The very next morning, Kaya decided it was time to leave the ocean. Time was running out, and more than anything, she needed to find a place to live—a place to call her own.
There was no grand farewell, no dramatic scene like the ones in stories or movies where everyone gathers to wave goodbye.
No one came.
The ocean remained as it always was—calm, composed, quietly majestic. As if it held no tribe beneath its glassy surface. As if she had never been a part of it.
With one last look, Kaya turned and began her walk back toward the cave she had once emerged from. It had taken her six days to reach the ocean when she first came.
This time, the journey dragged longer—eight, maybe nine days. Her steps were slower, heavier. She was carrying more now—physically, emotionally. Everything seemed to weigh differently.
But perhaps the strangest part of it all was the sparrow.
