Chapter 66 – The Long Rock Garden

  The morning sun was a thin, pale gold—just enough warmth to promise a clear day. The trail wound upward into a section Riley had warned them about the night before:

  “The Rock Garden.”

  Jess had immediately asked if there would be sculpture. Marco asked if there would be snacks. SkyWaker asked if there would be “sentient boulders guarding ancient secrets.”

  Riley just smiled. “You’ll see.”

  Now, standing at the foot of it, Fleta got it.

  The trail wasn’t dirt anymore. It wasn’t roots. It wasn’t gravel.

  It was rocks. Every size imaginable. A half?mile stretch of uneven, chaotic stone—sharp, jumbled, slanted, piled, slick with morning dew. The kind of terrain that made ankles nervous and hikers humble.

  Jess groaned. “This is illegal.”

  Marco poked a boulder. “Who gave these rocks permission?”

  SkyWaker gasped dramatically. “THEY HAVE ALWAYS BEEN.”

  SleepisforT looked amused. “Congratulations. You’ve reached the Appalachian Trial.”

  Riley took the lead. “Slow and deliberate. Place your feet before you commit your weight. This section has taken out more than a few hikers’ pride.”

  Fleta inhaled deeply. She wasn’t afraid. Not like she used to be.

  But she respected the rocks.

  They began picking their way through.

  Step. Test. Shift weight. Step.

  The rocks moved under their boots sometimes—rolling or tipping without warning. The group stayed close, voices steady and encouraging.

  “You’ve got this, StillMoving,” Jess called. “Watch that one—it wobbles,” Marco warned. “Step like the mountain is watching,” SkyWaker proclaimed. “Please don’t listen to that last one,” SleepisforT added.

  Fleta kept her breath steady. The memory of almost falling off the ridge yesterday tried to flicker up in her chest, but she pressed it down with something stronger:

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  Trust.

  In her feet. In her breath. In her group. In herself.

  But halfway through the Rock Garden, the real challenge showed itself.

  A narrow chute of boulders—high on both sides, slanted downward, slick with shadows and last night’s dew. One wrong step and ankles could twist. Packs could topple. Pride could crack.

  Riley paused. “We take this one at a time.”

  Marco went first, stepping like he was sneaking past a sleeping dragon. Jess followed, muttering, “I hate gravity.” SkyWaker moved with theatrical precision. SleepisforT went steady and sure.

  Then it was Fleta’s turn.

  She stepped into the chute.

  Hand on one rock. Foot on another. Test. Shift weight. Next step.

  Halfway down, her boot landed on a stone that looked solid but wasn’t. It rolled.

  Her foot slipped—

  but she didn’t fall.

  Her body jerked forward, but she caught herself with both hands, bracing on two cold, steady boulders. Her pack swung but didn’t tip her.

  Her breath punched out hard.

  “StillMoving?” Riley called softly.

  Fleta swallowed. “I’m okay.”

  “Take your time,” SleepisforT said.

  Jess added, “We believe in your feet!”

  SkyWaker declared, “YOU ARE DOING COMBAT WITH THE EARTH, AND YOU ARE WINNING.”

  Fleta laughed under her breath—just enough to loosen the fear tightening her spine.

  She placed her foot again. More carefully this time. More aware. More in control.

  She made it down the chute.

  At the bottom, Jess hugged her. Marco gave her a high-five. SkyWaker knelt dramatically. SleepisforT squeezed her hand. Riley, proud, nodded once.

  “That,” Riley said, “is how a hiker handles challenge.”

  Fleta smiled.

  Not because it was over— but because she had faced it without freezing.

  They moved on, stepping through the last stretch of the Rock Garden. The trail soon softened back into dirt and pine needles, the shift like stepping out of chaos into calm.

  Jess threw her arms wide. “WE SURVIVED!”

  Marco groaned. “I have become one with the rocks. Leave me here.”

  SkyWaker lifted Sir Quacksworth. “THE DUCK IS UNCHANGED.”

  SleepisforT rolled her eyes fondly. “Drama. Everywhere.”

  Riley turned to Fleta. “How do you feel?”

  Fleta considered.

  “Tired,” she said. “Proud,” she added.

  Then she placed a hand on her chest.

  “And lighter.”

  Riley nodded. “Challenges do that when you walk through them instead of running from them.”

  Fleta breathed in. Mountain air. Pine. Dirt. Sunlight.

  “I’m still moving,” she whispered.

  And the trail—quiet, steady, waiting—seemed to whisper back:

  Good.