The Weight of the World

Chapter 4: Ochre

They wouldn't miss him.

Ochre had spent every minute of his time since that Thursday dreaming about the next moment he'd be able to visit the place in the woods. And every minute had led to his now: precisely two whole days later. The restless need to escape had consumed him, and he'd been impatient to think when he and that wonderous liberation would meet again.

His parents had a rather busy morning scheduled. They had an early meeting they could not miss as they were expected to direct it for the fellow gathered leaders of Alizarin: those who called themselves 'The Crown'. That would take them considerably close to midday, and Ochre supposed his parents would spend that time planning for the speech they'd give at the start of the coming week for the official announcement of the holidays.

He had woken up early enough to be able to greet his parents with a venal hope they then wouldn't think about him again. Sometimes being the son to the king and queen of a kingdom felt a lot more like he'd earned a duty to Alizarin rather than earned his family's affection. He vowed if he ever had children he would never turn into his parents. They'd feel loved- they wouldn't accessorise his rule.

Yet again, Ochre couldn't blame them. He hadn't lived a day where his parents weren't working and he knew it was for the greater good; the benefit of him and Sepia and the benefit of the kingdom. It was simply a frightening thought that one day that would be him, slaving away for folk who bashed him fake smiles in return for the safety and order of Alizarin.

This time with more discreet clothing, Ochre slipped out through the gardens. He was armed with a simple, hooded cloak and had been very careful not to wear anything displaying his family's symbol for royalty, therefore hadn't used the brooch for his cloak. Ochre had debated whether or not to tell his sister anything in case he'd need a cover, but he hadn't been able to find Sepia anywhere. It would have been too risky to ask a guard about her so he pulled the hood over his head and set off without saying a word about his little adventure.

He didn't dare even look back at the castle once he was well far away; it would be a curse on his plan. They couldn't miss him. Surely.

The heavens had not planned the weather favourably: tormenting spirits of pitiless wind rolled from the forest's hills. Their callous laughs rumbled with cackles from the tallest tree to its most fragile of branches. Rain awaited Amaranth with laden arms which the clouds carried with all the strength they could muster. They had gone grey with such stress they held, until each one would surely burst and cry out in its own time.

Still, Ochre wove through roads and did not breathe soundly until he'd made it far into the forest where the trees grew so thickly he could hardly make out the village he'd left behind. Though he'd spent quite a while looking, Ochre shivered with delight at finding a familiar trail of water trickling hidden almost buried under clusters of rocks and moss. He followed it up, amused by how it took jagged turns, widened and even joined with smaller streams of water at times.

Eventually, the greenery lessened and glooms of strangled light greeted Ochre dimly. He quickened his step, almost skipping as he reached the clearing. He stopped at the last tree, his heart still racing with elation.

His eyes met the castle of Amaranth, newfound ecstasy warming his face. Ochre had never seen from this height anything quite like the clouds which wrung around the top of the palace's towers. They lurked comfortably in misty hazes, resting so lightly over the village yet so heavily with rain.

He strode over to the cliff's edge and sat, the wind growing sharper as he left the woodland's shield. Ochre shut his eyes as his hood was blown off, cold droplets from the waterfall splashing onto his face. It felt so odd to not be seen. To not be judged. To be no one.