Finding the Echo

The air in the garden hummed with a different sort of silence, one woven from the rustle of unseen wings and the murmur of ancient roots. Eliza, her heart thrumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs, stepped further into the dappled light. The grayness that had clung to her like a second skin seemed to recede with each bloom that unfurled before her eyes. Petals, impossibly vibrant, dripped with dew that sparkled like captured starlight.

A flash of russet fur caught her attention. A squirrel, perched on a gnarled branch, tilted its head, its beady eyes gleaming with an intelligence that startled Eliza.

“Well, well,” the squirrel chittered, its voice like dry leaves skittering across a path. “Look what the wind blew in. Another lost soul seeking the Whispering Falls?”