I wrote:Fire changes this.
His expression softened, animated all at once. "Exactly. Heat destabilizes minerals, redirects water, reveals fault lines. Fire doesn't erase history, it just clears its throat really loudly."
He leaned back, staring at the rock. "I swear, rocks are ancient curmudgeons. They whine under pressure, hold grudges for millennia, and then—boom—emotional collapse. So dramatic."
He turned to me. "So... the owl?"
"We have him under temporary care," July said easily. "April—" she tipped her head toward me "—is cleared to handle protected wildlife, but he'll have to be released once he's stable."
He looked at me softly. "April..."
I lowered my gaze, uncapped my pen, and wrote,Protected species. Care is permitted only under authorization.
Bramwell nodded at once. "Of course. Stabilization only, then release. That's how it's done." His voice softened as he looked back at me. "Still, he's fortunate. Not everyone ends up with the Sentinel of the Wild."
I flushed. "We should be going," July said with an easy smile, her voice light and friendly. "It wasreallya pleasure meeting you, Sir Bramwell."
"Sir?" He raised an eyebrow, mock horror in his voice. "What am I, the ruler of pebble land? Should I start issuing proclamations? 'All hail the geologist!' Do I get a sword? A castle? Do I start correcting people's posture? No, just Bramwell. Bramwell Thorne. Lover of rocks. Occasionally clean-shaven."
July's laughter echoed down the path as she disappeared from view. I lingered, lifted a hand in a small wave, took a few wandering steps and then turned back.
He was watching me. For once, he said nothing because he could see my chest rising and falling, the effort in my throat, and the way I was trying to coax a sound into being. I stilled myself, grounded my breath, relaxed my tongue, and reached for the exercises I had practiced over and over, willing my voice to follow.
"Thank you," I finally said.
He beamed at me. "Anytime, April."
Then he hesitated, like a thought had landed and refused to leave. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small stone, smooth and vividly red. He turned it once in his palm, then held it out.
I looked at it. Then at him.
"I usually don't hand out rocks to people," he said. "It sets a precedent."
I smiled just a bit.
"It's red jasper," he went on, tone brightening into that familiar, talkative enthusiasm. "Iron-rich, durable, used historically for protection. Grounding stone. Very hard to break. Shows up in places that survive pressure, heat, erosion. All the fun stuff."
He paused, then tilted his head at me. "Which felt... appropriate."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Well," he said, warming to it now, "you patrol the forest at ungodly hours, defend entire ecosystems, apparently co-parent owls who glare at strangers like tiny feathered bouncers, and somehow do all of that without a weapon. Seemed like you should have backup."
He shrugged. "Geological backup."
I took the stone. It fit perfectly in my palm, red catching the light like it had a pulse of its own.
"And," he added, more lightly, "pure coincidence, but it does seem to resemble a red-haired, nocturnal guardian. Very niche demographic."
I smiled despite myself.
"Consider it," he finished, stepping back, "a field-issued talisman. For the Guardian of the Grove. For patrols and protection."
He gave a small, crooked grin. Before I could say anything, he nodded once, turned, and walked back down the path, leaving me alone with the red stone in my hand and a quiet, almost mischievous feeling lingering in the air.
I turned the stone over, watching how the light caught its deep red, and couldn't help but smile.
Chapter 12: Nurture & Nature
