CHAPTER 48 – Laughter on the Ridge

  The trail rose into a wide, windy ridge after lunch, the kind where the world opened up on both sides and the sky felt impossibly huge. The air carried the scent of wild mint crushed underfoot, and somewhere down in the valley, a creek glittered through the trees like a silver ribbon.

  Fleta walked in the middle of the group, her steps steady, her chest light. She wasn’t overflowing with joy—not yet—but she wasn’t carrying yesterday’s weight either. She felt… balanced. Like the trail had given her back one quiet piece of herself at a time.

  SkyWaker, naturally, was narrating their journey in an overly dramatic whisper.

  “And thus,” they muttered, crouching behind a boulder, “our brave fellowship approaches the legendary Ridge of Reasonable Difficulty. Many have tried. Many have succeeded. Many have tripped but survived anyway.”

  SleepisforT sighed. “Please don’t encourage them.”

  Marco whispered back, “I think we should encourage them more.”

  Jess laughed. “Absolutely not.”

  Riley shook her head with a fond smile. “Just keep walking, guys.”

  They hiked another stretch until they came to a spot where the ridge narrowed, and a large fallen tree forced everyone to either duck under it or climb over.

  Jess went under. Marco went over. SleepisforT did a dramatic roll under it for absolutely no reason.

  SkyWaker stared at the log like it was a sentient creature presenting a riddle.

  Fleta paused beside them. “You okay?”

  SkyWaker struck a pose. “I am deciding whether to go over—a feat of agility and grace—or under, where trolls might dwell.”

  Fleta blinked. “There are no trolls.”

  “Not with that attitude,” SkyWaker said gravely.

  Jess called back, “SkyWaker, just crawl under it!”

  SkyWaker gasped. “Crawl? Crawl? I am no crawler! I am a SkyWaker!”

  Marco folded his arms. “Well then walk the sky and get over the log already.”

  But SkyWaker was already backing up.

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  Far too much.

  Way too much.

  Riley’s eyes widened. “SkyWaker, please don’t—”

  Too late.

  SkyWaker sprinted.

  At full speed.

  Absolutely determined.

  They leapt—arms flailing, Sir Quacksworth clenched in their fist—and managed to clear the first half of the log in a surprisingly graceful arc.

  The second half?

  Not so much.

  Their foot caught the log mid?air, and they went spinning sideways like a chaotic windmill.

  They landed with a dramatic whump in a patch of soft leaves.

  Sir Quacksworth bounced off their head, did a tiny heroic flip, and landed perfectly upright.

  Silence.

  Then Jess burst out laughing.

  Marco fell to his knees laughing. SleepisforT wheezed. Even Riley doubled over.

  And Fleta—

  Fleta laughed so hard she had to grab a tree to stay upright.

  The sound bubbled out of her—warm, breathless, unexpected. It felt like shaking loose the dust of old rooms inside her chest. Like sunlight spilling through cracks she’d forgotten were there.

  SkyWaker popped up, leaves in their hair, raising a triumphant fist.

  “TA?DA!”

  Jess gasped for air. “Are—you—okay?”

  SkyWaker bowed. “Pain is temporary. Comedy is eternal.”

  Riley wiped her eyes, still laughing. “That was… impressive. In a terrifying way.”

  Marco retrieved Sir Quacksworth and held him up reverently. “Your duck has no fear.”

  “Of course not,” SkyWaker said. “He is a professional.”

  SleepisforT leaned toward Fleta. “You okay over there?”

  Fleta nodded, still giggling. “I can’t— I can’t believe they—”

  Jess finished for her. “Did a full stunt show for no reason?”

  “Exactly,” Fleta said, laughing again.

  The group relaxed on the ridge for a few minutes afterward. The wind tugged gently at their hair. The sky stretched clear and endless above them.

  When they finally started walking again, Fleta felt the leftover laughter sitting warmly in her chest.

  Not masking anything. Not covering pain. Just… real.

  A piece of joy she hadn’t expected. A moment she didn’t want to forget.

  As they continued down the trail, SkyWaker walked beside her, brushing dirt off their vest.

  “StillMoving,” they said, “did I or did I not perform a flawless arc of heroic triumph?”

  Fleta smiled. “You kind of crashed.”

  SkyWaker gasped. “Blasphemy! That was a controlled descent.”

  Fleta laughed again—soft, bright, alive.

  “Thanks,” she said quietly.

  “For what?” SkyWaker asked.

  “For… being you.”

  SkyWaker held Sir Quacksworth over their heart. “No greater compliment exists.”

  And together, they continued down the ridge—sun warm on their backs, the trail stretching wide and open ahead, the echoes of laughter still drifting through the trees.

  Still moving.

  Still healing.

  Still finding light in unexpected places.