The rain changed everything. It was a baptism, washing away the last psychic film of dust that had clung to the hollow's inhabitants. The water that pooled and seeped carried more than just the residual charge of the Star-Water; it carried a mandate. The earth, once a sterile platter offering only despair, was now a medium waiting for intention.
Elian's small garden became the new center of the world. The pump's grinding rhythm, while still necessary for survival, was now the background noise to the foreground work of cultivation. The hollow's people divided their time, a self-imposed schedule born of nascent purpose. They tended the pump in shifts, their movements more efficient now, fueled by the knowledge that their labor there bought them time for their true work. Then they would gather at the garden, their numbers slowly growing as the most hesitant among them were drawn by the palpable energy of creation.
