Gemotions

The small, carved wooden owl she'd placed in its branches as a child. Gone. She could see the faint imprint in the ground where the tree had once stood and the owl's perch. She picked at the dirt, as if searching for a forgotten memory.

This was what they did. They took. They took without asking. Without caring. She’d spent countless hours in that tree, reading, dreaming, escaping. Now? Nothing.

A single tear traced a path down her cheek, quickly drying in the harsh sunlight. She wiped it away, then turned and walked away from the place of her lost innocence.