Mud. Lesson. Oak.

You come out of reeds looking like a rumor. Crow’s Oak is still itself. Jennet does not say I told you if she is with you; she gives you bread. Aelric makes a note: marsh path lying, again.

Rain may be arriving. The last miles still exist. You are allowed to be embarrassed and arriving at the same time. Way-wardens invented that combination, probably.

You shed reeds like a rumor shedding facts. The oak does not scold. It is an oak. Crow’s Oak as a place still has its two doors: last miles, or rain, or the list’s next honest step. Your shoes hold half the marsh. Let them. Better shoes than night.

You pick reed-bits off your sleeve so the oak will not think you are a marsh-person forever. Then you take the fork the list always had.