Wapun Meadow tiptoe

irene listened, the corner of her mouth curling slightly at ameline’s words. it was a generous assessment, one she wasn’t sure she deserved, but she accepted it without protest. she had spent enough time drifting to know that people saw what they wanted to see—and if ameline thought her capable, perhaps she wasn’t entirely wrong.  

she cast a glance toward the horizon, thoughtful. everywhere is different, she murmured, her voice measured, as if weighing the words before offering them. some lands are harsh, where the wind cuts like a blade, and you learn quickly that only the strong survive. others are lush, full of life, but even the most beautiful places have their dangers. her gaze flickered back to ameline, a ghost of amusement in her eyes. not so different from here, i’d imagine.

she shifted her weight, glancing at the meadow stretching before them. but no matter where i go, there’s always something beneath the surface. something waiting to be uncovered. a pause, her tone turning softer, more introspective. that’s why i keep moving. not because i don’t want a place to belong, but because i need to understand what’s worth staying for. 

her gaze met ameline’s then, steady and unguarded. but i love to collect stories from the places i have been.