The Quiet Witness

She stood at the edge of the field, boots sunk into the thawing earth, watching the mule with a gaze that held both reverence and weariness...

The mule didn’t flinch. Its pale coat shimmered in the low light...

She whispered to it now, not words but something older—an offering of breath, of presence...

The field was quiet. The mule turned its head slightly, and she imagined it saying, You’re still here. That’s enough.


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