𝒜𝐿𝐼𝒮 𝐿𝐸𝒟 𝒯𝐻𝐸𝑀 through the silent woods and foothills, pausing every so often to listen, to alter their course. Astraea double checked her that her weapons were secure multiple times. She ignored the curious and questioning glances she got from Feyre, as though in the walk to their death, she had finally realized Astraea carried a shit load of ash wood forged knives. Even though Astraea didn't ever encounter fae in the mortal realms she was always prepared.
There were times the younger girl went to open her mouth, but she always shut it quickly, as though she was worried she would say the wrong thing and offend her older sister. Astraea didn't mind, she enjoyed the silence.
As Astraea's legs strained walking up the hill, a butterfly fluttered past and landed on her shoulder - shifting around, then flying off again. Her eyes followed the insect as it turned into a small speck in the distance. It almost felt like the earth was saying goodbye to her and reminding her of how fragile everything really was, because she could've easily squashed the small bug in annoyance but instead it had amazed her.
Perhaps, she wondered, somehow fae think of mortals like that. Such delicate things, but they have so much life and colour to them, living out life as best as it can before it ends. Maybe just as mortals envy their immortal life span, the fae envy theirs.
Her thoughts were squashed as they came to a stop in front of hollow between two hills. The air was cold here - much colder than it was just a second ago, and Astraea shuddered as she tried to see into the gloom. She remembered reading about the sacred dark roads that led to the Mountain - how they cut away weeks of journey.
"All dark and miserable roads lead Under the Mountain," Alis said so quietly that her voice was nothing more than the rustling of leaves. She pointed to the cave. "It's an ancient shortcut—once considered sacred, but no more."
