Elder Rowan's Gaze

Elina’s feet, still carrying the faint, lingering scent of damp stone and spectral colors, padded softly across the well-worn cobblestones of the town square. Sunlight, warm and buttery, spilled over the rooftops, painting everything in its familiar, comforting glow. It was a stark, beautiful contrast to the dim, swirling depths she had recently explored. She found Elder Rowan sitting on his usual bench beneath the ancient oak, his hands, gnarled like the tree’s roots, resting on the smooth wood. He was looking out at the children playing, his eyes, the color of deep forest moss, holding a quiet contentment.

“Elder Rowan?” Elina’s voice was soft, a little hesitant. She wasn’t sure how to begin, how to explain the impossible colors and the creature made of fading light.

He turned his head, a gentle smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Ah, Elina. Come, sit with me for a moment.” His voice was like the rustle of dry leaves, warm and peaceful.