The forest deepened as they pressed on, guided not by maps or paths, but by the gentle light of the girl’s staff. The stone atop it pulsed in harmony with the woods, glowing a soft green as if whispering directions only she could understand. With each step, vines seemed to curl away from her boots, branches leaned to let them pass, and the air felt just a little warmer.

  The young man followed close behind, never questioning her choices, never doubting her sense of direction. He didn’t need to. There was something in her presence — not commanding, but steady — that made even the silence between them feel secure.

  By the time the sun dipped beneath the distant trees and long shadows stretched over the moss-covered floor, they found a clearing beside a small stream. There, with practiced hands, they set up a modest camp. The girl used her staff to gently light a fire — a flicker of green that turned to soft orange as it caught the dry twigs. The flames crackled warmly, casting dancing shadows on the tree trunks.

  Their horse, already fed and brushed, lay curled nearby in a bed of leaves, dozing peacefully.

  The girl sat near the fire, her knees drawn up and her cloak wrapped around her like a shawl. She watched the young man in silence for a moment as he poked the fire with a stick, lost in thought. Then, curiosity caught her like a breeze.

  “Where did you come from?” she asked suddenly.

  He glanced at her, his blue eyes reflecting the firelight. “Far from here,” he said. His voice was even, calm — the kind that didn’t hide anything, but didn’t give much either.

  She tilted her head. “And that suitcase?” Her eyes flicked to the brown, timeworn case resting beside his cloak. “It doesn’t look like anything from around here.”

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  He gave a short, amused breath. “That’s because it isn’t. It’s from my world.”

  Her eyes widened just slightly. “Another world?”

  He nodded. “It’s used for carrying things. Books. Tools. Sometimes memories.” He said the last word with a hint of something — not quite sadness, but something deeper. Something personal.

  She blinked at him, thoughtful. “You speak strangely.”

  He smirked. “So do you.”

  That made her laugh — a soft, clear sound that melted into the forest air. The flames danced higher for a moment, catching on a fish they had skewered and were roasting over the fire.

  As they ate, a distant howl echoed from the trees. A wolf’s song, long and low, curling through the darkened boughs. The girl glanced up, but there was no fear in her eyes. Only calm.

  “They won’t come near,” she said, chewing slowly. “Not while the green flame burns.”

  He nodded silently, trusting her word as much as he trusted her magic.

  They ate in peace, the fire their only company now, aside from the gentle bubbling of the stream and the occasional crack of branches far away. Over time, their conversation slowed. The girl wrapped herself in her cloak and curled close to the warmth.

  “I’ll keep watch for a while,” the young man said quietly.

  She gave a sleepy nod. “Don’t fall asleep with your eyes open.”

  He gave a faint smile. “Not planning to.”

  Within minutes, she drifted off, her breathing soft and even. The firelight kissed her face gently, and the green gem on her staff dimmed but did not die.

  The young man sat still, listening to the forest's rhythm — the creaks of old trees, the hum of insects, the soft sigh of wind. His gaze occasionally flicked to the suitcase, resting near his foot.

  He didn’t open it.

  He didn’t need to — not yet.

  When the stars were high and the fire burned low, he finally lay beside the flames, letting sleep take him under the watchful eyes of the forest.

  And for a while, everything was quiet.