By The Moon's Blade

4. Fleeing the City, Two Years Ago

I wake up early the next morning, exhausted and a great deal embarrassed by last night's ordeal. My limbs feel a specific kind of soreness, a combination of the tense contractions and the number of steps taken during our endeavor across Tadral. Bringing myself to my feet is an extraordinary challenge today and each move is taken even more slowly than usual.

I finally come to my feet and smell a surprising aroma wafting through the slit of my tent — breakfast. As though I'm suddenly walking on clouds, I drift out of my tent quickly and up to the awaiting fire, with breakfast sizzling below. My mother is in a strangely chipper mood, whistling as she tossed about a pan of wilted greens and cubed potatoes, perfumed with a recognizable scent of Bellarian spices.

Food is my mother's love language, her way of trying to comfort me. I'm sure she saw the panic overtaking my body yesterday and is doing what she can to make it up to me, in her own special way. Unfortunately, I can't help but feel bitterness towards the woman that couldn't offer help in the moment to her own daughter.

So, I can't say a buffet of food would make me feel better, but at least I can pretend we're back at home, enjoying the morning peeking through the sheer curtains and onto the ash breakfast table. I close my eyes and inhale the strong spices and crispy bits caramelizing at the bottom of the pan.

But when I open my eyes, I'm only greeted with tall trees and dying grass.

"Oh wow, what's the occasion?" I ask as I walk out of the tent and plop down on a log next to the fire.

"It's been a couple of days since you've had a good meal," my mom answers. I can tell from the pleading look on her face that she's trying to make an effort.

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

I force a smile, the most disingenuous smile that's ever creeped its way across my face. I've never felt more uncomfortable in my own skin as I try to convey happiness when I'm anything but. I hold the smile almost a second too long, like the plaster holding the corners of my mouth up has started to crack and crumble. I let my smile fade quickly.

She returns with a grin and I have to wonder if she feels as uncomfortable in hers as I did in mine. I disregard my wandering thoughts and fix my gaze onto the flickering fire below. There are only a few stray pieces of wood alight below the pot, a small flame crackles in the pit, waiting to be extingushed so we can continue our trek.

"How much further do you think we have to go?" I ask.

"Maybe a few more days, I'm not sure. It's the first time I've been out of Cloudridge, too, you know," she responds bluntly, beginning to tidy up the mess of cooking. I ignore the bait.

I put out the embers in the pit with a little bit of water and gather up various items to place in the wagon. I decide it's in my best interest not to answer as any retort would be unsavory. In the nick of time, my dad comes back with another pile of firewood in his arms and he dumps them into the back of the wagon, interrupting the aggressive quiet that settled between the two of us.

Over the next couple of days, it's more of the same. We march in silence, we try and make jokes, we camp for the night, and we move on. Every time I try and approach my mother, I get more of the same. She continues to shut me out as we get closer and closer to our goal. I'm still kept in the dark, and every time I try and convince my dad to share any details with me, he clams up. Almost as if he was commanded to keep his mouth shut.

I take over some of the shifts on the wagon and my father walks ahead with my mother, soft-spoken words murmured between each other, increasing the secrets hidden from me. The next morning as we're about to leave, my mother finally lets her walls break down a bit.