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.
A few tree trunks bulged as they healed from old markings. They were Raylin’s old waypoints; his voice echoed as a whisper in Ash’s ears: “If you can’t find me, follow the carvings home.” But he always led her back.
Before she left the tree line, she took a deep breath. The morning sun waited for her. It lazily worked to fight off the crisp air. Her pace slowed.
As she figured, her uncle’s banging was the first sound to ring against her ears. Then Nira’s grating voice followed by Junim’s nauseating cackle. The sounds merged together and gave Ash a headache, like a needle—it poked at the base of her skull. For the past year, she’d had the same headache, and each day since, it had gotten worse. It had gotten unbearable.
As she passed the blacksmith’s shop, she gave her uncle a fierce squint, enough to temper his strokes against the anvil. Her house sat in the middle of Drethen, in exactly the same spot where her grandfather had built it.
“G’morning,” her father greeted as she walked in. He tied his boots, readying himself for the day.
“Morning,” she replied back. She walked in a step, holding herself in front of the door. “What do you have for me to do today?”
He picked up his head, tying his shoes by feel, and gave her a thin smile. “That’s alright now.”
“What’s alright?”
He switched to tie his other foot. “Have you seen your mother?”
“Probably where she always is.”
He sighed. “Why don’t you see her?”
“Last time I was there, she said she didn’t need any more help with the bakery.”
“That was a month ago—”
“That was the third time she’s said it.”
He finished tying his boots. “I don’t think you’ll enjoy working with me…”
Ash hid her hands behind her back and squeezed her knuckles together. “I didn’t mind it last time.”
“It’s boring work—just going through village documents today.”
“I’m sure it’s important. I want to see how you do it, Dad.” Her fingers started to hurt from the pressure.
“Oh—uhm,” he tried finding a path past his daughter. “Why don’t y—”
“Why can’t you say it, Dad?”
His head tilted. “Say what?”
“That I can’t do anything right.”
“That’s not tr—”
“That I mess everything up.” Ash blink away tears, keeping her stare burned on her father.
He tried stopping her again. “No—”
Her voice trembled, but she pushed through it. “That I slow everything down, can’t listen to instruction, that I’m just a failure.”
“You’re not,” he said, extending his palms out to her.
“Then take me with you.”
“I—I—” His eyes darted away.
“Just say it already.”
“I have to go.” He tried ducking to her right to reach the door, but she moved her hand to the door’s handle.
“Ever since Raylin died, you’ve all been like this. He knew how to work with dough, how to metalwork, how to—” her voice choked. “I get it. I can’t replace him.”
Her father stopped close to Ash.
“But you all get to escape and forget that he was here, throw yourself into what you do best—and I’m left in the dust.”
“Ash—” Before he had a chance to reply, she pushed open the door and ran.
She sped towards the treeline, furiously swiping at her face. A hooded figure in the forest tried to call out for her, but Ash strafed away—taking the path down to the lake.
Each step echoed as a memory, calling out into the empty woods—a wish that could never come true. Flakes of sunlight guided her, scarcely visible beyond her tears and anguish. A step broke through a rotting root, revealing its hollow remains.
The path opened up to an unmoving lake. Morning fog started to slip away, and Ash came to the edge of the water. She squatted down to reach her hand in; it was warmer than the morning stream. Her hands closed to embrace the subtle warmth, and she tried bringing it out of the water—only for it to quickly leave her hands.
In the corner of her eye, she caught a tiny wooden hut. Dry branches and twigs made up the walls and ceiling. A child’s fortress, where Raylin and Ash used to bring forest trinkets and findings. An imaginary treasure—with which they’d buy their dreams.
Placed neatly inside was Raylin’s favorite knitted toy. It was a lazy attempt at a deerling, a gift his mother had given him when he was two—but he slept with it every night. Ash had looked for it the night he passed.
“Don’t worry,” he said that night. “I’m not scared anymore.” It was his coughing that broke her heart. “I put him where he belongs.” His weak smile broke with another coughing fit.
Ash wept as the memory fell away, and she picked up the toy. She squatted low and lay herself in the hut. The moist ground pressed against her cheek, stealing away what was left of her warmth.