Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 20: Chapter 20
You are reading Dahlia and the Garden of Light, Chapter 20: Chapter 20. Read more chapters of Dahlia and the Garden of Light.
The morning after the attack, the air was still — no wind, just heat and quiet.
In the village square, repairs had already begun. Men replaced broken fence posts. Auntie Halima shooed goats away from the ruined water barrel. A group of children drew vines in the dirt with sticks, re-enacting the night of the attack with wild gestures.
Inside the clinic, Dahlia packed slowly. Bandages. Her worn leather journal. Seeds wrapped in waxed cloth. A pressed flower from the boy she’d healed, tucked into the front cover.
Amy leaned against the doorframe, her own pack already slung over her shoulder. “Plane leaves in two hours.”
Dahlia didn’t answer. Her eyes lingered on the cot where she’d slept for a month, the faded curtain, the wind chime made from old spoons.
“Leaving is harder than I thought,” she murmured.
Amy nodded. “That’s how you know it mattered.”
Outside, Samuel handed them satchels of herbal salves, his expression unusually serious. “Amazon bugs will laugh at your medicine. This might not.”
Auntie Halima wrapped them both in bone-crushing hugs. “When you come back, I want you rested. Eat. Sleep. Fall in love, maybe.”
Amy smirked. “You volunteering, Sam?”
Samuel choked on his tea. Halima smacked his shoulder, laughing.
Then, Louis stepped forward. Quiet. Steady.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just held out a small cloth pouch.
Inside was a smooth stone, veined with mossy green.
“It’s called pesa moyo,” he said. “The villagers say it calms the heart. Protects travelers.”
Dahlia’s fingers brushed his. “Thank you.”
He hesitated. “I know I can’t ask you to stay. But… if there’s ever a day when you stop running, I hope I’m where you land.”
She swallowed. “I’m not running.”
“I know,” he said gently. “But still… I’ll wait.”
They hugged — brief, but real.
Then she turned and walked with Amy to the waiting jeep, the village waving them off with bright cloth and clapping hands.
The dust rose behind them, swirling in the wind like memory.
Arrival – The Lungs of the Earth
They landed on a narrow strip carved out of the jungle, the plane jerking hard as it touched down. The heat was different here — wet, alive, pulsing with the breath of a thousand unseen creatures.
“Welcome to the lungs of the Earth,” Amy muttered, swatting a mosquito. “Smells like moss and body odor.”
“Feels like a heartbeat,” Dahlia whispered.
Towering trees stretched into the canopy above them. Vines hung like braided ropes. Parrots shrieked in the distance, and the air buzzed with insects and ancient secrets.
They were met by a stern guide named Camila, mid-40s, face lined from sun and wisdom. She wore an amulet carved from bone and spoke three languages fluently — but wasted no time.
“You’re here to assist with the displaced tribes,” she said. “Illegal loggers have been pushing deeper. Children are sick. Some elders have gone missing. We’re losing the forest — and with it, everything.”
She turned to lead them down the muddy trail. “And be warned: out here, the jungle listens. It remembers.”
Amy raised an eyebrow. “Creepy.”
Dahlia smiled faintly. “Comforting.”
They hiked in silence, sweat pooling beneath their shirts, boots sinking into mossy earth.
Somewhere ahead, something would need healing. Maybe someone.
Behind them, in the distant sky, a lone hawk circled — then vanished into the trees.
And just like that, the next chapter began.
In the village square, repairs had already begun. Men replaced broken fence posts. Auntie Halima shooed goats away from the ruined water barrel. A group of children drew vines in the dirt with sticks, re-enacting the night of the attack with wild gestures.
Inside the clinic, Dahlia packed slowly. Bandages. Her worn leather journal. Seeds wrapped in waxed cloth. A pressed flower from the boy she’d healed, tucked into the front cover.
Amy leaned against the doorframe, her own pack already slung over her shoulder. “Plane leaves in two hours.”
Dahlia didn’t answer. Her eyes lingered on the cot where she’d slept for a month, the faded curtain, the wind chime made from old spoons.
“Leaving is harder than I thought,” she murmured.
Amy nodded. “That’s how you know it mattered.”
Outside, Samuel handed them satchels of herbal salves, his expression unusually serious. “Amazon bugs will laugh at your medicine. This might not.”
Auntie Halima wrapped them both in bone-crushing hugs. “When you come back, I want you rested. Eat. Sleep. Fall in love, maybe.”
Amy smirked. “You volunteering, Sam?”
Samuel choked on his tea. Halima smacked his shoulder, laughing.
Then, Louis stepped forward. Quiet. Steady.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just held out a small cloth pouch.
Inside was a smooth stone, veined with mossy green.
“It’s called pesa moyo,” he said. “The villagers say it calms the heart. Protects travelers.”
Dahlia’s fingers brushed his. “Thank you.”
He hesitated. “I know I can’t ask you to stay. But… if there’s ever a day when you stop running, I hope I’m where you land.”
She swallowed. “I’m not running.”
“I know,” he said gently. “But still… I’ll wait.”
They hugged — brief, but real.
Then she turned and walked with Amy to the waiting jeep, the village waving them off with bright cloth and clapping hands.
The dust rose behind them, swirling in the wind like memory.
Arrival – The Lungs of the Earth
They landed on a narrow strip carved out of the jungle, the plane jerking hard as it touched down. The heat was different here — wet, alive, pulsing with the breath of a thousand unseen creatures.
“Welcome to the lungs of the Earth,” Amy muttered, swatting a mosquito. “Smells like moss and body odor.”
“Feels like a heartbeat,” Dahlia whispered.
Towering trees stretched into the canopy above them. Vines hung like braided ropes. Parrots shrieked in the distance, and the air buzzed with insects and ancient secrets.
They were met by a stern guide named Camila, mid-40s, face lined from sun and wisdom. She wore an amulet carved from bone and spoke three languages fluently — but wasted no time.
“You’re here to assist with the displaced tribes,” she said. “Illegal loggers have been pushing deeper. Children are sick. Some elders have gone missing. We’re losing the forest — and with it, everything.”
She turned to lead them down the muddy trail. “And be warned: out here, the jungle listens. It remembers.”
Amy raised an eyebrow. “Creepy.”
Dahlia smiled faintly. “Comforting.”
They hiked in silence, sweat pooling beneath their shirts, boots sinking into mossy earth.
Somewhere ahead, something would need healing. Maybe someone.
Behind them, in the distant sky, a lone hawk circled — then vanished into the trees.
And just like that, the next chapter began.
End of Dahlia and the Garden of Light Chapter 20. Continue reading Chapter 21 or return to Dahlia and the Garden of Light book page.