Liora woke early, not because she intended to travel far, but because the light had already made its decision.
The road ahead was unremarkable. No threshold marked its beginning. No sign announced where it led. It passed through a low valley where grass grew unevenly and stones surfaced just enough to remind walkers to watch their step.
She walked without consulting anything.
By midmorning she reached a village—small, weathered, neither welcoming nor hostile. People were already at work. A woman struggled to lift a crate onto a cart whose wheel refused to align properly.
Liora stopped.
Together they shifted the weight, adjusting not the cart but how they held it. The wheel settled. No one commented on this. The woman nodded once and returned to her work.
Further on, a child sat by the roadside arranging pebbles into rows. Some were carefully aligned, others scattered loosely nearby. The child frowned, rearranged them, then abandoned the pattern entirely to chase a bird.
The pebbles remained.
Liora continued walking.
At the centre of the village, an argument was unfolding—not heated, not calm, but suspended somewhere between. Two men spoke at once, each convinced the other had misunderstood.
Liora listened. She did not intervene. Eventually one of them laughed, shook his head, and the conversation shifted. No agreement was reached. No principle clarified. Yet the tension eased, and they parted without resentment.
Nothing had been resolved.
Everything had moved.
At a well near the edge of the village, Liora stopped to drink. The bucket was heavy with water, heavier than she expected. She adjusted her grip and lifted again.
She noticed that she did this without thinking.
Once, she would have paused—asked what the weight meant, how it should be carried, whether there was a better method. Now, she simply responded.
The water tasted ordinary.
Beyond the village, the road narrowed. Wind moved through tall grass, producing no pattern that could be followed, only a rhythm that could be walked alongside.
Liora realised she was not looking for signs.
Not because she had learned there were none.
But because she no longer needed them.
As the sun lowered, she reached a bend where the road dipped briefly out of sight. She did not stop to consider where it would reappear.
She stepped forward.
No insight arrived.
No conclusion formed.
The world did not disclose itself.
It continued.
And so did Liora.
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