When Lavayla lay back down, she found that sleep refused to claim her. Her body was exhausted, but her mind remained too alert, too tightly wound after everything she'd been through. So she simply closed her eyes, breathing slow and steady, letting the rhythm of the baby's soft snores guide her. It took almost an hour before her body finally surrendered, her thoughts dissolving into the warm, heavy fog of true sleep.
When she woke again, it was to the baby's babbling voice right beside her—and the soft gold of morning seeping in through the narrow crevice above. Sunlight spilled into the stone hollow, washing everything in a gentle glow. It danced across the moss-covered walls in rippling patterns, mimicking the sway of leaves in the forest canopy. The air was cool and damp, carrying the earthy scent of lichen and pine needles. Outside, birds trilled their early melodies as insects buzzed lazily and tree branches creaked in the shifting breeze.
