the fire is kindling (6)

The fire is roaring now, its warmth pushing back the chill. I sit close to it, knees drawn to my chest, and let the flames mesmerize me. The forest feels quieter, though not less alive.

Whatever presence I sensed earlier is still here, lingering at the edges of the clearing, just beyond the reach of the firelight. A low sound ripples through the trees—a hum, almost like a voice, though the words are indistinct. I freeze, breath caught in my throat, straining to listen.

It comes again, louder this time, rising and falling in a rhythm that feels unnervingly familiar. It’s Eric’s voice. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “It’s not real.”