Broken Glass - Taekook

65

The next morning, as I crawl out from the tent I'm sharing with Taehyung, the first thing I notice is the sunrise. The sky is clear, save for a few clouds on the very edge of the horizon, which is blocked a little by the canopy of the forest. It must have rained during the night, or maybe there was a frost, because the entire world feels like it's covered in clear crystals, the sunlight beaming through each one like a prism, and refracting in all directions. There's the scent of damp earth in the air, as well as the faint trail of wood smoke, from the fire of last night. There are still a few embers glowing, but it's mainly gone now. 

But my gaze is drawn to the surface of the lake, which is calm, still as a mirror. For a moment, as I stare down at it, mesmerised by the beauty of the reflections that reach my eyes, the image changes. The leaning branches, the golden sky, it all slowly melts into the shape of a familiar mountain: Taju k'Eithyr, the reigning Crown of Eithyr. The snow-capped point reaches up, to the point of invisibility, and the entire mountain's silhouette is encased in golden light. 

And then the vision fades away, and it becomes a regular lake again, on the edge of the Imbaka Forest, many weeks of travel away from the mountain it once depicted. As my friends slowly emerge from their own tents, begin to set up breakfast, I find myself staring out over the lake, waiting for something else to shift. They don't seem to notice, as they're too busy being productive and sorting everything out.

Seokjin finds a dagger, and kneels down by the water's edge, watching for fish that stray too close to the bank. Taehyung and Jimin search through the reeds and lakeside plants, looking for things they recognise, that they can use in their medicines and spells. Yoongi fills up waterskins, resting on his knees beside his partner, his forehead furrowed. Hoseok's grabbed Seokjin's axe yet again, and he's still working on it, beside the last embers of last night's fire. Namjoon flicks open his notebook and begins to scribble more calculations, ideas that I couldn't hope to understand even if I tried. 

In the quiet of that moment, I'm kind of lost, unable to tear my eyes away from the undisturbed water, which seems to carry its own glow, in the same way that the moon's reflection of the sun offers it a sort of immortal luminosity. I just sit there, watching the reflection of the sky as the colours change, smooth from gold into clear blue, as the clouds slowly shift across the surface like sluggish fish. 

It's quiet out here. There are less birds, closer to the centre of the kingdom, but their song is still just about audible. There's a squirrel, chattering angrily at something, as always. There's the gentle tap-tap of a woodpecker, smacking its beak against the trunk of a tree. And of course, as always, the leaves on the trees are rustling, though the wind is calmer today. I have to strain my senses to hear it. 

I can hear my friends talking sometimes, in low hushed tones, as if they're afraid to interrupt the peace of the morning. There's the faint scrape of a stone against metal, and the low scribbling of feathered quill on paper, a low sigh of exertion as an idea is completed or a line is finished. And I just sit there, my legs bent in front of my chest, my hands collected together on my thighs, layered slightly over each other. 

The days are getting colder, on average, because of the oncoming winter, but today feels warmer. Maybe that's the impact of the sun's gaze on my back, maybe it's just my imagination, maybe it's how close I am to the fire. Maybe it's a mix of all of those factors. I don't know. These thoughts exist somewhere, in the very back of my mind, but as soon as they emerge, they disappear again. 

I take a deep, measured breath, letting the cool air fill my lungs, and leave a little warmer. As Yoongi comes back from filling the waterskins, he glances over in my direction, asks something, but I don't quite catch the words. I just nod a little, assuming it's a closed question, and he raises an eyebrow at me, before continuing to his own tent again. I can hear the rustling of him sorting out his pack, rolling up his bedroll, and then stopping halfway and coming back out again.