By The Moon's Blade

3. Fleeing the City, Two Years Ago

I'm awake but instead of opening my eyes, I mumble to myself, "It was a dream. It was a nightmare. It wasn't real. You're home. You're safe. You're in your bed."

I repeat those words over and over until I begin to believe them and once I work up the courage to open my eyes, the only sight above me is of a dusty canvas. The only feeling below me is of jagged rocks poking through the meager blanket. And the only smell is of damp soil. Maybe still a dream, just one final test.

I lift my arms above my face before I digging into the skin of my forearm with my sharp thumbnail until a bit of blood oozes from the superficial wound. Got it, not a dream. I turn over, grab a small bit of cloth, and wrap it around my arm, careful not to get blood on any visible parts of my body and clothes. I fell asleep in a trance last night, fully clothed after a long day of walking, with only more long days on the horizon.

I sit up slowly and look around my scant tent, the only thing a small, extinguished oil lantern sitting in the corner about a foot away. I hear my mom and dad whispering outside of the tent, words unintelligible, though there was no mistaking the stressful tone. I think about eavesdropping, maintaining the pretense of sleep, but I decide it's not worth it and make my consciousness known with a fluffling of my blanket.

As I expected, their conversation dies down and they start scuttling around the campsite, undoubtedly packing up the few items that were removed from the wagon and bags. I roll up my small blankets and exit the tent into the awaiting air. It's still heavy, and I wonder if I'll ever get used to it. I look above and through the branches, I feel the hints of morning greeting my face.

My mom outstretches her arms, gesturing to hand her the blankets. I oblige and give her a slight nod.

"Good morning, how did you both sleep?" I ask, sitting next to the smothered fire.

"Nothing like a bunch of rocks to really dig into those hard-to-reach knots," my dad jokes, attempting to lighten the mood, which seems to have gotten off to a melancholy start.

We both chuckle, which fades into the air as my mom starts to break down their tent. I'd offer to help but it's hard to know just how she'll react at any given moment now. So I sit in silence and stare at the ground, pulling my knees into my chest. I start tapping my boots on the rocks below, which the silence makes feel like the sound of crashing plates.

"Rozi, can you grab your tent? We need to get moving," my mom asks.

Her tone feels less vicious, and whether this ends up to be a passing phase or not, I quickly oblige and start removing the stakes from each tent. She buried them deep and with a few forceful tugs on each of them, I'm able to dislodge them from the ground. I toss them in a pile next to me and fold up the tent hastily before I encur any sudden wrath. I wrap the stakes in a spare bit of rope before rolling them up within the tent.

I toss the tent next to where my mom placed hers in the wagon and look around the camp for anything we might have left. But, seeing as we spent about eight unconscious hours here and removed the bare minimum, nothing is left on the ground but a makeshift fire pit.

My mom picks up her bag and paws around the inside in rapid movement, eyes wide. She whips around and begins inspecting the ground before finally peering inside the bag and letting out a sigh of relief. I witness the same faint violet glow radiating from within. I have to know what's in that bag.

"Alright, are we all set?" she asks.

"Are we going somewhere specific?" my dad questions in return.

My mom pulls out a faded map, likely a keepsake from Poppy, as she sets the map down on the wagon and begins to point at the various lines across the page.