The early morning mist floated like silk across the mountain trees. Sovann moved quietly, his straw basket brushing against his leg as he gathered herbs along the stream. The water whispered softly over stones, and the cool air smelled of pine and earth.
This was his favorite time of day—when the world felt untouched, and the worries of life in the village below couldn't reach him.
Then he saw something strange.
Across the stream, half-hidden in the tall grass, lay a figure.
Not an animal.
A person.
Cautiously, Sovann crossed the stones and stepped closer. It was a woman, sleeping—or perhaps unconscious—her silver-white hair spread out like moonlight on moss. Her clothes were unfamiliar: soft leather with faded markings, stitched in patterns he didn't recognize. She looked human, but… something felt different. Not dangerous. Just… otherworldly.
She was breathing slowly. Peacefully. No wounds. No signs of a fall. As if she had simply… arrived here, like a leaf drifting from the sky.
He hesitated, then gently knelt beside her.
Before he could speak, her eyes opened—calm and clear. A soft shade of violet. They looked at him, not in fear, but with quiet curiosity.
The woman sat up slowly. She looked at her hands, then at the trees, then at Sovann.
And then she spoke in a soft, melodic voice—words he didn't understand.
He smiled politely and said, "You don't speak my language, do you?"
She tilted her head slightly, then gave a faint smile back.
Sovann pointed to himself. "Sovann."
The woman blinked, then touched her chest gently. "…Elira."
Their names hung in the air between them, like the first two notes of a long, beautiful song.