Lucy woke to the soft rustle of leaves brushing against one another and the faint crackle of dying embers. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, fell upon the dry forest floor littered with crisp brown leaves. The hem of the thin sheet she'd slept on curled slightly at the edges, gathering dust and dew.
Her gaze wandered toward the faint column of light blue smoke rising from last night's fire. The firewood was long reduced to gray charcoal, yet stubbornly puffed small whirls of smoke that twisted and danced upwards as though reluctant to leave the earth.
The morning light pierced through the forest canopy in broken streaks, bathing everything in a golden shimmer that made the leaves glitter like scattered coins.
The forest itself was calm, so calm it almost mocked them. The birds chirped their morning songs cheerfully, fluttering from branch to branch like gossiping townsfolk.
