Beneath the grey and murky sky, the river wound through the dark green hollow like a thread of silver, cutting its way through the mossy banks. A girl knelt beside the water, her head bowed, her hands cupped around a trembling little frog. Its small body shuddered in pain, its twisted leg twitching weakly. Yet the pain was fading, slowly but surely, with every tear that fell upon its flesh.
Where each drop touched the frog, a faint glow bloomed – soft and golden, invisible to all but her.
A shadow moved across the riverbank. She didn't lift her head.
"It took you long enough," she murmured, her voice light but low, as if the words were meant more for the water than for him.
The shadow settled beside her. He sat cross-legged, his presence large yet quiet, like a mountain wrapped in fog. For a moment, the only sound was the bubbling river and the faint rustle of leaves overhead.
"I had to deliver my report first," he said at last.
She nodded, smiling softly but still focused on the frog. "How did it go?"
"As well as could be expected."
She glanced at him then, and her smile grew. "Congratulations."
He bowed his head in gratitude.
"And you were so worried before you went," she then added, her tone almost teasing.
He said nothing for a long moment, watching her work. The frog stopped trembling and stretched its healed leg tentatively. She whispered something he couldn't hear and set it gently down beside the water. It hopped twice, then paused, looking up at her, in what seemed gratitude.
"It was the worrying," he said suddenly. His voice was quiet but steady, as the thought had only just fully formed.
"Hm?" Her eyes searched his face, though he wasn't sure what she was looking for.
"Being worried. I think it was what helped the most. I have always thought such an emotion was not meant for us, yet it was what I felt every step of the way. I used to think it was shackling me, but now..." he paused, yet he met her gaze fully for the first time.
She said no words, but he felt her encouragement to go on.
"Now, I feel like it was what made all the difference." He finished.
The silence that followed was one of the most comfortable silences he ever felt.
"You have changed." She finally uttered, and he gladly took her words as the praise she meant them to be.
"I... suppose I have." He answered, but before he could say more, something unexpected happened.
The frog flexed its healed leg, and before either of them could react, it leapt straight at her face. She flinched, falling back with a soft cry, and then laughed – a startled, bubbling sound that spilled out like sunlight breaking through clouds.
The sound of her laughter echoed in the hollow, for the first time, perhaps, since the beginning of days, and he couldn't help but glance away, as if it was too sacred for him to witness.
She sat up, her laughter fading into a quiet hum as she swept the moss from her tunic. When she stood, she wiped her cheeks, brushing away the faint trails of tears. Yet when she turned to him, she was smiling – not the faint, reserved smile from before, but something deeper, something that reached her eyes.
He stood up as well, and although his form towered over her, she was so much larger and greater, and it filled him with great joy and humility to stand before her, and bow his head before her.
"Come see me sometime," she said. "I missed our talks dearly."
He hesitated. Her brow lifted, curious.
"Actually…" He glanced down, trepidation building up inside him. "I would be staying, with your leave. For my boon, I have asked that I serve you from now on."
Her brow arched slightly, her expression unreadable but for the subtle tilt of her head. "Oh?"
"It was granted, provided you permit it as well."
Her eyes fixed on him, beautiful and knowing, seeing something only she could. Then, she clasped her hands lightly in front of her, tilting her chin ever so slightly. "I am honoured," she said, her voice quiet and sure.
He faltered, the words catching in his throat. This was more than he had expected – perhaps more than he had thought he deserved. Yet there was no doubt in her voice, no trace of formality. It was a truth, simple and unadorned, and it rested on him with a weight both humbling and profound.
"No," he replied, meeting her gaze again. "The honour is mine."
The wind stirred, shifting the branches overhead and scattering the heavy grey clouds. The first ray of sunlight broke through, brushing the riverbank in gold. She turned without another word, her steps light as shadows on water. He watched as she disappeared into the trees, her presence fading into the soft green glow of the forest.
Only then did he lie back on the moss, his body sinking into the quiet embrace of the grass. The sky above was now vast and blue now, streaked with white clouds that drifted like whispers. He pulled out a small pipe, the wood dark and smooth from years of use. He lit it for the first time since coming back. He looked at it for a long moment, and then his lips curved into a quiet smile, a warmth blooming in his chest. For the first time since returning, he felt it: he was home. Truly home.
Smiling, the young man puffed gently, and a delicate ship of smoke unfurled its sails, drifting slowly towards the endless blue ocean above.
Her laughter lingered in his thoughts, unguarded and warm, like sunlight breaking through eternal shadow. He thought of all the talks they had shared, and all the talks they would share, until the changing of the world. And a small hope took root in his mind that perhaps her laughter would no longer be as rare an occurrence as a reshaping of the world.
"Thank you," he whispered, and he knew she would hear him as the soft wind of the East would carry those words to her. "For teaching me."
He let the pipe's stem rest loosely in his fingers, his gaze fixed on the beautiful blue sky, as the river sang on and the world grew still once more.