread. They cracked the stone circle. Not destroying. Embracing. The stones became part of the roots. The mound became part of the hill.
Year Fifty. The trunk was wide. Arms-span. The branches reached out. Over the cliff. Over the path. Over the village.
Lira aged. Not like the people. Slower. Her hair turned white. Like the chalk. Like the birch. Her skin became like bark. Spotted. Rough. Warm.
She didn't walk mu
