“It’s undoubtedly difficult to explore when magically connected to a hunter prone to wander.”
The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, giving me hope she hadn’t viewed my presence as an inconvenience.
She glanced towards the window, where the early afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees beyond the bakery. Her fingers rested thoughtfully upon the nearest map. “I haven't explored this direction yet. Shall we do so now?”
The quiet excitement in her eyes made refusing impossible…not that I was reluctant to spend time exploring with her. “Lead the way.”
For nearly an hour we wandered wherever the maps led us, though it soon became apparent our twisting path was really wherever Cecelia’s curiosity carried us. I happily let her take the lead, eager to see the forest through her eyes—what captured her attention, what filled her with wonder, and what destination, if any, she hoped to find.
She rarely chose the easiest path. If an unfamiliar trail curved away from the one we’d been following, she immediately wanted to discover where it led. If birdsong drifted through a stand of aspens she’d never explored before, she quietly altered our course without hesitation. I began to suspect she wasn’t truly mapping the forest—she was collecting its stories.
Occasionally, she paused to sketch an unusual tree or jot a quick note in the margin of her map before continuing onward. She moved with quiet confidence through the woods, stopping only long enough to orient herself before choosing another direction.
Watching her was oddly reassuring. For years now every path I’d walked had felt uncertain, forever at the mercy of a curse thatrefused to tell me where it was leading. Yet with Cecelia beside me, I never once wondered whether we were lost.
The trail eventually narrowed until it disappeared beneath thick clumps of fern. Cecelia slowed, studying the undergrowth before giving a small, thoughtful nod. “There’s something here. The trees are growing around something.” She pointed towards the tangled greenery.
I squinted through the shafts of sunlight filtering through the leafy canopy. At first I saw nothing, my usual tracking instincts as unreliable as ever beneath the curse ’s influence. Then, as though simply standing beside Cecelia steadied my wandering senses, I caught sight of a faint line of moss-covered stones nearly hidden beneath the ferns.
We followed them carefully, each weathered stone appearing just in time to reveal the next, like stepping stones laid for travelers the forest had long since forgotten.
The trees suddenly parted. A quiet meadow stretched before us, enclosed by towering pines. Wildflowers swayed gently in the afternoon breeze, their colors scattered across the clearing like autumn leaves scattered across the undergrowth.
A narrow stream curved lazily through the grass, catching the sunlight in brilliant flashes of silver before disappearing once more beneath the trees. Near its center stood an enormous oak whose sprawling branches seemed old enough to remember every season the forest had ever known.
The entire clearing felt untouched, almost forgotten, as though it had simply been waiting someone to find it again.
Cecelia’s breath caught, her glistening eyes sparkling with wonder. “Oh.” It was barely more than a whisper, yet I wasn't certain I’d ever heard a more beautiful word.
Before I realized what she intended, she hurried towards the stream, dropping to her knees beside it with all the excitement of someone uncovering buried treasure. She hastily unrolledher parchment. Ink, compass, straightedge appeared almost magically one after another from the endless pockets sewn into her scarlet cloak.
I chuckled. “You carry an entire cartographer’s workshop with you.”
She didn’t even look up as she carefully aligned her straightedge. “One never knows when inspiration will strike, or what one might find at the end of a trail.” Her lips curved softly as she looked up from her sketch, her usual businesslike expression replaced with a delight that made her more beautiful than any silk gown or jeweled necklace could attempt. “To think I almost left this forest without seeing this place.”
For several minutes, only the quiet scratching of her quill disturbed the stillness. I wandered slowly around the clearing, though I found myself glancing back towards her, captivated far more by her presence than the surrounding scenery that had transfixed her.
Now and then she tilted her head while studying the curve of the stream before making another careful mark, her brow furrowed in concentration. “The stream bends farther east than I expected…“ She adjusted another line. “If I use the oak as the central landmark…” Another note.
I smiled. There she was, the real Cecelia. Not the careful baker who hid behind routine, nor the young woman convinced she no longer needed emotions. Just someone utterly captivated by discovering something beautiful. I couldn’t look away.
Eventually she seemed to remember my presence and hastily glanced up, looking almost apologetic. For a fleeting moment, I almost imagined a faint blush dusting her cheeks. The delicate flush suited her far better than it had any right to, especially knowing I had no promise of seeing it every day for the rest of my life.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I got carried away.”
I smiled. “And I enjoyed every moment. I was hoping you wouldn’t stop.”
The rosy color deepened in her cheeks. She lowered her eyes, suddenly becoming very interested in the contour lines she’d been drawing.
After a while, curiosity overcame me. I wanted to discover every detail about her, as though I were constructing my own map—one I could carry with me the next time the curse forced me to wander. “Will you teach me how to make them?”
Her pen stopped. She stared at me as though I’d asked whether Nutmeg to teach me to bake bread. “You truly wish to learn?”
At my nod, something seemed to brighten inside her. She shifted across the grass to make room beside her, patting the empty space in silent invitation.
My heart gave an altogether unnecessary leap, and I found myself relieved that the bond no longer existed to betray my excitement. I crossed the short distance between us, suddenly far more aware of how close we would be sitting than seemed entirely reasonable. I settled beside her, careful not to crowd her, though every selfish part of me wished propriety required just a little less distance.
She placed the pencil in my hand. Her fingers brushed mine as she adjusted my grip before gently guiding my hand towards the parchment. It was such a simple gesture, yet somehow I forgot entirely what she was trying to teach me.
