Chapter 67 – Sunlight Through the Leaves

  The trail leveled after the Rock Garden, winding into a long stretch of soft pine needles and quiet green. Shafts of sunlight broke through the canopy overhead, cutting gentle golden stripes across the dirt. The air smelled like warm earth and sap, rich and calm after the chaos of the morning.

  Jess walked with her arms stretched wide like she was absorbing sunshine directly into her soul. Marco poked at tree trunks with his walking stick, “testing for hidden doors.” SkyWaker marched heroically at the rear, protecting them from imaginary foes. SleepisforT hummed under her breath, relaxed again.

  Riley walked beside Fleta.

  “You handled yesterday,” Riley said quietly. “You handled today. How’s your heart?”

  Fleta inhaled deeply.

  “It feels…” She searched for the right word. “…quiet. But not the scary kind of quiet. More like… peaceful. Like there’s room in there now.”

  Riley nodded. “Good.”

  They reached a wide clearing where the sunlight fell in bright, warm circles on the forest floor. Someone had built a small bench out of fallen branches. The group dropped their packs.

  Jess flopped onto the grass. “Lunch break!”

  Marco lay flat on his back. “I am one with the earth.”

  SkyWaker placed Sir Quacksworth on the bench and bowed. “THE THRONE IS YOURS, MY LIEGE.”

  Fleta smiled and sat at the base of a maple tree, drawing her journal into her lap.

  The clearing was warm. The air was still. And for the first time in days, her hands felt steady before writing.

  She flipped to a blank page.

  She didn’t force the words. She didn’t reach for them. They rose, easy and warm, like the sunlight filtering through the leaves.

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  Poem Entry – Light on the Trail

  After the Rock Garden

  I used to think strength was loud— like storms breaking, like shouting over fear, like trying to outrun every shadow behind me.

  But today the trail taught me something softer:

  Strength can be quiet too.

  It can be a step on a tilted rock, a breath caught and held, a hand reaching to balance, a heart that chooses calm after yesterday’s fear.

  I am not unbreakable. I don’t have to be.

  But I am learning how to bend without falling, how to keep moving even when the ground shifts, how to let sunlight through the cracks fear left behind.

  Today I walked with my whole self: the scared parts, the brave parts, the healing parts, all of them held together in a rhythm that feels like becoming.

  Fleta read the poem twice. The second time, her chest felt warm — not burning, not aching.

  Just warm.

  She closed the journal.

  Jess rolled onto her elbows. “Poem day?”

  Fleta nodded.

  “Was it beautiful?” Jess asked.

  “Yeah,” Fleta said softly. “It was.”

  Marco raised a granola bar. “Poetry tax!”

  Fleta laughed. “Okay, okay.”

  SkyWaker lifted Sir Quacksworth. “THE DUCK ALSO DEMANDS TRIBUTE.”

  SleepisforT leaned over with a smirk. “Ignore them. But also, snacks are a useful bargaining tool.”

  Riley sat beside Fleta. “How does your heart feel now?”

  Fleta pressed the journal gently to her chest.

  “Light,” she said. “Lighter than it has in a long time.”

  Riley nodded. “That’s how you know you’re healing.”

  The group rested beneath the sunlit leaves, warm and still, breathing the same soft air. Fleta closed her eyes and let the warmth settle deep inside her.

  When she opened them again, she whispered:

  “I’m still moving.”

  And the trail, in its quiet way, seemed to smile back.