The Keeping of Seeds

A few mornings after her conversation with Nyra, the girl returned to the garden alone. The air was cool with the scent of the sea, and the first light of dawn was just beginning to touch the edges of the sky.

She knelt by the flowerbed, her eyes taking in the colours that had deepened since she had last seen them. Reds, blues, and yellows stood vibrant against the dark earth, a quiet promise kept by the seeds.

With a new understanding of the cycle of seasons, she reached out a hand. Her fingers gently brushed against the drying head of a spent bloom, its petals now a faded echo of their former colour.

She took a small cloth pouch from her pocket and carefully collected the seed-heads, one by one. It was a quiet ritual, a private act of continuation that felt more significant than any words.

She closed the pouch and held it in her palm, a small weight of future promise. With a patient understanding, she tucked the pouch away, content to wait for the turning of the seasons once more.