Evie knelt by the spring and pressed her palm flat against the mud. The ground was still damp, but the water had dropped two handspans since yesterday. She could see the line where it used to reach, marked by a darker ring of soil that hadn't dried yet. She pulled the map from her pocket and unfolded it across her knee. The smudged ink stared back at her. Three weeks of folding and refolding had worn the paper thin at the creases. The spot was here. The trees were enough. The trader's warning about autumn floods meant nothing in summer, and she'd known that the whole time. The pool sat in a natural hollow, ringed with smooth stones she'd cleared herself over the past two days. Luminescent flowers had begun to bloom at the edges where the water still touched, their soft glow catching the last of the daylight. She'd built the thatched shelter just beyond the shade line, its roof woven tight against rain, a simple counter inside stocked with clay cups and dried fruit. The stone benches could be moved when the floods came. Everything could. She filled one cup from the spring and set it on the nearest bench. The water was clean and cold. Someone would drink it, or they wouldn't. She folded the map one last time and left it weighted under a stone beside the cup. The sanctuary was here now, and she was walking away before she could wait for someone to need it.

Evie was halfway down the ridge when she heard the coughing. It came from the direction of the sanctuary, rough and wet, followed by a sound like someone trying to stand and failing. She stopped and turned back. The shelter was still visible through the trees, its thatch roof dark against the sky. She found him collapsed beside the spring, one hand still reaching toward the water. His skin was gray, his breathing shallow. When she touched his shoulder, he didn't open his eyes. She grabbed the nearest cup and filled it, but when she tried to lift his head, he couldn't swallow. The water ran down his chin and soaked into the dirt. She dragged him to the padded bench she'd placed under the shade cloth near the pool. His weight was wrong, too light, like he'd been walking without food for days. She propped him against the backrest and tilted the cup again, but his mouth wouldn't close around the rim. The water spilled. She set the cup down and pulled out the hollow reed she'd tucked into her pack weeks ago, the one she'd been carrying without knowing why. She twisted it into a long spiral, dipped one end into the cup, and held the other to his lips. This time, when the water touched his tongue, his throat moved. He swallowed. She stayed until the cup was empty and his breathing steadied. He still hadn't opened his eyes, but his hand moved to rest on his chest instead of clawing at the ground. She refilled the cup and left it beside him with the reed coiled on top. When she stood to leave, she didn't look back. Someone had needed the sanctuary to work, and it had. That was enough, and it was terrifying.