The bridge creaked behind us as we stepped away, as if sighing in relief that it would not have to bear another burden that night.
The road back to the village lay under a thin veil of mist.
The stars had begun to fade in the east, where a pale ribbon of light hinted at the coming dawn.
Our steps were slow — hers heavy, mine careful not to break the silence.
Anara's shawl was damp where it had brushed the river's mist.
Her hands were empty and trembling, fingers curling as if still holding the railing.
No words passed between us for most of the walk.
She seemed smaller somehow — not broken, but stripped bare, as if she had left something behind on that bridge.
Perhaps it was the weight of the choice she had almost made.
When the first birds began to stir in the hedges, she stopped at the edge of the village road.
Her voice was hoarse, as though unused for a long time.
"I thought… I thought it would feel worse. To turn back."
I let the words hang in the cool air before answering softly.
"It never feels worse to choose life. It only feels heavy because it's harder."
Her eyes glistened in the first light of dawn.
She didn't reply, but her chin dipped once in a small, almost imperceptible nod.
We kept walking.