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“No”—I tossed my napkin down—“I’ve sat here day in and day out watching you wither away. Refusing my help either out of pride or guilt—or whatever stars-forsaken reason. But I’m done. I can’t. Expecting me to sit back and do nothing when there could be a solution on the other side of the river is beyond selfish. It’s idiotic!”
Mother pushed back her chair and weakly stood, looking down her nose at me. A vicious tone filled her words. “You’re just like your father. Dead set on being a martyr, trying to get yourself killed. Now that’s idiotic!” She turned her back to me, a coldness I’d never felt from her, and headed toward her room. “Clean these dishes up and get to bed. You’re clearly demented from a lack of sleep,” she said over her shoulder.
A rumble of thunder followed in her wake.
I wanted to go after her—finish the conversation and get her to see my side—but it was pointless. She’d made up her mind, and I knew there would be no getting through to her.
So, I sat there quietly, listening to the rain dwindle to nothing as I bid my time, trying not to let her harsh words get under my skin. Being compared to a man I didn’t know felt odd, but being a martyr when the alternative was loneliness felt right.
While I respected her concerns, I had my own that needed tending to. This was my mistake, and regardless of whether she wanted my help or not, I’d be damned if I didn’t make it right. I was done feeling useless.
I’d prove to her and everyone else in this realm just how capable I was. That I wasn’t a good-for-nothing bastard child. This needed to work. It had to. There was no other option.
Mother,
By the time you read this, I’ll be halfway to the Dolorem River. I know you never ask for my help (or want it), but I can’t live with myself if I don’t try. You said yourself, the what-ifs will drive me mad, so I need to make this right. Hopefully, I’ll be home before Betrys begins her shift. However, if I’m not, you’ll find your morning medicines beside this letter. Take them.
You’ve always been there for me. Now it’s my turn to be there for you.
Please forgive me.
Love, Elowyn
It was just before sunrise the next day when I set the letter on Mother’s nightstand and tiptoed out of her room, grateful I’d be miles away by the time she read it. I didn’t want to hear the string of curses she’d unleash when she noticed I was gone. Although she was sweet and docile most of the time, her anger was unmatched.
Pulling my cloak tighter around me, I felt the cool morning air against my cheeks, a stark contrast to the warmth I’d left behind in my bed.
The sun hung low in the sky as I stepped outside, bypassing Sugarfoot as I made for the barn. I scanned the building, sheathing a hunting knife at my hip while I stuffed a bundle of rope into my satchel. I grew up in the Elmhurst Woods bordering my home and spent countless summers outside, climbing trees, and hunting small animals for supper. While my mother never approved, it came as natural as breathing.
The hike through the forest to the Dolorem River would only take a couple of hours, a path I’d taken many times, yet as I left the barn, beads of sweat dripping down my back, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was massively unprepared.
“Mother’s going to be pissed when she finds out I left,” I told Sugarfoot, scratching the bridge of her nose.
She shook her mane in agreement, and my chest tightened.
“I’ll be quick.” My words came out as if I were trying to convince myself, too. “If anything happens, keep an eye on her, okay?”
Sugarfoot’s brown eyes gleamed with a hint of sadness, or maybe it was hope. I couldn’t tell the difference.
Unshed tears forced pressure to build in my throat, and I debated forgoing the entire thing. Sure, Mother had Betrys to care for her in the event everything went south, and I knew I was completely justified in doing whatever it took to help her, but was it right? I huffed a breath; it wasn’t the time to think about the moral consequences. Everything would be okay. I’ll find the nightingale and get out of Faerway undetected. Everything would work out.
With a resolved nod, I kissed Sugarfoot once more and started toward the forest’s edge. Further from home. From my mother and safety. Further from warmth and everything I knew.
“Cross the river, grab the flower, and come back home,” I repeated over and over again.
My stomach fluttered with anticipation as Sugarfoot reared up on her hind legs—a final goodbye as I disappeared over the grassy hill.
Above, a flock of ravens cawed, and I startled, instinctively wrapping a hand around the hilt of my knife, readying for an attack. Every snapping twig, each rustling bush, sent my nerves into overdrive. Nothing dangerous lived in this forest, aside from the occasional wolf, but that wasn’t what had me on edge.
Maybe it was guilt—or regret—but the deeper I trekked into the forest, the harder it became to ignore the impending sense of dread. I knew better than to let the impulse take control. Because when someone you care about needs you, there’s no time to stop and think about the consequences.
Taking a right at the moss-covered boulder, I walked another fifty yards until I reached a narrow creek and followed the water downstream. The trickling of the brook eased the tension coiling around my shoulders. It let my mind wander.
Hopping from rock to rock to keep my boots from getting wet, I guided us forward. Like running, being in nature was therapeutic.
My head buzzed as I inhaled the fresh pine air, becoming one with the forest. Something about being out in the wilderness filled me with such wild energy. I wished I could bottle it and drink it on a gloomy day. So, I focused on that feeling, casting my worries into the wind and allowed my instincts to take over.
About an hour later, I reached the Dolorem River and plopped down on the rocky shore, the wide body of water glistening under the sun. Swimming the length of it seemed impossible. Daunting, even.
