We walked until the effort of moving stopped feeling like effort.
Not because it became easier.
But because I no longer felt it the same way.
The water deepened.
Then stilled.
The light above thinned
until it no longer reached us fully.
The trees grew older here.
Taller.
Closer.
Their roots held everything in place—
or perhaps,
prevented it from leaving.
Durandal said nothing for a long time.
When he did,
his voice was quieter than before.
“This is… deeper than I have been.”
I did not answer.
Ahead of us,
structures rose above the water.
Not scattered.
Connected.
Platforms held together by rope
and roots that no longer seemed natural.
They did not sway.
They endured.
At the center—
a tree.
Larger than anything surrounding it.
Dark.
Marked.
Decorated with shapes I could not read.
Bone.
Feather.
Fragments of something once alive.
Durandal did not name it.
He did not need to.
Caravan Master moved toward it without slowing.
Without hesitation.
As if this place did not change the way he moved.
We followed.
I hesitated once.
Only briefly.
I looked at Durandal.
He looked back at me.
A small uncertainty passed between us.
“This should not be allowed,” he said quietly.
“For us to be here.”
I looked ahead again.
At Caravan Master.
Already entering.
Durandal gave a small nod.
We followed.
Inside,
the space opened wider than I expected.
Elevated above the water.
Held together by wood
and something older beneath it.
They were already there.
Five of them.
Larger than any I had seen before.
Different.
Not only in size.
In stillness.
The one at the center drew my attention immediately.
Twice the size of the others.
Seated.
Unmoving.
It did not need to assert itself.
It was already understood.
Caravan Master stepped forward.
And spoke.
The sounds returned.
Tongue.
Teeth.
Breath.
Unchanged.
Unreachable.
Durandal and I remained near the edge.
We sat.
Not by instruction.
But because there was nowhere else to be.
The exchange continued.
I could not follow it.
I did not try.
But something shifted within it.
Not in words.
In tone.
One of them moved.
Rising.
Slow at first.
Then not.
It stepped forward.
Toward Caravan Master.
The sound it made was sharper.
Closer to something I could recognize.
Anger.
Durandal moved beside me.
Not fully standing.
But ready.
His hand near his blade.
I did not move.
I did not think I could.
Then it happened.
Not in sequence.
Not in a way I could follow.
The movement came
and ended before I understood it had begun.
Caravan Master turned.
Lowered.
And the one that had stepped forward
was no longer standing.
It struck the platform with force I felt more than heard.
Caravan Master was already above it.
One hand at its throat.
Holding.
Not straining.
Not rushed.
The body beneath him struggled.
Violently.
Then less.
Then not at all.
I looked at the others.
They had not moved.
Not one of them.
No alarm.
No interruption.
Only watching.
As if this was not a break in anything.
Only a part of it.
Caravan Master released his hold.
The one beneath him remained still for a moment.
Then moved again.
Slow.
Contained.
Something in its posture had changed.
Not injury.
Something else.
It returned to its place.
The space settled.
Without effort.
Without acknowledgement.
Caravan Master sat once more.
He looked at each of them in turn.
Then continued speaking.
As if nothing had been interrupted.
As if nothing had begun.
The exchange ended not long after.
No signal marked it.
Only a shift I could not name.
Caravan Master returned to us.
“It is time to leave.”
Nothing more was given.
No explanation.
No meaning offered to hold onto.
We rose.
And followed him out.
The air outside did not feel different.
But I did not feel it either.
Not in a way that could be placed.
I understand now
why Ryn did not come.
There is nothing here
that can be carried back in words.
And nothing that asks to be understood.
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