Ivan rode further and further away from the palace, moving toward the woods at the outskirts of the capital. His horse's hooves struck the ground with a heavy rhythm, each sound echoing his own racing thoughts. The noon light had been bright in the city, but as he entered the forest, the tall trees stretched their arms high, their green leaves covering the sky like a roof. The sunlight turned dimmer, scattered in patches on the ground, soft and cool.
The woods were quiet except for the rustle of branches swaying gently in the spring breeze. The smell of earth, wet from the last rain, filled the air. The further he went in, the darker it seemed, though the season outside was alive with flowers.
Ivan guided his horse along the narrow path, the same path he remembered too well. His chest grew heavier with each turn until he finally arrived at that familiar spot. The tree stood tall, thick, and old, its bark rough but steady. It was the very place Lydia had once saved his life.
