The light shifted first.
Not dramatically—no curtain drop, no announcement—but enough that the meadow's colors softened, edges loosening as if the world had exhaled. The river reflected less sky and more depth, its surface darkening where currents braided beneath. Somewhere upstream, something large disturbed the water, not with force, but with purpose. The sound traveled late, arriving after the meaning.
Rhys noticed Puddle's attention narrow—not sharpen, just focus. A gentle tightening, like a lens finding its distance.
Caria followed the line of that awareness and nodded once. "We're not alone in this stretch."
"No," Rhys agreed. "But we're not being approached either."
They stayed seated.
