Page 13 of Cursed Shadows 4 (The Dark Fae)

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There is an eerie silence to the frosty forest this far down the mountain.

Beyond the crackle of the modest fire, the roast of the fish on the flames, I hear nothing else. Not the chirps of birds, the slither of snakes, the growls of beasts, not even the groans of the trees or rustles of leaves.

Once, I thought it pleasant. Now, the quiet is a pressure against my ears, the kind of sensation that has me out of sorts, ill at ease.

It’s unnatural—and yet, I am in the birthplace of nature.

It feels as though I am not in any place that is real. That this is an in-between, hollow and dead. But of course that is not true, because my belly is filled with the fish the river provided—and so there is life here.

Still, the pressing quiet of it all has my flesh pebbling and my arms wrapping tight around myself.

I hug myself too long.

I sit here too long.

Slumped on a mossy boulder, I lean closer to the small fire I constructed. I let the flames warm me to the bone and dry my sweater to its last thread, until the whitish grey of the skies starts to darken to the colour of stone.

With this sky’s muted version of night my signal to move, I kick dirt onto the flames and stomp on the gleaming embers.

I find my way back to the river.

I follow its roaring song.

If I wanted to reach the summit, then I would follow the river upstream. But that would only lead me to warriors, to death, and to Daxeel.

So when I reach the trees that fringe the tallgrass, I turn my back on the rise of the mountain and follow downstream.

The trek is as tedious as it is long.

I push on.

I only stop when the sky is a hard grey, and so I know the dark ones will be prowling the mountain. But I am stuck.

I passed the fallen, dead tree, and the spot where I climbed onto land, and I found myself at the perch overlooking the waterfall—a straight drop down to a rocky pool.

It's not a pretty sort of waterfall, with lush greenery all around it and blue waters. It’s the sort that plummets straight down a forever cliff, splashes into a bouldered and rocked pool, then falls again in another drop, all the way down a sun-bleached cliffside.

It’s not a descent I can take.

Even through the woods, with the detours I would have to make, it would be a week before I reached the bottom. I can’t imagine how anyone could climb up this way. Even with the aid of nature, it seems impossible.

I now know for certain, the litalf died in this fall.

I also know that I need a new direction.

I loosen a reluctant sigh.

It deflates my posture.

My shoulders sag against the chill as I turn to face upstream, and I am careful to keep my bootsteps on the dry earth alongside the muddy bank.

I just need shelter.