The scent of sweetwood and crushed fennel clung to Charlisa's hands as she ground dried petals under the morning sun. Around her, the healer's grove buzzed with quiet purpose—elders chanting, children sorting herbs by scent, and the rhythmic tapping of pestles echoing like an ancient song.
Charlisa had become a steady presence here.
She no longer asked what each leaf was. She felt it—its texture, its energy. Her hands had learned to distinguish between bitterroot and bloodvine by touch alone. And she'd come to understand that healing wasn't just about mending wounds or fighting fevers. It was about listening. About believing that the land spoke, if you learned how to hear.
Elder Nima, the village's spiritual matriarch and healer, watched her closely. Today, she spoke less and observed more, her sharp eyes softened with something close to approval.
"You are not of our soil, Charlisa," the elder said, her voice rough as dry bark. "But the roots have accepted you."
Charlisa bowed her head, humbled. "I want to honor what I learn."
Nima nodded. "Then you must walk the line between science and spirit—one foot in knowledge, one in reverence. That's what makes a true healer."
Later that evening, Charlisa sat alone by the edge of the medicinal grove. The setting sun dipped behind the stone-ringed mountains, painting the land in hues of honey and fire. Everything felt still. Sacred.
Then she heard a quiet rustle behind her.
Kael appeared, his hair wind-tossed and eyes soft with that familiar gaze that always made her heart hitch.
"You've been here all day," he said, sitting beside her. "I had to wrestle a child for the last of the stew. See what you're making me resort to?"
She smiled. "You're dramatic."
He pulled something from behind his back—a carved wooden hairpin shaped like a sprouting branch. "Made this. Not as a bribe. Just… something to keep your hair out of your eyes when you're working."
Charlisa's throat caught. "Kael…"
He gently slid it into her loose braid. "Fits."
A breeze stirred the leaves. She reached for his hand, fingers lacing with his.
"Today, Nima said the land accepts me."
Kael turned to her, resting his forehead lightly against hers. "The land is wise. So am I."
They sat there until the stars began to blink awake above them, warm skin pressed together in the quiet, hearts humming the same beat.
In this village untouched by machines or maps, where rivers ran clear and stories were preserved like seeds, Charlisa found what she hadn't realized she'd been missing her whole life—not just belonging, but meaning.
And beside her, the man who never needed to say the word "love" for her to feel it in every look, every touch, every breath shared under the sacred sky.