The first morning light rose cheerfully, spilling over the treetops like gold poured from a tilted chalice.
Shafts of sunlight pierced the mist, and the forest birds, already awake sang with reckless joy, as though competing to see who could greet the new day first. Leaves trembled in the breeze as if clapping along.
Simma was already up. He had shaken the night's weight from his shoulders and packed the few belongings he had used.
Now he stood by his horse, untying the rope with hands that still bore the tremor of yesterday's ordeal. His movements were quiet, almost guilty, each knot loosened as if he feared waking the sleeping girls.
Behind him, Sarah and Lucy stirred. They squinted and rubbed their eyes, hair tousled from sleep, voices still tangled with dreams. The fire beside them had collapsed into a cradle of glowing embers.
"Morning, y'all," Simma greeted with a weak smile, trying to sound casual.
