The morning light filtered softly through the trees of Angkor Wat, settling on a quiet clearing where RB sat with calm patience. Nearby, Leo Lily lingered close, her small hands resting on the roots of a banyan tree that stretched wide like a shelter.
There was a stillness in the air. Leo Lily’s eyes moved often—toward the path, toward the branches above—searching for something familiar. Baby Levy had been part of these mornings, usually full of movement and gentle energy. Today felt different.
RB remained steady, offering quiet presence rather than urgency. At one point, Leo Lily shifted closer, brushing lightly against her, as if grounding herself in something certain.
Time passed slowly, measured only by the rustling leaves and distant calls in the forest. Then, faint movement stirred in the distance. Leo Lily paused, watching carefully.
It wasn’t a dramatic moment. Just a small return to rhythm.
In the Angkor forest, even silence can carry meaning.