Cael was gone before the leaves had fully turned.
There was no sudden moment, no dramatic farewell beneath the tree. Loss, when it finally came, was quieter than either of them had expected. A stillness. A breath that did not return.
And then absence.
Liora did not walk the path the next evening.
Nor the one after.
The tree stood as it always had, unmoved by the change, its branches reaching out into a sky that offered no explanation. The ground beneath it held the memory of footsteps, but no new ones came.
Bramble waited.
At first, by the door.
Then by the path.
He returned each evening to the place where the three had always gone, sitting at the edge as though expecting them to appear again. When they did not, he did not leave immediately. He stayed longer each night, watching the space where Cael once stood.
On the fourth evening, Liora returned.
She did not call for Bramble.
She did not speak at all.
She simply walked.
Her steps were uneven, not from illness now, but from something heavier. Something that settled into her posture, pulling him downward with each movement.
Bramble fell into place beside her at once.
Not between them.
There was no between anymore.
The path had not changed.
Every stone, every uneven stretch of earth remained exactly as it had been. But without Cael, it felt longer. The distance stretched in ways that could not be measured.
When they reached the tree, Liora did not sit.
She stood where she always had, though her hand did not reach for the bark this time. It hung at her side, unmoving.
Bramble sat where he remembered.
He looked up.
Waited.
Nothing came.
Days passed.
The walks continued.
Always at the same time. Always along the same path.
Liora spoke occasionally, though the words were quiet, almost uncertain, as though she was unsure whether they were meant to be heard.
Bramble listened regardless.
It became their new rhythm.
Step. Step. Pause.
But the pause lingered longer now.
And the silence that filled it was no longer shared.