Jude nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder. He could still feel the gentle tremble of last night, when they gathered in prayer around the arch, offering thanks but also acknowledging that they remained strangers in some deep ways to the island itself. "Morning," he whispered back. They each felt the electricity humming in the subtle opening of day, the boundary between memory and dream shifting, so he added, "We did what we came to do. We're here."
They prepared breakfast together, smoked fish warmed in sea salt, roasted root vegetables, hibiscus leaf tea sweetened with a drop of honey that had survived the long trek through fallen trees. Conversation was minimal but steady: how the embers needed tending, a curious bird call from the treetops, a nest they saw above the treehouse.
