By The Moon's Blade

4. Grasshaven, One Week Ago

It's morning once again, and some sort of undiscernable trepidation is sitting on my chest, like a cat begging for its morning meal. Except it is no cat. It's a rotting tooth, hanging from a piece of leather tied around my neck. The tooth feels like an anvil, pushing down into my sternum, threatening to crack my bones. I shudder as I remember that vision of those doppelgangers and the sound of bones splintering beneath my skin. So, as much as I resent my father right now, I do owe him my life.

I spend far too long staring up at the ceiling, watching the sun creep through the gaps in the wood yet again. Same shit, different day. I turn over to the empty room, my father's towering body noticeably missing from the small cabin. Whether he had to hunt this morning or not, I don't blame him for leaving. I haven't spoken any words to him since the grove, and he hasn't exactly been excited to speak to me. I don't blame him. But I still think I'm right.

I get up from my bed and wrap myself in my coat before sitting in my chair at the table. And I do what I'm best at, planning, plotting, and ignoring the world around me. I use my umbramancy to conjure a small flame to light the lantern in front of me, a feat that has evaded me over the past few months.

I should have used lumina yesterday. I had every chance to prove myself, but as soon as those whispers got in, I was paralyzed. My body is still sore from the tension built up in every muscle. I won't make that same mistake again.

I open up a notebook and begin jotting down a plan. I need to be as prepared as possible for this evening. The absence of the Brightstream and the hidden stone entrance are a sign of the perilous things to come, which means I can't wait any longer. I'm taking action tonight, and leaving before my father even comes back.

There's a part of my soul that knows the right move is going back to Cloudridge. I want to believe that we're stronger together. But every time I consider the possibility, my mind gets hazy and the world becomes a shade darker, and I just can't risk bringing the threat to them. Cloudridge is a safe haven, and I plan to keep it that way.

I consider the possibility of taking my father out now. Maybe this will be the proof he needs to do something. But what if the Demonclaw never comes? And it's just another failure and another strike against my supposed mental stability. With the way we ended things yesterday, nothing good can come of his participation.

So I spend the next couple of hours plotting, outlining every potential situation and ensuring that I have everything I need to accomplish my task. I temper my confidence with a bit of realism before heading out.

I leave early afternoon after lunch, attempting to arrive around dusk and set up my spot before the Demonclaw arrives. I've spent the morning gathering my books, packing my bag, and going through my plan in great detail. I sat at the communal fire at a table by myself eating lunch and watched as no eyes seemed to venture in my direction, almost as if my body blended into the environment itself.

It's a weird feeling, a bit of sadness mixed with mostly satisfaction. I've done nothing but ignore the people around me, too overwhelmed by my own sorrow and research to even bother making connections with those around me. At some point, people will stop feeling sorry for you and stop trying. Because trying never got them anywhere. And I wish I could blame them, but I don't.

After my brief lunch break, I go behind the house and pull some weapons out from under a canvas tarp. I sling the bow across my back and hook my bag of arrows onto my pants. I had to be conservative with my brightstream as I only have three vials left and haven't had the chance (or, courage) to return to the source. So I make sure the two vials are tucked safely in an interior pocket of my bag before peeking around the corner to check for my father and once I'm sure he's not there, I begin trudging through the tall grass.