The Fading Ember

The sun dips below the ragged ridge, spilling bruised purple across the valley floor. Shadows stretch long fingers toward the pines, claiming the warmth that lingered on the stone.

A sudden chill awakens the quiet earth, as the final breath of light gives way to dusk. The silhouettes of branches scrape the sky, etched like charcoal on a canvas of fading gold.

In the silence, a lone owl calls the night, its voice a hollow echo in the cooling air. The stars blink open, one by one, watching the world surrender to the dark.