A girl, no older than thirteen, sat quietly on a splintered bench beneath a budding oak tree. Her jeans were torn and dirty, baggy enough to nearly swallow her frame, and her black hoodie—also much too large—hung off one shoulder, showing a glimpse of her worn fingerless mittens. Her hiking boots were scuffed and caked with dried mud, and the faded pink rucksack at her side bore the marks of many journeys. Strands of long, tousled black hair streaked with red fell across her soft-tanned face, the bangs covering half of her emerald green eyes, which sparkled with curiosity and resilience above a cute smattering of freckles.
A golden retriever bounded up, tail wagging, followed closely by an elderly man in a patched coat. The dog nudged the girl’s knee. She reached out and scratched behind its ears, a small smile breaking through the dirt smudges on her cheeks. The old man paused, studying her with gentle concern, before settling beside her on the far end of the bench. "You look like you've seen quite the adventure," the man remarked, his voice warm and inviting.
The girl hesitated, her gaze dropping to her fraying mittens. "I guess you could say that. I’ve been on the road for a while," she replied, her voice soft but steady. The old man nodded, his eyes crinkling with understanding, while the dog rested its head on her lap. "Well, every adventurer deserves a good breakfast. There’s a café just around the corner—would you join me?" he offered, hope glimmering in his tone.
She glanced at her rucksack, pondering, then looked up at the man’s kind face. "I… I think I’d like that," she said, a shy grin spreading across her lips. As she stood, her oversized clothes shifted awkwardly, but the man didn’t seem to notice—his eyes were on her smile, and the warmth it brought to the chilly morning.
The girl held tight to her rucksack as they walked, every step feeling lighter than the last. The golden retriever danced around her boots, and the old man hummed a cheerful tune. "What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?" he inquired. She paused, sunlight catching the red in her hair as she replied, "It’s Ember. My name’s Ember."
Ember sank into a cushioned chair, her cheeks flushed and eyes wide as she took in the bustling café. Across the table, the old man smiled and slid a plate of pastries toward her. "To new adventures, Ember," he toasted, raising his mug. She grinned, her freckles deepening, and for the first time in a long while, hope glimmered in her emerald eyes.
