The days bled together with the rhythm of hooves and the ever-present murmur of the stream running alongside them. But it was on a morning unlike any other that Luke noticed the change—not in the sky, nor the wind, but in the water.
The stream had grown.
It wasn't sudden or dramatic. No rapid surge, no roaring current. But after tracking its presence for days, even the subtlest shift became noticeable. The once narrow thread of water, easily leapt over in some parts, now expanded wider, deeper. It hugged the land with a firmer grip, its surface more reflective, and its sound more commanding. It no longer babbled like a whisper through the trees—it hummed, steady and full.
Luke sat quietly at the reins, eyes watching the flow as they moved parallel to it. The trees leaned slightly away now, less thick than before, giving the river more room—as if even nature knew something significant was ahead.
