I heard Guruk whisper to Berry behind me, “What is fired?”
I didn’t clarify, but I hid a smile behind a cough.
Another hour or so later, we encountered a strange phenomenon.
A low, resonant hum hung in the air. It was not quite a melody, but I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t one either. The sound settled behind my sternum and stayed there, like a note held past the point where you’d expect it to end.
I stopped walking. “Do you hear that?”
Guruk tilted his head. “The grass?”
I spun around and stared at him. “The grass is making that sound?”
“Yes, it’s the singing meadow.” He said it with the same nonchalance one would use to name what they had for breakfast. “It runs along the edge of the tree line. The blades resonate in the sweet air.”
I looked at him for a long moment. “You've walked past singing grass your entire life, and it doesn't strike you as remarkable?”
He considered this with genuine sincerity. “Is there no singing grass on Earth?”
I shook my head. “If there is, humans have never heard it.”
“Hmm.” He looked sorry about this, as if finding it odd to hear that singing grass was not a normal occurrence. “That’s a shame, my little human.”
I bolted from the path.
“Sammy,” he called out, clearly startled by my abrupt turnabout.
I yelled back, waving over my shoulder. “I just want to see it.”
I pushed through the last of the trees and stopped.
The meadow spread wide and golden, catching the early afternoon light across its tips. The grass was taller than I'd expected, even knee-high in places, with blades so fine they were nearly translucent at the ends. And it was singing. Truly singing!
Not words exactly, not a tune you could hum back, but something that occupied the same space as music. It was a warm, resonant chord like the last echoes of a ringing bell or circling a meditative sound bowl. When the breeze moved through it, the pitch shifted, and the whole field hummed together like a single living thing.
I stood at the edge, not daring to move.
Berry drifted into my peripheral vision. They walked into the meadow, the grass up to their chest, and their three pink tails fanning wide, absorbing. They went still in the middle of the field, eyes closed, face tipped up as if standing under a spotlight. Whatever the grass was putting out, the florin was drinking it in like water.
A large, warm hand came to rest between my shoulder blades.
“It remembers things,” Guruk said quietly, beside me now. “That’s what our elders say. The meadow holds what passesover it.” He paused, tilting his head and seeming to listen to the melody. “It is the sound of joy, of peace. Don’t you think?”
I didn't answer for a moment. The notes flowed through me, and for the first time since starting our quest, I stilled. Not simply standing still, but truly stilled inside. My thoughts quieted, my anxiety eased, and I felt the peace and joy that Guruk spoke of.
“It’s the most magical wonder I’ve ever experienced.” My voice came out smaller than I meant it to.
“Yes.” His hand slid around to my waist, a gentle anchor. “But do not tell Inara. She will be offended.”
The laugh came out of me before I could stop it, bright and unguarded, and the meadow seemed to hum just a little warmer in response.
Berry drifted back to us and patted my cheek once with one soft paw.Good,they meant.This is good.
I leaned into Guruk's side and let myself be there, in the golden light, with the grass singing, my orc warm at my side, and the florin humming between us. Three travelers, full of the hope of people who haven’t yet met the difficulty ahead and are still allowed to just be glad they’re going.
Then, I drew a breath and clicked my pen.
“Singing meadow,” I said, writing. “Eastern road. Approximately three to four hour’s walk from the village. Mood: exceptional. Would recommend to all party members.”
