By The Moon's Blade

1. Fleeing the City, Two Years Ago

As I experience a peaceful night of dreamless slumber, I'm suddenly jolted awake by a hand frantically shaking my shoulder. I peel open my eyes and struggle to focus on the face in front of me. I rub my eyes and refocus, eventually seeing my mother with a distinct look of terror on her face. I sit up quickly.

"Hey, Mom, what's going on? Is everything okay?" I ask.

"You need to get up. Pack some clothes and anything you don't want to leave behind. We have to go," she responds as she starts dashing around the room, pulling my belongings out of drawers in piles.

"What? Mom, it's not even morning. What are you talking about?"

Before I can even finish my question, she walks swiftly out of the room, leaving me confused under my covers and my room in disarray. I pick myself out of bed and pull on a robe and slippers before leaving my room. I walk next door to my parents' room to find my mother pulling her own clothes out of her drawer and stuffing as much as she can in a couple of small bags. I look over at my father and we share a puzzled look before he speaks up.

"Marian, what's happening?" my father inquires as he rubs his hand on the small of her back. "Are you okay? Do you need to lie down?"

"Stop asking me questions and start putting your clothes in this bag," she whips around with a bag and shoves it into his arms.

"Mom, you're scaring me, why are we doing this?"

"I don't have time to explain right now, and I'm not really sure I even know why but I know for certain that it is time to leave."

My father gives me a pleading look. Appeasing her concerns seems like the best option until we can sort out her sudden panic. I quickly walk back to my room and grab one of my duffel bags from under my bed. I grab a few items of clothing - a couple of pairs of casual canvas pants, some warm knit socks, a variety of blouses ranging from long-sleeved to short-sleeved, and a pair of flats.

"That's not enough," my mother states as she comes into my room and pulls open more drawers. "Grab a bigger bag."

"Mom, where the hell are we going?"

"I don't know yet."

"You're scaring me, why do we need to go?" I question, my voice quivering and raising in volume. I set the bag down.

"We're in danger. I can't tell you what it is, because I don't quite know what it is myself. I can't prove that something is after us, but there is. I know that I've woken you up in the middle of the night over seemingly nothing, but you have to trust me. You have to trust me..."

She sits down on my bed, puts her head in her hands, and starts crying quietly as she repeats "trust me" over and over again. I sit next to her and place one arm around her shoulders, pulling her in as her body shakes with sorrow. Whether there's actually a certain danger or she just thinks there is, there's not much more we can do than follow orders and get prepared to leave. In the past twenty-two years and after everything we've been through together, she's never given me a reason to not trust her, so why start doubting her now?

"Tell me what to bring," I say as I hop up and grab more bags from below the bed.

She finds a small reprieve of calm, stands up, and tells me what to bring, "As many clothes as you can fit, warm. Comfortable walking shoes. Socks, underwear, bras, all of the basics. Weapons, anything that can snugly fit in your bag. Do you remember that crystal pocket knife we gave you for your birthday a few years ago? Do not forget that."

I nod and begin following orders, stuffing bags with as many items of clothing as I could fit. She walks out of the room with a deep breath and I hear murmuring between her and my father as she enters back into their room. As she directed, I pack as many warm items of clothing as I could, cramming wool sweaters and fur-lined pants and leaving any lighter items hanging in my wardrobe, eagerly awaiting my return.