The scream sheared through the river’s whispered babble.
“Molly!” Wren leaped to his feet and the echoed cry bounced off the surrounding mountains.
“Wren?” Morgana yelled when Wren shot out along the river. Only his stream of blue light told her what direction he ran.
Wren reached the spring north of where they had set the picnic. They had left Molly here to give her time. Time to understand what she was now. It was where he wrestled with becoming a light walker.
“Molly!” he screamed and scanned the horizon.
“Please no, Molly,” Morgana said, sobbing.
He hadn’t heard Morgana arrive. She was a wind walker. No one heard her unless she wanted them to. She was kneeling down in the river with something gold clutched in her hands.
Wren jogged to her and fell to his knees when he saw the golden pocket watch in her hands.
“He’s back,” Morgana whispered.
Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash
Russell J. Fellows 