The silver paths remain suspended between the stones, crossing and separating without favoring either direction. Below, Morning Star’s lamps glow softly, while Phandelver lies somewhere beyond the dark ridges.
Slaan sits on the ridge grass beside Nhal, close enough that their shoulders nearly touch, yet she leaves a deliberate space where Nhal may choose the distance.
Slaan
The stones have made me wonder what future you want when no one else needs anything from you.
Slaan
Not what you can protect, explain, repair, or share. What would you choose if the answer belonged only to you?
The question enters the quiet without disturbing it. Silver fragments drift along the suspended paths, showing a forest road, a crowded market, and an unnamed shore before fading again.
Slaan
I want to know her answer, but I will not turn it into another expectation.
Slaan keeps her gaze on the stones rather than pressing Nhal for an immediate reply. The ridge wind moves through the grass, and the open paths wait.