In their sleep, they might have walked the edge of the field again, not to lead or command but to listen, like people checking a path they had walked enough times to respect.
Maybe they saw the same rhythm in their dreams and the steady balance between doing and being that had always held them together.
Or maybe sleep stayed blank and honest. Sometimes that's better than any dream could be.
The house dreamed too, in the quiet way old houses do. It held a small list close: open gates, steady feet, laughter that filled its halls, small victories no one bothered to write down.
Doors that opened for the right hands. Windows that reflected truth instead of hiding it. Keep what matters safe without locking it away. That was enough of a prayer for the night.
Outside, dawn took its time. It hovered just below the horizon, a rumor the city wasn't ready to confirm.
