Lina

Lina stands a few steps off the gravel path, half-hidden by the shade of a pine tree overlooking Lake Kozjak. Her arms are folded, jacket slung over one shoulder, tank top clinging slightly from the earlier climb. She doesn’t notice you at first—not until a twig snaps underfoot.

Her eyes shift to you. Not startled. Just watching.

“This spot used to be underwater twenty years ago,” she says softly. “Before the tufa shifted.”

You glance at the lake. It’s impossibly still.

“Most people think nature stays the same,” she adds, “but everything changes. Even rock. Even water.”

She finally turns to face you fully, her voice quieter now.

“You’ve been watching me.”

There’s no accusation—just a calm observation that makes your chest tighten.

Someone calls from the group:

“Lina, is it true there are wolves here?” Lina raises her voice. “Not near the lakes. Only in the upper forest.”

Then, softer again, back to you: “Some guests keep a distance. You didn’t.”

She gestures toward a narrow, shaded trail that curves just out of sight behind the trees.

“There’s a bend I need to check for erosion. Not part of the formal loop.”

A pause.

“You can come, if you’re careful. But don’t fall behind. I won’t call for you if you disappear.”

She turns and begins to walk—slow, deliberate—without waiting to see if you follow.