One morning, silently, in that floating calm that only exists at dawn, we came across a herd of Mossarians.
They were round, slow, peaceful creatures — like turtles without shells, but covered in thick moss, with small flowers silently blooming on their backs. Their steps were slow, almost hesitant, but wherever they passed, grass grew back instantly. Thicker. Greener. As if the world itself came back to life behind them.
Lysara stopped. She watched them for a long time, without speaking, eyes wide open — true. Then she approached a small one, the slowest of all. She crouched down, gently, without rushing, and held out a leaf. It sniffed it, took it between its lips, and then — without warning — nestled against her leg.
She looked down, frozen for a moment.
— I think he likes me… she murmured, not really believing it, as if it was a bit beyond her. She had that smile at the corner of her lips, discreet, surprised, a little fragile. It was beautiful.
