Wapun Meadow and I've got one foot in the door

eulie dawn did not scare easy.
her ears flicked, a slow tilt of her head, and her song fell quiet—not abruptly, but like a leaf floating to still water. silence settled between them, warm and aware. the man before her was shadow-shouldered and deep-eyed, with grief clinging to him like fog. she knew the look. had seen it too many times in the hollers and hills.
she blinked once, slow, then smiled—soft and crooked.
ain’t mine, not really, she said, voice gentle as creekwater. just borrowed it from the wind. it been hummin’ that tune since before i could stand on all fours.
she watched him for a moment, candlelight eyes tracing the tired lines of his face. not pityin’, no. just knowin’.
you carry a ghost, she murmured. don’t gotta tell me nothin’—i seen 'im sittin' on your back like he’s still got things to say.
then, a beat of quiet, before she tipped her head and nodded toward the wildberry brush behind her. you hungry? i picked the sweet ones ‘fore the birds got 'em all.
inviting, not pushin’. just like her songs—soft, and meant to linger.