The sun had set down completely and the night was swallowing the forest in thick shadows, the only light a sliver of moon threading through the canopy.
Aster sat on the damp ground, her body still trembling from the ordeal, her soaked braid clinging to her back as she forced her breath to steady.
Footsteps. Light, quick, rustling through the underbrush.
The boy reappeared, darting between the trees, a battered canvas bag slung over his shoulder. His silhouette was small but swift, moving with the sure-footedness of someone who knew these woods well.
Without a word, he knelt and rummaged through the bag, the faint clinking of metal and fabric filling the quiet.
Then, he pulled out a spare shirt and pants, worn but clean, and thrust them toward her with an awkward nod.
Aster hesitated. The night air bit at her damp skin, sending shivers down her spine, but still—she wasn't used to kindness. Especially from strangers and by the look of the boy, he is likely from the backdrop.
