Chapter 4 — The First Shadows

By the time Isolde turned twelve, the laughter in the courtyard began to thin.Her little brother still chased dragonflies around the fig tree,her mother still sang while baking bread,and her father still came home with his boots covered in soil.But something had changed — not in them, but in her.

She began to notice things she hadn’t before.The way her mother’s smile faltered when the harvest was mentioned.The way her father sighed longer at night, staring at the dark horizon.And the way the world, once so full of wonder, started to feel smaller — as if the village could no longer hold her curiosity.

In the evenings, Isolde liked to climb the small hill behind their house.From there, she could see everything — the fields, the river, and the faint outline of other villages far away.The wind would sweep through her hair as she whispered to herself,“There must be more than this.”

One day, her father caught her there, sitting on a rock with her chin on her knees.He stood beside her for a while, looking at the same fading light.Then he said quietly,

“Dreaming too far makes the ground beneath you disappear, Isolde.”

She didn’t answer.Her father’s words carried care, but also fear — fear of losing her to something he couldn’t understand.Isolde only smiled, because she felt that dreaming didn’t pull her away from the ground.It only helped her see the sky more clearly.

That summer, the rains stopped coming.The grass turned pale, the soil cracked, and the fields wilted.The laughter that once echoed through their home disappeared, replaced by the creak of empty buckets and the hush of worry.

Her mother stopped singing.Her father spoke less.Even her brother began to skip meals, pretending he wasn’t hungry so their parents wouldn’t notice.

Isolde began to wake before dawn.She’d carry the water jars to the river, feeling the cold air bite her skin.The silence of the mornings was strange — heavy but sacred,as if the earth itself was teaching her something about strength.

When the first rain finally returned, everyone ran outside.Her brother shouted, her mother laughed through tears, and her father lifted his face to the sky.But Isolde stood still for a long moment, feeling the drops slide down her cheeks.She didn’t cry, or laugh.She just understood — in a way she hadn’t before —that love wasn’t only found in happy days.Sometimes it lived in endurance,in the quiet choice to stay and hope, even when everything else was falling apart.

That was the year Isolde began to grow up — not in body, but in heart.

Isolde does look back