The walk began in silence.
Not the kind that presses on your ears, but the kind that sits gently on your shoulders. The forest, so often alive with chatter and rustling, seemed to hold its breath this time around. The birds were quieter, the trees didn't creak, even the wind moved more like thought than sound.
I sat on her shoulder, wings tucked in, and head tilted to catch the quiet.
The river nearby was the only thing that spoke freely. Its current moved smooth and confident, gently wishing through the canopy of leaves above us. A doe watched us from the thicket and didn't run. A squirrel clutched an acorn and paused mid-chew, as if it too didn't want to break the hush.
It was like the world knew that today wasn't for noise.
The witch said nothing as we walked. Her boots barely disturbed the path, and her face remained calm. Just very distant, like her thoughts were walking a different road beside us.
I let myself feel the stillness. Let it sink in. And somewhere in the space beside us, I started remembering a memory of my past.
My grandmother.
She was the one person in my old life who saw me without squinting. Who remembered my favorite tea and slipped money into birthday cards she insisted on mailing. Her handwriting curled like vines, and she always signed off with, "Be kind to yourself, and the world will slow for you."
When she died, I was in my third year of university. Midterms were plaguing my days. My GPA teetered at the edge of scholarship loss.
I told myself I couldn't go to the funeral.
I told myself she would've understood. That she wouldn't have wanted me to fall behind. That staying efficient was a kind of love to her.
I stayed in my dorm, wrote lines of code for a project I barely remember, and pretended the letter in my drawer, her last one, didn't exist. I read it once and never let myself do so again.
And I never forgave myself for letting that moment slip away like it was optional. Optional to disrespect someone who only knew love towards me, someone who never asked anything of me. The things I would give to see her again and enjoy her lemon ginger tea.
Now, sitting on this stranger's shoulder, going to a grave that wasn't mine, I felt something shift. I can't tell what it is, it doesn't feel like grief or guilt, maybe something more along the lines of permission.
Permission to feel what I hadn't let myself feel before.
The burial grove sat at the edge of the forest, cradled in silence and smooth, polished stone.
There were no guards, no magic wards. Just old stones and carved markers shaped like trees and spires. Ivy crawled up everything, and a few wind chimes clinked from the low branches, soft and hollow.
Her mother's grave stood at the far end. The marker was pale gray, polished, unblemished. The kind of stone people paid too much for when they had too little to say.
There were no flowers, no sign that another had passed by.
The witch knelt beside it, not weeping, just folding herself gently to the ground. Her hands trembled only once as she pulled a small bundle of rosemary and lavender from her satchel and laid it at the base.
"You used to plant these," she said quietly. "I hated the smell. How cocky would you now be, knowing they're planting all around my humble home."
I flew down from her shoulder and stood beside the herbs. I looked around, unsure, feeling uninvited, and spotted a feather stuck between the vines. A pretty pale color, not mine.
I plucked it loose and placed it next to the bundle.
I didn't know why. It just felt like the right thing to do.
"She never wrote to me again," the witch said. "Not after I left. She let the kingdom erase me. And I let it happen because I thought I'd earned the silence."
Her voice was even. Steady.
"But you know, I still thought… maybe, someday, she'd soften up. That we'd have tea again. That she'd ask if I was happy." A pause. "She never didn't."
She looked over at me. Not expecting comfort. Just sharing space.
"Oh little bird, I thought being right would feel better," she said. "But I was so very wrong."
She glanced at the herbs, then at the sky.
"But this? This does, even if its just a little bit."
I didn't think of chirping or hopping about, I thought just standing there with her was what I wanted the most right now.
Then, after a moment, I tilted my head and whistled. The same three notes. Soft and unsure, but present I hoped. Carried gently by the wind, it caught a chime overhead and spun it into something almost melodic.
The witch turned. A smile touched her mouth. Tired, but still a real one.
"You're getting good at that," she said. "Maybe I'll teach you to harmonize with Fig."
I flared my wings dramatically, struck a pose, then dropped flat like I'd fainted.
She laughed, not loud, but warm.
"You think I'll go easy on your flying form just because you may have seen me cry a bit today?" she asked.
I gave her my most offended puff of feathers.
Another small laugh.
She rose to her feet and brushed her knees.
"Come on, little friend," she said. "Let's go home."
The walk back felt different. The forest still hummed, but it no longer whispered. The river still ran, but I no longer heard it over the quiet pulse in my chest.
Something had shifted between us. Not like a bond was formed, that had already happened. But more like a door cracked open. Like the feeling when a room was being aired out, refreshing.
She walked lighter now, and I flew a longer.
No words were really needed. No confessions, or silly little promises.
Just this:
I stayed.
She stayed.
And for once, both of us stood in each other's silence, knowing that the other was better now.