Following the departure of Old Man Claus, Damien and Luke awoke to the gentle warmth of morning. Sunlight slipped through the trees in soft streaks, and a cool breeze rolled in from the river, carrying the fresh scent of water and earth.
Taking in the morning air, Damien was the first to stir.
With a lazy yawn, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and glanced toward the spot beneath the oak tree.
Empty.
He blinked once, then let out a small chuckle.
"He's gone, huh?"
Luke stretched out his arms with a groan, not even bothering to look. "Yeah… probably left early."
Damien scratched his head, glancing around one more time before shrugging. "Makes sense."
There wasn't much else to say.
No disappointment and no lingering thoughts.
The old man had come and gone like a passing breeze—strange, sure, but not something to dwell on.
Damien stood, brushing dirt from his clothes. "Alright, let's eat and get moving."
Luke sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, yeah… I'm starving."
They moved through their routine with ease—packing their things, splitting what little food they had left, and tightening the straps on their bag. The bread was dry, the water low, but they ate without complaint.
It was enough.
And that was all that mattered.
Soon after, Damien slung the bag over his shoulder, and the brothers stepped back onto the path.