Emma paused at the edge of the moor, her eyes tracing the narrow stone path that vanished into the mist. Dawn's pale light struggled to penetrate the haze, lending an otherworldly quality to the landscape.

She took a deep breath, tasting the earthy dampness on her tongue. This was the path her grandmother had spoken of - the one that led to the old standing stones, where wishes were said to come true if whispered at sunrise.

With trembling fingers, Emma clutched the locket containing her grandmother's picture. It had been a year since her passing, and the ache of loss still felt raw.

"I miss you," Emma whispered, her words carried away by the gentle morning breeze.

As she took her first step onto the ancient stones, a shiver ran through her. Was it just the chill, or something more? The mist seemed to part before her, inviting her forward.

With each step, Emma felt a growing sense of peace. By the time she reached the standing stones, bathed in the soft glow of sunrise, she knew she wasn't alone. Her grandmother's presence, warm and comforting, embraced her like a memory.

Emma smiled, realizing some paths lead not just to places, but to healing itself.