The witchwood seemed endless.

  The fire must have only damaged the southern part of the grove; my path north was absent of any smoke. The entire night had turned quiet and deathly still; there was a faint breeze, but the silent trees rarely stirred. Every now and then I’d see a shadow flicker, or hear a distant twig snap, and grow cold with fear.

  They’ll keep me safe. No Fae could survive being in the middle of the grove.

  They killed the hound.

  They won’t let anything hurt me.

  I thanked my trees, with much sniffling and shivering, and then realized that I wasn’t just leaving Durst and Fellbrook; I was leaving the witchwood. My constant companions. That realization brought about fresh tears. Gentle velvet brushed the moisture from my cold cheeks and rubbed kindly against my bandaged hands.

  It was nearly dawn before I saw a break in the silver forest. I could just make out a grassy incline and the sound of running water.

  And then, there it was; the guardian Grace, the wide river that travelled the length of the realm. I stared at the scenery before me in vague disbelief. I’d never been so far from home. I’d never not been within the witchwood before.

  It was a bit jarring. There was a small hill stretching out of the treeline ahead, dotted with autumn-hued oaks and firs. Beyond that, to the northwest, I could make out the shadowed, towering peaks of mountains through gaps in the trees. I crept to the treeline. One final brush from a velvet leaf, and I almost thought it curled around my wrist for a moment, gently trying to pull me back, as if it didn’t want me to leave any more than I wanted to…

  By the time I crested the top of the hill, the horizon was a swirl of dove gray and dulcet pink. I stared at it, shivering with nervous excitement. I’d seen the sky my whole life, but always with its edges covered by a frame of black leaves. But looking up, now, at how far it went, of the sheer vastness of it… I felt very small indeed.

  I watched breathlessly as orange and gold crept slowly into the horizon. And then I noticed the sounds.

  Twigs snapping, birds twittering, the rustling of leaves and branches that swayed in the morning breeze. And beneath it all, the cheerful burbling of the Grace. It was all beautiful. Almost enough to help wash away some of the horror from last night.

  Close to the river was a clear dirt path. It was wide enough for a large wagon to roll along. It didn’t appear to be a well-traveled road; it was mostly just tamped-down dirt, with the occasional patch of cold grass or creeping ferns. The path skirted east, disappearing around the witchwood, but also clearly had a route going northwards, and that was the way I went.

  It grew pleasantly temperate as the morning progressed, and for this I was grateful. The Harvest season was not yet in full bloom, so the air was brisk but graced by sunlight. My chilly fingers and nose flushed with warmth as the sun continued to rise. I felt some of the tension ease, slowly but surely, from my shoulders.

  With the relief came the realization that I was hungry and beginning to feel quite tired from walking all night. I found myself glancing about periodically for a good place to stop and eat.

  “I suppose… I suppose it doesn’t really matter, does it?” I chewed my lower lip. “I’m… safe. Of course I’m safe. It’s probably fine to stop anywhere.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Virtue’s Grace, Anduin’s sunlight, and Thalessa’s silver trees. The remnants of the fallen gods. Steadfast, fierce guardians. All three were a bane to any Fae that managed to claw its way into the mortal realm; a rare feat in and of itself. Logically there just couldn’t be anything lurking nearby…

  But after last night, I found myself wondering if perhaps a monster with just enough tenacity could hide away in the shadows until nightfall.

  A twig snapped nearby. I fled.

  By midday, nothing had jumped out at me. No monsters growled from beneath the occasional canopy. No starlit eyes peered out from the shadows. Eventually I was brave enough to sit and nibble at a pouch of dried meat and berries.

  I found myself mostly watching the sky as I walked. The horizon was fascinating; it changed shades so often, and I felt myself wondering with excitement what the sunset would look like.

  There were no other travelers on the road. I wasn’t sure if this was a normal thing, or not.

  “I suppose it makes sense,” I muttered, yawning. “It’s not easy to get to Fellbrook. And there’s only one town farther south. At least, I think it’s only one. I wish I had a better head for maps. I suppose now I know why Durst used to make me study them, try to memorize names and landmarks. I… I suppose I should have paid better attention.”

  I rubbed my eyes. Weariness was creeping into my limbs.

  “I wish I’d thought to grab one last night. But I suppose some forgetfulness on my part can be forgiven. No one, you know, warned me that I’d have to just pack everything and run one night.” I felt a stab of resentment, followed quickly by guilt as I recalled the look on Durst’s face before I had left. “I guess he wasn’t supposed to.”

  “Why’s it have to be me, anyways?” This time my voice was a bit louder, directed sourly towards… well, it wasn’t as though she could answer, but perhaps my mother had seen this particular tirade. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for Durst to go? Or at least, for him to come with me? Why do I have to be alone? I’m no one. I can do a little magic, sure, but how are rainclouds and lights going to help against monsters?”

  I’d always treasured the words of my mother’s letter, always treated it with reverence. But at the moment… I found myself wanting to yank the parchment out and shout at it.

  “And why did you tell Durst to leave me last night? Royce nearly died!” My voice cracked and I curled my hands into painful fists. “You said no one would be hurt, but someone was, and so was I! You were wrong! If he had been there…” I trailed off, my mind piecing together an image of how last night might have been different, had Durst been present.

  He probably could have, and certainly would have, killed the hound. Royce probably wouldn’t have been hurt, at least not so terribly. That horrible, wet tearing sound echoed and crimson pooled at my feet. I snapped my eyes shut.

  And then the Fae man would have come, with his cruel smile and haunting eyes, and… and…

  And I would have cowered like a frightened mouse, just like I had last night. And Durst would surely have tried to defend us; he’d have been quiet and grim and unafraid, and tried to kill the intruder, and…

  I let the image fade away.

  Perhaps it had been a lie. Manipulation, so that Durst would specifically not be home. Perhaps my mother had seen me and Royce, hurt but alive, and knew the encounter with the Fae man would surely have been drenched in violence had Durst been there. Perhaps she had lied to save him.

  “Couldn’t you have been more specific?” I rubbed fresh, exhausted tears from my eyes. “With… everything? Given me some kind of warning about last night, or some guidance on what all these,” I traced one hand over the leather-bound book, sniffling, “Do? Salt and ash, I look at this thing every night and what do I have to show for it? Hardly anything. No one… you haven’t been here to help me…”

  I trailed off and glumly watched the sun descend. The far horizon was turning iron-gray and nervousness welled up, a fitting companion to my exhaustion and desperately aching legs. Sunlight kept the roads safe, but soon that defense would be gone and there was no witchwood. Spending the night alone beside the Grace was a terrifying thought.

  Durst said there would be inns along the road. He used to travel, sometimes, before the witchwood grew. Before me. He’d know. There must be one up ahead. There must be.

  I hurried along, eyes fixed on the skyline. Mounting dread kept my blood pumping. The clouds above me grew steadily darker. The horizon was streaked by burnt orange and somber purple.

  The air grew colder. My nose and fingertips began to tingle. Hunger started to swell again, too, but I dared not stop.

  The sun had half disappeared amidst a collage of solemnly deepening pastels when, panting and bleary-eyed, I crested a small hill. And there, at the bottom… I nearly wept with relief.

  There was a gray building, squat but very wide, nestled amidst a scattering of lush pine trees. And there in the front, painted onto a crooked wooden signpost, were the words Travelers Welcome.