The next day.
The sun was high in the sky, occasionally filtered by white clouds sailing lazily by.
The forest floor, still damp from the morning dew, absorbed the heat slowly. Between the cracks in the branches, rays of light filtered through, illuminating specks of dust and shiny moss. Here and there, fresh footprints from a wild boar or the more subtle marks of a fox betrayed the recent passage of wild beasts.
A light breeze rustled the tall leaves, carrying with it the scent of wet bark and freshly trodden grass. Further away, the sweet perfume of elderflowers mingled with the fresh air.
The birds were not silent: the tapping of a woodpecker, the chirping of goldfinches, and the distant warbling of a blackbird wove a scattered but harmonious melody.
The forest breathed, alive, as if every sound, every fragrance, and every ray of sunlight told a story that only it knew.
Miles away, the city remained just as busy, although without the same activity as previous days.
