Episodes

Duara switched between a light jog and a brisk walking pace to keep up with Wiko. Duara caught her breath and asked, “Do you know where you’re going?” “I have an idea,” he said, his pace quickening. “How would you know?” He stopped at the fork where Ash had run through, turning while rubbing his neck. “It’s not my place to say.” “What does that mean?” His eyes shifted to the woods before he closed them. “It’s not a secret here, just… be easy with her.” He shook his head. “Nevermind, I don’t think she would want that. Just—don’t worry about it.” ...

Wiko never enjoyed the room that was picked out for him. The monotonous concrete walls cast a determined darkness, where dust and random debris collected without being noticed. It helped that the room only housed him, his bed, and a small wardrobe for his kaftans. A deep clean would steal only mere minutes of his day. Nevertheless, that never bothered him. It was the window that bothered him. No matter how much Wiko wiped the window, it only teased the sunlight whenever the morning arrived. Just a handful of dim light managed to filter through the nearby tree foliage. ...

Ashke walked through the woods. Every tree, shrub, and settled path welcomed her familiar gait. She scratched her hair relentlessly. “I wish I didn’t ask,” she said. “I can’t imagine what she’s going through.” A path forked away from Drethen. Old footsteps padded down the roots, but infant roots curled around them. As a young child, she had frequented the fork during careless times. “Why’d you have to leave me, Raylin?” She continued down the main Drethen road. ...

The morning bloomed through the window, casting an early light behind Duara’s eyelids. She tried to stave off the morning’s rise, but her father’s murmuring echoed from across the cabin, keeping her awake. The night prior, they had made makeshift beds from their bags and clothes. The items were arranged specifically according to their comfort the softest clothes towards the head and the rest as even as possible. Over the past few weeks of traveling, they had both perfected the construction of their makeshift beds. ...

Duara didn’t know how to feel about the tiny cabin. The roof’s wooden frame was bowed from forest debris. When her father pulled the door handle, the wood holding the hinges cracked. He shuddered. “At least it doesn’t creak.” Duara hid a smile. “At least our death will be silent.” “Don’t be like that, Dua.” He shuffled into the cabin. At his first step, the floor board collapsed and sucked his foot in. Her father put on a competent expression. “I’m just stomping this down, setting up for a stronger foundation.” ...