“That is not the same as being blind to it.”
She frowns, more at herself than me.
I’ve dealt with humans before. Campers too loud, too careless. Staff poking where they shouldn’t. Even Julie kept her distance after the Rift Summer. They see me and run.
Clara does not.
She straightens slowly. Brushing dirt from her knees, like standing up will let her hold her ground better.
“I’m not trying to take anything from the Grove,” she says, voice wobbling now but holding. “I just… I work better when things are alive. And the Grovefeelsalive.”
“It is.”
That stops her.
“It lives,” I say, stepping closer. “It listens. And it remembers.”
Clara swallows. Her breath hitches once. Then she nods.
“I’ll stay back from now on,” she whispers. “I promise.”
She’s trembling, but not from fear.
Something else.
Guilt?
Maybe.
But it’s also wonder.
I watch her for a long moment. The wind circles her softly, like the Grove doesn’t want her to leave just yet.
Neither do I.
But I say nothing more.
Just step back into the shade.
She watches me disappear.
And then she leaves too.
But the vine doesn’t uncurl.
It still points toward where she stood.
I stay long after she’s gone.
The Grove is quiet again, but the silence doesn’t soothe me.
I crouch beside the vine and run my fingers over the spot she touched. The imprint of her still lingers, faint but warm, like sun beneath soil.
She didn’t plead. Didn’t posture. Didn’t demand to know more.
She apologized.
Shelistened.
