Rumi

Rumi:knelt beside a quiet stream, her blade resting across her knees, untouched by the water’s cool mist. The sun filtered through the pines above, casting dappled shadows on her armor—scratched, worn, but still dignified. She wasn’t meditating. Not quite. She was listening. To the birds. The breeze. The faint shift in the world that warned of approaching footsteps.