The fire had burned down to coals when Coco reached for their backpack, fingers finding the familiar weight of the prayer beads by touch alone. The wooden spheres were smooth from years of handling, each one carved with a different symbol — mountains, flowers and winds. They'd inherited them from their mentor, who'd gotten them from hers, and so on.
Meadow's eyes followed the movement as Coco settled cross-legged beside the dying fire, beads draped across their palms.
"Evening prayer," they explained quietly, though they weren't sure why they bothered. "Just... something I do. Every night."
Meadow tilted her head, ears pricking forward with interest.
Coco closed their eyes and began the familiar ritual, thumb moving from bead to bead as they whispered the old words. *"Sophia of the mountain, keeper of the sacred bloom, guide my steps through wasteland, bring me safely home..."*
The prayer was older than the underground cities, older than the great collapse. It spoke of lavender fields that stretched beyond the horizon, of a goddess who walked among purple flowers on a mountain so high it touched the stars. Most people said the prayers by rote now, reciting them in the safety of underground shrines. But wanderers — they lived them. Every day on the surface was an act of faith.
*"Grant me wisdom in the wild places, strength to carry what I must, eyes to see your sacred signs, heart to know who I can trust..."*
When Coco opened their eyes, they found Meadow watching intently, her pale gaze fixed on the prayer beads. Without thinking, they held them out slightly, letting the firelight catch the carved symbols.
"See this one?" They touched a bead shaped like a tiny lavender sprig. "That's her flower. Eternal Sophia's mark. They say she wore a crown of them when she walked the world, before..." They gestured vaguely at the wasteland around them. "Before everything went wrong."
Meadow leaned closer, studying the carved flower with an expression Coco couldn't read. Her fingers twitched as if she wanted to touch it, but she held back.
"The stories say she still walks the high mountain, waiting for the world to heal. That someday the fields will bloom again, and she'll come down to walk among them." Coco's voice had dropped to barely above a whisper. "Most people think it's just... stories. But wanderers see things up here. Signs."
They looked up at Meadow, who was still staring at the lavender bead.
"Like finding an impossible meadow where nothing should grow."
Something flickered across Meadow's face — recognition? Sadness? Before Coco could be sure, she'd turned away, gaze drifting to the stars scattered across the black sky.
Coco finished the prayer in silence, fingers working through the remaining beads. When they were done, they tucked the strand back into their pack, but not before noticing that Meadow's eyes had followed its path.
"You ever pray to anyone?" they asked impulsively.
Meadow looked at them for a long moment, then did something unexpected. She pressed her palms together and raised them toward her heart, then higher, toward the stars. Her lips moved soundlessly, forming words in that flowing language Coco didn't understand. But the gesture itself was unmistakable.
Prayer. Just... different.
When she finished, she looked back at Coco with something that might have been a question in her eyes.
"Yeah," they said softly, though they weren't entirely sure what they were agreeing to. "I think she heard you."
Meadow's smile was small but real, and for reasons Coco couldn't explain, it made their chest feel tight.
They put out the fire and settled down to sleep, but as they drifted off, one thought kept circling: Meadow had appeared in a field of lavender, in a place where nothing should grow.
What is she hiding?