By The Moon's Blade

4. Grasshaven, Six Months Ago

I sit at the table for a few hours, only receiving a couple of visitors that come by with gifts, mainly food. I open up one of the paper-wrapped goods and find a small loaf of crusty bread dotted with herbs, perfect for dipping into a bowl of stew.

I nod graciously and she retreats back to her home, breathing a sigh of relief at my reception of her gift. For the first time in a while, I find peace within food. The bread soaks up the thick, meaty broth and the light inside me grows a little brighter.

As I re-read those journals, I dig into some of the more recent books to see if there's anything that I may have missed in my first passthrough. And with a little more attention to detail, I notice something. It's small and difficult to read with shaky lines, no doubt thanks to the Demonclaws' presence within her mind. But as I focus more on her scribbles, her words come into focus.

We've finally settled in. Rozi is taking it about as well as I expected, and Ayduin... well, I just wish I could be a better partner for him. He deserves more than this... Anyways, I'm hoping to start my journey soon, I know that there's a Lunari tomb somewhere nearby. I remember Father talking about it here and there when we were children. A tomb within the grasslands, the grasslands that the Lunari once called home centuries upon centuries ago. I knew I needed to lead us here. And now that we're a part of the community, I can explore the area without being flagged as some sort of threat.

So she led us here on purpose, why did she think she couldn't tell us? But as soon as I ask the question, an inky claw digs into my thoughts. That's why.

I begin to scan the pages once more, but the next few entries are filled with more madness-driven paragraphs and wild sketches. I almost give up when I find another entry about the tomb along with a map of the area.

Weeks upon weeks upon weeks of searching and I'm not any closer than I was when I started. And these headaches just won't go away. It feels like something is burrowing into my brain. Which is making this godforsaken search for the tomb even worse than it should be. I thought it would be easier than this and there has to be a better way. But unfortunately, this is just the way it is. Hot, sticky summers spent combing through the knee-high grass in overgrown fields. I wish we were back in Cloudridge.

The frustration continues for a few paragraphs and I stop my reading before I begin to feel like an intruder on her most intimate thoughts. But one thing she said gets me thinking — there has to be a better way. I start thinking about everything that I've discovered that she never knew about, and one thing that comes to the forefront of my mind is the Vestige.

Her crystal flashed sensing the presence of her. It begged to be returned to its owner. So, what if the same thing could be said about the tomb. What if the Vestige could point me in the direction with the same blinks of light. It's not the worst idea.

I see the sun hung high in the sky and realize that my time is running out, and even one lost day could mean everything. So I get up quickly and shove all of the books in my bag, except for that one specific journal, page open to the scrawled map.

I run into our home and throw the bag down on the floor. I lift up my mattress and pull out my knife, my makeshift beacon. I slip it into a sheath hanging around my waist and run out the door, book in hand.

I don't have much time today but I spend the next few hours scouring the area, thankful that the beacon didn't take me anywhere close to the Crimson Wilds. I see faint signs of life within the knife as it pulses slowly, occasionally rising in frequency as I approach certain destinations, before slowing back to a meager thrum.

I spend the day swatting away bugs, aware of the grass poking through my thin pants, and feeling beads of sweat fall down my face and back. Each part of my body is uncomfortable, but for the first time in a long time, I have hope.