Dawn came gray and soft, as if the night had exhaled and forgot to inhale again. Mist lay low over the grass, a pale shawl that moved when the river hushed somewhere beyond the hill. The fire had burned down to a patient red, ringed by small pyramids of ash the acid ants were already tidying, grain by grain, as if tidiness itself was a vow they had to keep.
Arielle woke sore in the way that told the truth about last night but did not shout it. The ache was not a bruise; it was a reminder that she had a body and it had been brave. She lay still a moment on the blanket, felt the ground under her shoulder blades, and breathed until her ribs loosened. Useful is enough, she told the new day. Useful is enough.
