Falling Skyward

Chapter Thirty-Two: Lights in the Sky

Filtered sunlight stroked Lana's face when she awoke next. The light streamed through the crack in the tree, illuminating the muddy, ash-filled interior. Lana laughed when she glanced at Turnip. He was already awake and looked to her like an over-size guard dog, intent on watching her and their new home. He nickered and flattened his ears.

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't help it," she said, stroking his nose. "I know it was rude of me to laugh when all you've done is look out for me."

He looked away haughtily, only partly mollified. Lana rubbed down his sides, then pulled a carrot from their limited food supply.

"This better appease you. Just know, it comes with great sacrifice." Turnip's quivering lips slid over the carrot, slurping it into his chomping mouth. He huffed contentedly.

Lana took stock of the food she had left—a two-day supply if she were meticulously lean. Most of her supplies and clothing had dried out, and Lana went to work gathering the things she needed for the day.

As she stepped into the softly lit forest, Turnip followed her, his low-hanging head inches from the small of her back. When she paused, his nose brushed and prodded her. He mirrored her closer than her own shadow.

Lana spun around and pushed the horse's neck away. "You stay here," she scolded. "Find your own food. I'm going to have enough trouble finding food and water enough without you constantly dogging me."

Turnip turned his nose to the dirt, sniffing and lipping the leaves, looking for something to nibble. The ground was fresh and damp, the perfect conditions. Lana walked slowly, searching for small disturbances.

In places with a localization of tracks, Lana used a little rope from her supplies and the more pliable branches to create snares. Following these tracks, Lana discovered a small spring just east of her camp.

Lana spent most of her day stripping the bark from twigs to weave together more rope. She attempted to decipher which of the berries, mushrooms, flowers, and roots that blanketed the forest were edible but decided against gambling on her instincts unless the situation became dire. In keeping her muscles constantly in motion, her thoughts and, more importantly, her anxieties quieted. How she would find Taren and Dawson, what every delay meant to Gailen, how she would escape this forest—all those quelled in the face of survival. Searching for Taren and Dawson seemed risky and uncertain since every step she took to find them could be taking her even farther from them. Instead, she prepared for their future journey, hoping and praying to whatever gods ruled this land that their journey would continue—if not for herself, for Gailen.

While traveling toward the spring to refill her canteen, a trickle of ice traced along Lana's spine and through her veins. She froze, sensing an unseen presence. Lana crouched, scanning the trees. She could see the birds roosting in camouflaged nests above and a chickling that had fallen from the trees twitching in pain on the ground. An arrow's flight away, a rodent scurried in the shadows of the trees, a snake coiled nearby, its muscles alive with watchful stillness. What was she missing? The visceral pain in her stomach warned her of a nearby threat.

Suddenly, a shape materialized from the trees. It appeared like a mirage at first, an aberration in the foliage. Lana thought the trees themselves were moving, then she saw the blackened eyes. She traced the image, a scarf flowing into robes that seemed to ripple like wind-shaken leaves. The material was unlike anything Lana had ever seen—rust, ivy, chestnut, viridescent—all the colors of the forest flowing through the fabric, almost as though the creature were a fluid mirror walking among the trees. But beneath the scarf, Lana could see the pale skin mottled with purple. The face could almost be mistaken for human if not for the eerie, seamless skin where the mouth should be.