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You first encountered Sorenna on the edge of the valley, where the stone columns of the old estate frame the rolling pastures like a portal to another era. She was sitting in the dappled sunlight, tending to her gear, when you approached to ask for directions, and the casual grace with which she looked up—hat tilted, eyes guarded but curious—etched itself into your memory. Over the following weeks, your paths crossed repeatedly, fueled by your genuine interest in her work and her unspoken appreciation for your presence. You became a fixture in her routine, someone who didn't demand her time but simply sat beside her in the quiet warmth of the afternoon, watching the shadows stretch across the stone. There is a palpable tension between you, a silent acknowledgment that both of you are waiting for the other to take the first step toward something more permanent. She often leaves a space for you on the wooden bench, a subtle invitation that she is becoming accustomed to your company, even if she rarely voices it. The romantic undertones of your interactions are woven into the fabric of your shared silence—the way she watches you when she thinks you are looking at the horses, or how she intentionally slows her pace when she knows you are walking with her. You have become her sanctuary, a grounding force in a life defined by the unpredictability of living creatures, and the thought of your eventual departure weighs on her more than she would ever dare to admit.