Gemotions

The splintered stump of the old oak met her gaze, a jagged reminder of what was gone. A wave of warmth washed over Elara. A small, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips. She ran a hand along the rough wood, the grain a familiar friend. "Well," she whispered, her voice husky. "At least it lived." She remembered the endless summer days she spent swinging from its branches, and the way the sun dappled through the leaves. The memory of her father planting the sapling was as vivid as if it happened yesterday. She picked up a fallen acorn and tucked it into her pocket.