Son compartido

There are places where the world feels… thinner. Not broken. Not wrong. Just… less certain. Villages like that don’t look dangerous. They look small. Quiet. The kind of place where nothing ever really happens. People know each other. Doors stay unlocked. Fires burn low into the night. But there’s always something else. Not in the houses. Not in the fields. In the trees. Every village near a forest has rules. Not written. Not spoken loudly. Just… known.