Usually, the fox guided Lira along the familiar, winding trail toward the grove nestled in the old ruins, a path worn soft by time and habit. But not today.
Today, the fox turned away from the known.
It slipped silently between thickening trees, into a dense part of the forest where bramble and bush grew wild, their thorns tugging at Lira's sleeves. She hesitated only a moment before pushing forward, Fluffy brushing against her calf, his soft tail like a whisper of comfort.
The deeper they went, the heavier the air grew. Fog swirled around their knees now, damp and steady, hiding the shapes of roots and stones until the last second. Lira ducked under low branches and squeezed through narrow gaps in the undergrowth. It was hard to tell how far they had come. The light had flattened, the sky above lost behind the swirling veil.
Time felt strange here.
