A flower floating on the lake

Chapter 25. Lake of the Wind

Flowing, gathering and gathering


Even if it becomes a lake breeze







.
.









Chapter 25. The Lake of the Wind




















*
“Let’s take a break now. We’ve worked hard.”







How did I respond to that? I think I shook my head. I thought it was the way it should be, and it was natural, because I was the wind that flowed constantly and I admired whales.







“If the shepherdess and the prince met again by chance, would they love each other again?”










But no. Emotions that could be called longing surged through her. The heroine, who knew everything about the children's questions, couldn't open her mouth. That couldn't happen. Even the shepherdess had let the prince go. Those simple words wouldn't come out. Perhaps she was hoping. That they would meet like the passing wind, that they would pool and tangle again like in that garden. That the name of chance would bind them together again.







“Yeah, I’m sure it will be. Because we’re looking out for each other.”







A completely different answer from what she'd expected eventually came out of her mouth. Even after the children who'd received candy each laughed and dispersed, Yeoju remained motionless under the old tree where she'd sat. She yearned desperately for the love that had shown her the sky. Jimin, who couldn't have been more understanding, embraced Yeoju.







“Jimin, I... am lonely.”




"...I know. So, it's okay to be honest now. What do you want to do?"




“Let’s stay, us.”








But nowhere can be our home.

Yeoju and Jimin, who had been walking in silence, settled down again in a small rural village. It was just a place. The two children had no home, and they never would. Yeoju pretended not to, but in that village, a transit point for most roads, she waited for someone. A small hut atop a beautiful hill, she once again herded sheep, awaiting everything she had endured.







“Sis, do you remember?”




“That baby sheep?”




"Yeah... the name Sis, it's actually derived from Cistus, the self-flaming flower."




“....”




“I’ll die tomorrow. I liked the flower language, so I guess I lived with the mindset that I’d die tomorrow.”




“When will tomorrow come?”




“In the winter when the warm spring passes.”








It meant she'd never come back. Jimin knew. The thoughtful Yeoju couldn't help but know that she sometimes spouted such incomprehensible words. It must be a life filled with longing for everything that's passed. He'd once hugged Yeoju, who'd said those words.












“It will be a life of anticipation for the future.”