Eira

Eira sits on the bench with one knee drawn up, her jumper loose around her frame and her hair catching the early light in brief, bright strands. The forest is quiet at this hour, the path still damp, the air cool enough to hold its shape. She isn’t moving, and she isn’t distracted; she’s simply absorbed in the space around her, taking in the way the light filters through the leaves and the way the morning settles over the ground. Nothing about her suggests waiting or worry. She looks like someone who has paused in the middle of a walk and found the moment unexpectedly complete, content to sit there and let the beauty of the place hold her attention without needing to explain what she sees.