By The Moon's Blade

5. Grasshaven, About One Year Ago

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping in the trees above and for a split second, every worry is washed clean and I awake with a blank slate. But after my consciousness sets in, I start running through every word I read. I spent the afternoon hunched over the table, tracing words in the dim lantern's light. I got through as much as I could, which was unfortunately but a dent in her writings.

After flipping back and forth quickly between pages, I started from the beginning of her first book, and read every single line. Most of the memories uncovered emotions that I had buried deep in to the recesses of my mind. I cleanly folded them and shoved them back into the corner. I'd occasionally find an interesting kernel between the anxiety-ridden words, but most of it was the ramblings of a burdened mind.

I think back to those first nights that we left and remember the redness coloring the whites of her eyes and the time she spent pouring over her journals. I regret ignoring every single cry for help that she could not put into words. Her gasps of pain were inaudible and held only by her. In some way, I know my father and I feel like we failed her.

In the evening, when I knew my father would return, I piled the books back in the chest and shoved it back under their bed. We went outside to some of the tables set up around the campfire and prepped ourselves dinner, eating in silence, aside from the few seconds we spent describing our day. I didn't mention the books.

Rising from the bed, I stretch and see my father still sleeping soundly. We both decided last night to take a day of rest and I was glad to see that my father was actually eager to do so. I put on my hunting leathers and pull on my boots. I'll need to see about investing in some more nimble, and hopefully less warm, footwear at some point.

I lift up the mattress slightly and pull the half-completed notebook from under, the last one my mother used. Next to the notebook, I also see my mother's Vestige, devoid of any light or usefulness. I leave the Vestige and place the mattress back down. As quietly as I can, I tear out a page from the book and scribble a note to my father, leaving it on the table for him to see when he awakes.

Went out to the stream, going to walk up to the waterfall and meditate. Don't worry about me, I'll be back later.

- Rozi

I place the notebook and pen in my smaller leather bag and place it across my body. I slip the knife into a sheath hanging on my hip, crystal hilt peeking out from the top. I open the door slowly and just wide enough to allow myself to slide through undetected. Next to our shack, I dig into some of our supplies and grab my bow, a few arrows, and an extra knife. Just in case.

As I leave our patch of dirt, I see a few people within the center of the village chatting quietly over cups of steaming tea. I don my bow, shove the arrows in a pouch, and slink out of the grounds unseen.

I hate that I lied, but I know he wouldn't have let me go if he knew the truth. And as much as a day resting and meditating at the waterfall would be welcome, I need to learn more. With eyes glowing gold in the darkness threatening the very existence of the Lunari, I need to investigate the scene before any evidence is washed away in a spring rain.

I knew I needed to go the moment I read about those eyes. I've seen those eyes.

My mother noted that the night was the most dangerous time to explore, a time when the worst monsters would peel themselves out from the shadows, become an extension of the shadow itself. The same monsters that peeled her flesh and ripped open her body. I heed her advice and make my way to the Crimson Wilds as the sun ripples through the blooming leaves of the trees.

——

The forest is much easier to navigate during the day. I walk slowly, observing each footprint in the ground, though the only ones I see are from my mother and father, myself, and various animals. As I weave through the forest, I'm able to easily find the path, the memory of the crimson sapped trees etched too deeply into my mind.