The Daughter of the Moon (Barry Prize)

Born under good auspices, just as the glowing moon reached its zenith in a lush summer sky, the elves of the forest held high hopes for the baby girl with dark hair. They gossiped about her while they sipped jewel-colored elven wine, and the blacksmith set about forging a fine elven sword for the child. It was decorated with moonstone to honor her birth hour, as well as chips of jet as black as her hair. The blade itself was forged of diamond-like glass, clear and luminous as her skin. Her humble little village felt certain that the girl possessed the makings of a heroine, destined to bring fame to their hometown. Behind closed doors they called her the Daughter of the Moon.

The baby’s mother knew of such talk, though no elf was so uncouth as to speak it in front of her. For her part, the mother inwardly hoped that the forest elves’ speculations were true. She could imagine the tales bards would sing about her daughter, and though she never dared admit it, she thought she might merit a verse herself.

“Nothing too fancy” she’d scold herself as her thoughts fluttered about the future. She didn’t even expect to be mentioned by name. Perhaps just a few lines about the birth, then a mention of her own blonde hair, beautiful to be sure, yet so different from the inky night-sky hair that marked her daughter as special.

The mother invented a tune and hummed it to herself as she breast-fed her baby.

The girl grew into a remarkable beauty exactly as all who heard of her birth expected. And every soul rejoiced when the Daughter of the Moon discovered an affinity for plants. They oohed and ahhed about the shoots and vines that nuzzled into her palms like puppies whenever she tended her mother’s garden. They marveled at the time her grandfather had slipped her a glass of mature dark wine with a wink and it had transformed into sweet grape juice in her hands, much more suited to the tastes of a young girl like herself. Plants reached out to her as they did to the sun, basking in her glow. Lilies as tall as horses, vast humming bird bushes smelling of fine perfume, and morning glories that bloomed through the night, all designated her home as the abode of someone special.

The blacksmith watched the girl and visualized the day she would be called to some great adventure. He would stop her at the town gates, hurrying towards her as if he had actually been taken by surprise. He would present her with the sword he had made, and it would fit perfectly in her hands. He knew this, for he was constantly resizing the hilt. He felt his contributions would fetch no less that two verses in an epic poem. One describing the beauty of his craftmanship, the blade’s perfect heft and balance, and another describing his farewell words to the Daughter of the Moon, how he always felt deep down that she was destined for great things.

The blacksmith hummed to himself by his forge.

As many decades passed, the Daughter of the Moon grew into a woman. Her garden thrived; her hair was never cut.

The elves of the forest watched expectantly. Her wedding to the blacksmith’s son was the most widely attended gathering for years and miles. Anticipation mounted. The marriage would have been described by anyone as an indulgently joyful occasion. And yet, there was a certain frequency of tension lurking around the edges of the celebration. After all, what adventurer could have a spouse waiting at home wondering about her safety, and God forbid a child. Perhaps It could be done, but there was a certain impropriety to it. The older, wiser elves sensed inclement disappointment like a change in the weather.

Indeed, the Daughter of the Moon led a simple life, so mundane as to be called vulgar. And she was fulfilled, save for the occasions when upon walking into a room she’d find her husband humming a tune to himself with a fanciful look on his face.

A type of resentment brewed in the forest, so that when she died, the Daughter of the Moon’s funeral was far less attended than her wedding. She passed young for an elf, surviving only five hundred years out of the expected seven or eight hundred. She’d birthed a daughter about fifty years prior, and now that a song of epic deeds would never be sung about the mother, the forest turned its attention to her young girl.

The Daughter of the Daughter of the Moon was also born under good auspices, during what most recounted as a full moon, though in truth it was only waxing gibbous. Hope arose at the birth that perhaps this child would fulfill her mother’s neglected legacy. But as the girl grew, her dark hair lightened to a soft brown. And as she worked in her inherited garden, her skin tanned rather than taking on the pearlescent luster of her late mother’s. Busybodies clucked disapprovingly. The garden still thrived, but it was clear that this was the result of care and an ordinary green thumb. The lilies shrunk to the size of mules, and when her elderly great-grandfather expectantly thrust a glass of wine into her young hands, she simply grimaced at the taste. The blacksmith did not bother resizing the sword hilt to fit her hand.

The Daughter of the Daughter of the Moon returned the stares of the forest elves with subtle accusation in her eyes. To her it seemed cruelly obvious that they had had a hand in her mother’s shorted life, the weight of their gazes apparently far too heavy for her bird-like elven bones.

The second daughter married an elf from a remote part of the forest and had a child of her own, the Daughter of the Daughter of the Daughter of the Moon. She was born under the best auspices of all.

Interest had waned over the last several centuries. But this third birth sparked a new sort of watchfulness. The third generation. If any daughter could fulfill the potential that clung so ostentatiously to that family, it would be this one. Or if not the third, then the seventh. But few elves were prepared or even able to wait for thousands of years. There was an infinitesimally subtle sense of impatience as the elves performed their now customarily rituals over the Daughter of the Daughter of the Daughter of the Moon. As grandfathers passed wine and gifts of flowering plants were thrust upon the girl, all felt entitled to an impressive display. The young girl did not disappoint.

Idrian’s lilies slithered up the walls of her mother’s cottage. Their pristine white petals were regal and quintessentially elven, so that from afar they were greatly admired. However, for the two living daughters of the moon, the lilies were little more than a nuisance. For, they’d learned long ago that lilies were strangling plants, or at least they become so when allowed to grow unchecked. The white flowers filled their home with a sometimes nauseating sweetness, one that drifted through walls and latched onto hair and bedsheets. Idrian and her mother would have removed the obnoxious plants long ago, replaced their deeply entrenched roots with handfuls of scattered seeds, infant-like in both vulnerability and potential. But those beautiful, imposing flowers had been planted by Illona, the eldest daughter of the moon, late mother and grandmother to the women of the house. For Murel, Illona’s daughter, the lilies were a memory of times spent together in the garden. After Illona’s death, the gentle hummingbird bushes and practical pumpkins mother and daughter had cultivated together gradually withered away, perhaps out of grief. Murel had tearfully replaced each ailing crop one by one, feeling as if she were exhuming her mother’s corpse every time she dug up a dead, decomposing root patch. But the lilies – they had luridly, insensitively thrived. Now their swollen stems threatened to strangle the cottage itself, and though tending to them every day filled Murel with sour aches of nostalgia and axiety, she couldn’t bear to see them disappear.

It was only after Idrian became old enough to tend to the plants with her mother that the lilies grew wildly out of control. They began as source of pride for the young girl, a connection to her mysterious grandmother and a demonstration of her considerable power. In more recent years however, Idrian had grown increasingly perceptive, at least compared to the blindingly optimistic eyes of her youth. She saw Murel’s moments of hesitation when watering the lilies’ sapling size root patches. The way her mother would rush to fling windows open if the flowery aroma ever became too concentrated inside their home. For her mother’s sake, Idrian hoped that the lilies would shrink, even just slightly. But the third Daughter of the Moon never ceased caring for them. They were hers and selfishly, she loved how special they felt.

Idrian would go adventuring one day. That’s what she boasted to her young elven playmates, what she responded when adults slyly asked her what she wanted to be. Inwardly, the elves that heard her say so became almost giddy, though for propriety’s sake they expounded upon the dangers and impracticalities of such a profession while she was within earshot. The word “adventurer” had been floating around Idrian’s periphery since the day she was born, along with a multitude of other banalities poorly concealed in side conversations and hushed tones. “Hero” and “destiny” were two often repeated words when the elves thought she couldn’t hear. And unlike her mother and grandmother before her, Idrian seem willing to comply with her neighbors’ wishes. It began as a sort of ticklish buzz whenever she thought of the far away, of the world outside the elves and the forest. Then, as she grew older and heard more and more tales of fantastical heroes and noble adventures, some of which were deliberately told to her by the less subtle elves of her village, the buzz grew into a thrilling roar, a rush for action, a need for greatness.

She left her mother in the garden. Lilly vines surrounded them, dwarfing all the other plants with their impossible greenery. Idrian was still an adolescent elf, though she had already amassed more years than most humans of her time could hope to possess. It was a shame that the girl had not warned her mother of her imminent departure, for the sudden sight of Idrian with packs slung over her shoulders, full of blankets and clothes and utensils but no food, ripped through Murel’s heart like a meteor falling to the earth. The girl’s mother had known that this could happen. She had seen the wanderlust in her daughter’s eyes, the joy she took in displaying her gifts. But Murel had wished and denied; she’d hoped to be long gone before her daughter decided to adventure. Better yet, she’d hoped her daughter would never embrace this path, instead following in the footsteps of her mother and grandmother before her, happy and safe. But here Idrian was, brimming with energy of every sort. Inertia could have no hold on her. She would begin to move and nothing would stop her.

“I’m leaving, mother.” Formal, even uninspired, but it was the type of farewell that was expected in this situation. Murel was having none of it. She crossed the wild green lawn to stand in front of her daughter and held her luminous face.

“Stop,” Murel demanded, “Say goodbye to me like I’m your mother, like I’m the woman who raised you. Don’t you dare think you can walk away without speaking to me like an actual person.”

Idrian was taken aback, but more at herself than at her mother’s reaction. She had turned to leave after saying only a few words, no goodbye, no explanation. She hadn’t even really realized what she was doing. Why? Leaving her mother was painful, and she didn’t want to drag it out. But that wasn’t it. With a queasy feeling Idrian understood that she hadn’t thought about her mother at all while she was planning her departure, at least not in any real capacity. She had wanted her parting words to be dramatic, even momentous, but she hadn’t considered how unacceptable these words would be to the person she was leaving. Even then, when she began to feel embarrassed about what she had attempted to do, Idrian did not possess quite enough awareness to fully grasp the insensitivity of her actions. It wasn’t much later, when Idrian had gained a bit more perspective, that she would begin to involuntarily cringe when she thought about how she had tried to leave that day. Still, after a moment’s confusion, Idrian accepted her mother’s grasp and started to apologize. Murel, seeing the regret in her daughter’s eyes, cut her off.

“I know sweetheart, it felt right to you, but were having a conversation about this now.”

Idrian nodded.

“I can’t stop you from going, and I won’t ask you not to. Just promise to be safe, and more than anything don’t be stupid.”

Idrian took offense and began to reply, but Murel barreled over her”

“I know you think you can protect yourself, and maybe you can from some things, but not from everything. So knowthe difference. Promise to think about that. Learn what you can handle and what you can’t.”

Idrian promised. Her mother continued.

“And another thing, if you ever feel unsafe, for any reason, come home. I won’t say a word and I won’t try to stop you from leaving again. Just don’t be proud and don’t think you can’t come back until you’ve ‘proven yourself’ or any ridiculous thing like that.”

Idrian rolled her eyes but didn’t even have time to interject.

“I mean it. If you come back and a single elf in this village makes a single snarky comment to you, or so much as raises a single eyebrow, I will make them all flee from this forest in droves.”

Idrian started. She looked around and noticed that the sky above had darkened slightly. The plants in the garden writhed with vigor even though no wind graced the summer day. If Idrian concentrated, she thought she could even feel a guttural tremble in the Earth beneath her feet. Murel’s voice now sounded deeper and oddly distant as she bellowed her ultimatum.

“You are MY daughter! Not the moon’s! And If one creature here makes you feel unwelcome, as if there was anything wrong with my daughter coming back to me, then even the oldest, most deeply entrenched wood elf in this forest will weep with relief when they stumble, barely coherent, into the grimiest, deepest cesspool of the nearest human city. For until they reach their filthy sanctuary where nature can barely penetrate, the very earth will harass their steps. They will not be able to flinch without lacerating their flesh with thorns, and they will beg the fates to let them take back the day they stuck their obnoxious elven noses into my daughter’s life.”

Murel breathed deeply. Despite her warm brown hair and ruddy skin so different from her mother’s and her daughter’s, in that moment she looked like moonlight.

Idrian didn’t respond at first. She started aghast at her mother. Murel had never displayed her power in this way, never really let on that she possessed much at all. But it now struck Idrian that a hundred or so years ago, Murel could have chosen to stand where she herself was standing now. Murel could have been the adventurer, and Idrian, well, she could have been born a different person, or not at all. Her chest surged with strange gratitude, but she struggled for words to express her feelings. For a strong moment, she seriously considered inviting her mother to leave with her. Maybe then she’d have a chance to discover how Murel had managed to find contentment in their strangled home, when such a key, mysterious part of their beings so obviously called them beyond. Or, Idrian thought as she searched her mother’s strained face, if she had managed to find contentment at all.

In the end, Murel removed her hands from her daughter’s face. It was Idrian’s time to go off on her own. That was her kind of story.

“I love you. I’m sorry”

“I love you.”

The blacksmith ruined Idrian’s departure. In all fairness to him, he’d been visualizing his moment for multiple centuries. He’d imaged that he’d rush up to her just before she passed through the village gates, an unsure, yet determined look on her face. He’d speak to her frantic and out of breath, as if he’d actually been taken by surprise, and he’d offer her a few token words of encouragement. Then, he’d regain his composure admirably, and proffer his gorgeous sword that he had so painstakingly crafted especially for her hands. Had he encountered her before her final goodbye with her mother, he might have received a surprised “thank you” and a polite smile. But the blacksmith had been obliviously determined to be the last wood elf Idrian met before setting out into the wide world. Naturally, Idrian wasn’t quite happy to have her emotional final goodbye followed up by a contrived encounter with a local sycophant. Idrian also felt a bit uncomfortable around the blacksmith himself; on more than one occasion she’d noticed him intently staring at her hands. So it was an irritated scowl that Idrian tried to conceal as she turned to face the elf. She let him speak first. He was still out of breath.

“Daughter of the Moon, I have just learned that you plan to leave our humble village behind and make a name for yourself throughout the all nations of our world.”

Idrian almost rolled her eyes, but as she looked at his totally earnest face, she softened slightly. Maybe his was life unfilled here in the woods, a master craftsman with merely nails and tools to craft. Still, she didn’t want to prolong the conversation, so she responded tersely and hoped she could hurry him to his point.

“Regardless of my reasons, what business have you with my departure?” This time Idrian had to hold back a wince. The more she tried to play this stilted game the less she found she liked it.

The blacksmith, though miffed by her directness, barreled forward with his short encouraging speech. His words were not very inspired, and they don’t really bear transcribing. But his sword certainly was worthy of admiration. Though Idrian, and probably the blacksmith too, were both aware that she had never held a sword in her life and would have no idea where to begin learning, she sincerely thanked him for his efforts. It truly did fit her hand perfectly. She hadn’t even intended to embarrass him when she asked if he had a scabbard for it.

The Blacksmith froze. Then slowly, his eyes and mouth assumed the telltale positions of horror, much like when one realizes that they have left several candles lit in their thatched roof cottage. The blacksmith had never been commissioned to make a sword; he hadn’t thought about the practicalities. And anyway, when he imagined the Daughter of the Moon out adventuring, he always pictured her fighting monsters or slaying tyrants with her sword in hand, never at her side! He probably had one somewhere in his smithy, or if not he was sure he could make one quickly.

“Well, um. I left it... Let me just…”

“Oh! No, it’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll just… hold it.”

The blacksmith was already rushing away as he pleaded with her to stay where she was. Idrian called out one last awkward reassurance to him before he left ear shot. Then she considered the beautiful, celestial sword that molded perfectly to her grip. She chuckled slightly, and wondered if it would be too disrespectful to use it as a walking stick. “Probably,” Idrian decided, as she passed through the gates of her small elven village.

She actually considered going back to see her mother again before she ventured too deep into the forest. The blacksmith really had ruined her departure. She’d wanted to start her adventure with a poignant goodbye, not a comedy of errors. It felt so wrong that her mother wouldn’t be that last person she saw before starting this new chapter of her life. But Idrian told herself that she couldn’t risk running into the blacksmith again. The truth, though, was that it was truly time to leave, and Idrian worried that if she didn’t get out of the forest soon, she would lose her nerve and start laying down roots.

The forest parted around her, as she had expected it to. Nettles brushed over her skin like flower petals, and the ground itself added energy and momentum to her steps. But despite the ease with which Idrian conveyed herself through the world, on the inside she staggered with headiness. It felt almost as if she was expanding. A certain pressure now having been removed from her spine and limbs, her body seemed eager to grow to its natural size. The imaginary sensation was extremely disorienting, and she could barely pay attention to her surroundings. But at the same time, her senses were overloaded with information. The green of the forest glowed luridly vivid, and every earthy, fresh smell pervaded her head. The roar of the outside world rang in her ears, and she practically reveled in it. She was going somewhere, about to start doing something. She walked and walked for miles.

She should have expected to run into something dangerous. That was the point of adventuring, after all, otherwise you were just walking. But as mentioned before, Idrian was rather enjoying the walking part. For miles she felt unstoppable, a sentiment which naturally had to be challenged sooner or later.

In the end, it was the wind that gave her a fighting chance. Whether by its own volition or by some unconscious magic on Idrian’s part, the wind changed direction just as she approached a clearing no larger than a small hut. Before, the breeze had been at her back, egging her on and soothing away the excess summer heat. Now, it suddenly blew back in her face, scattering her hair away from eyes and bringing with it a disgusting, unmistakable warning. It was a smell and a taste, perhaps even a sensation of prickly greasiness on the skin if one concentrated hard enough. The air enveloped Idrian in a miasma of noxious foulness, like excrement and vomit and refuse and decay and salty, defiled water. It completely eclipsed the natural scents of the forest, and Idrian felt her stomach revolt as her eyes watered frantically. She stood still, then stepped backwards, then stood perfectly still again. She couldn’t pinpoint the source of the sensation, but she guessed it was somewhere beyond the far edge of the clearing. Could she sense movement, anything? She searched for options. Stay where she was, hopefully obscured by the relatively dense trees? Try to slip away? Or, if it was a creature out there, would it be best to enter into the center of the clearing, so she could see it coming from whichever direction it emerged? Idrian knew she was nervous, but she realized that she was also giddy. Maybe this would be her first chance to experience danger.

A flash of alien paleness, alarming amongst the soft earth tones of the woods, darted between two distant shadows in the side of her vision. Idrian practically convulsed backwards, but she managed to remain silent. The awful smell might have grown imperceptibly stronger. The motion hadn’t come from where she had expected, and that settled her decision for her. She wasn’t going to be stalked by any monster. If it was nothing it was nothing, but if there was a creature haunting this clearing, she would make it face her in the open. Idrian strode through the tree line. Her heartbeat jangled, but her steps were characteristically confident. She waited. With each passing second she became more convinced that something was circling her location. She’d catch flashes of white between trees and patches of overgrowth. Always in the corner of her vision, always somehow disappearing completely behind one obstruction or another. It felt as if she were being toyed with. Anger rose to accompany anticipation and dread. The sound of creaking wood filled the air. As Idrian swung around her eyes trying to locate her stalker, the trunks of the surrounding trees quivered with invisible tension. And there is was, another flash to her left, irritatingly sinister. Perhaps it was inching closer to her with each rush of movement. It didn’t much matter, because Idrian would get to it first. The pale streak appeared again, and she lashed out at it with the part of herself that could make lilies grow to impossible size, the part that rendered the forest her ally and protector.

The sound of creaking wood morphed into a cacophony of splintering and cracks as gnarled, living roots burst from the loamy earth. Mulch and soil which had previously kept them buried and fed was flung violently in all directions. The roots intercepted the pale creature mid-dash, entangling it in their supernaturally enlivened grasp. Above Idrian and the monster, a few trees tipped backwards and swayed with their some of their powerful roots no longer anchoring them in the soil. The creature shrieked and writhed. Idrian had a chance to regard it, though its horrid stench bade her to flee far away. It was indeed a sallow, ghostly white thing, but peppered throughout its alien, almost gelatinous flesh were repellant dark splotches of grime and filth. With a jolt, Idrian realized that she could partially see through the creature’s oozing skin to the outline of the roots encircled behind it. Scraps of dark sludge clearly pervaded the creature’s indistinct pale innards as well as its surface. It did not possess a definite shape, but rather seemed to grow and slough off vague appendages at random. One moment its form appeared mostly humanoid, the next its arm-like growths dripped back into its body, and its lower half elongated and separated into four rounded stumps, turning it into a ghastly quadruped. Too late, Idrian understood that the abomination’s malleable form could not easily be contained. It seemed to collapse in on itself, squeezing through gaps between the powerful roots while emitting a piercing whale through no visible orifice. Idrian felt ill and willed the roots to tighten around the creature. The plants obligingly constricted, but this only helped to expel the amorphous being faster from their grasp. The creature finally freed itself with a horrifying noise and instantly coalesced into a bestial shape. Idrian retreated, crumpling over herself while forcefully reaching out for more aid. The roots that had held the monster surged forward in an attempt to recapture it, but it was impossibly quick. Its legs churned up the earth as it rushed for her, they seemed solid now, solid enough to convey the creature serval yards before Idrian had time to react. She watched, horrified, as jagged, broken-looking spikes emerged from the creature’s featureless front. They were like those of a prehistoric, deep sea monstrosity, brutally designed to lacerate prey. The spikes began as trembling ooze, yet like the creature’s legs, they crystalized into deadly solid masses faster than the eye could perceive. Idrian managed to fling herself to the side, but then it was upon her. And its spikes slashed into her neck.

Her blood splashed onto its horrid body. There the red streams sputtered and hissed, releasing fresh waves of that noxious odor that pervaded the air. The stench made it impossible to breathe, or maybe Idrian simply couldn’t breathe anymore. She crumpled to the ground. Her sword slipped from her loosening grasp. She hadn’t really even been aware that she was holding it. Mouth agape, drawing small, shredded gasps of air, she stared up at the creature that was about to destroy her. It was towering over her. Its spikes having served their purpose, it now extended gelatinous tendrils to grab hold of her arm. It burned like acid where it touched her skin. More foul fumes. She watched as the blood that had spilled on the creature smoked and blackened, shriveling into disgusting black patches exactly like those scattered throughout the rest of its body. There was fear in Idrian’s heart, and hatred too. She was furious that this ridiculous monster would be the one to kill her, so soon after she had started her journey. Her gaze, streaked with panic and pain, hardened. She would not let herself become an ugly black spot on this disgusting creature. The image of her mother flashed in her eyes, the rage the Murel had wielded, her certainty in her own power. Idrian wanted the creature to die.

The world dissolved into cataclysm. Thunderous cracks resounded into the forest as entire trees groaned in agony. From the edges of the clearing, one tree after another collapsed into the fray. They uprooted themselves in desperate, suicidal attempts to save the girl’s life. Idrian had called upon them. Nobly, sacrificially, they would respond.

The ancient trees pulverized the creature under their weight. No less than three hefty trunks had fallen from either side the clearing directly onto the monstrosity. Idrian had intended for them to avoid her body as much as possible in the fall, but that was wishful thinking when aiming for a creature in such close proximity. Though she was spared the deadly impact of the trees’ massive trunks, their branches battered her body and limbs. She let out a hoarse, almost silent scream. Struggling to escaped from beneath the mess of tangled branches, she pawed at her lacerated throat. She had no idea how deep the wound went, no clue if she would be dead within seconds. She scrabbled for anything to stop the bleeding. Too weak to tear away the fabric of her clothing, she clutched dirt and leaves in her fists and shoved them up to her throat. She had no idea what she was doing. She was driven by a primal need to fill the vital gash. She would do anything to stem the blood, no matter how futile. The creature’s rotten stench still overpowered the rich scent of earth even as she dragged her face along the fertile ground. With her legs she labored to push her body forward. Her knee and ankle rhythmically pulsated from where a hooked tree limb had careened into her. Every inch brought agony, but her body seemed determined to fight for every last shred of agency, as if to prove to itself that it wasn’t fading away into limpness. Behind her, a few droplets of ooze quivered beneath the unrelenting pressure of the tree trunks. Apparently, the monster was able to retain some level of sentience even as its form layscattered and compressed between massive wooden beams. It might eventually have wormed its way out from underneath its wooden grave, but as it shuddered towards open slits of lights, that ground below it began to gently shift. The soil parted as if an intangible wind was gradually eroding a trench into the loose terrain. Bit by bit, the ground swallowed the tree trunks and the unnatural monster they held prisoner. The whole process produced little sound. Only comparatively quiet wooden creaks gave any indication that a dense log pile and a still-living, murderous aberration were slowly being consumed by the forest soil. If the creature continued to shriek, the sound was too strangled for Idrian to perceive. She might not have registered any noise even if a whole pack of these monstrosities whaled in her ear, so intent was she in her brutal war of attrition against inertia. She dragged herself forward with no clear understanding of her destination. She just wanted to get away.

She would only make it to the edge of the clearing. The tree line was slightly farther away now, with serval trees that had previously comprised its perimeter now sinking eternally away. She heaved herself to the nearest standing tree and gratefully rested her forehead against it. She lifted one arm and wrapped it as far is it could reach around the base of the trunk. Her other handing still stubbornly pressed fistfuls of dirt into her neck. She scrabbled for purchase on the textured bark, but even if she grabbed hold she wouldn’t be able to pull herself up with just one arm. Groaning, she begged her legs to make one final push. They protested, then threatened to give up entirely. But through sheer desperation they were made to comply. A sitting position was all she could manage. First she had kneeled facing the tree, and when her injured leg refused to support her anymore she jerked her body so that she could press her back against the trunk. And there she remained, face tilted toward the sky, legs splayed in front of her at broken angles. Her eyes closed.

Returning to consciousness was not a pleasant process. At least she felt warm. In fact, she felt incredibly secure and swaddled, as if she were piled under several blankets. But her body’s horrendous stiffness completely eclipsed any small comfort. Every limb seemed locked into stretched positions. Only her fingers could move freely. Groggily, she wondered if she was paralyzed. It was with equal parts relief and horror that she realized she could still control her limbs, she was just restrained. Her eyes snapped open in panic. She tried to search her environment, but even the wispy moonlight above proved too bright for her eyes which had been peacefully shut for so long. Through painful squinting and many deep breaths through her nose, Idrian reassured herself that she was still in the forest. Then how was she restrained? She tensed her body once again, attempting to feel for whatever was holding her. She couldn’t tilt her neck to look down. A strange sight she would have been to any passersby, engulfed as she was within the truck of a massive tree.

It was as if it had simply grown around her. Her face was left exposed, but starting around the middle of her scalp, living wood encased her head and hair. It formed a band around her neck with thick layers of bark, then traveled down the rest of her body to where her upper legs met the earth. From her waist down, her body plunged into the ground like the roots of the tree that embraced her. She struggled in earnest, unsure of what her situation implied. Lunging forward several times, she at first was met with unfeeling, unconquerable resistance that left her wild-eyed and frantic. Then, so slowly, the tree’s grip on her began to loosen. It was like passing through the densest gravel. Everywhere that the wood touched her and gradually receded, she felt an immense scraping pressure. She felt sure that the rough innards of the tree would shave away her skin, but the noble plant never pierced her flesh. After considerable unpleasantness, her upper body was freed. She pushed against the ground with her shaky forearms and kicked her legs as if swimming. The earth obligingly spat her out.

She didn’t yet register that the pain in her throat and leg, which had plagued her in her last waking moments, now only ached as a dull reminder. Shakily, she stood and faced the tree. It now bore a hallow protrusion as its base which formed a small canopy over the undergrowth beneath it. She placed a hand against its trunk. She felt relieved, even calm. Then she lifted her hand to her throat.

It was crusted with dry dirt. Even just grazing her fingers over the earthen covering, she winced as concealed scabs and scars protested indignantly. Tenderly, she brushed away the flaky soil. She could feel her pulse in the closed red wounds underneath. Idrian possessed no way of seeing her reflection, and she wouldn’t seek one out. All she knew was that her throat was healing, and that it didn’t emanate the sickly heat of a festering gash. She did not want to know more.

Her next unstable step dragged her attention to her leg. As far as she could tell, it retained its normal shape, but it refused to bend at either the knee or the ankle beyond a certain point. If she tried to push it further, it began to emit a sound not unlike the bending of a green sapling branch. So, for the time being she did not push it further. She knew she was in better shape than she should have been. She would never learn whether she had dodged out of the monster’s path enough so that its spikes slashed just short of a fatal blow, or if some magic of earth and tree had intervened to save her from certain death. She chose not to press that wound either. Despite her pain, she felt numb. The world was wrong. She had not left her village to be nearly slaughtered by the first obstacle she encountered. She’d only imagined vague feelings of thrill and accomplishment when she pictured herself as an adventurer, but this was dread. This was regret.

She could have turned around and walked home. Some parts of her wanted to. Her body was damaged but able. It wasn’t that far.

Yet, she wouldn’t. For one, she couldn’t bear the judgement of the elves. Some would see her as a failure, a girl who had gotten their hopes up and disappointed them, ensured that they would never see the Daughter of the Moon rise. Perhaps worse, others would view her failure as an intriguing setback. They would continue to watch her expectantly and wait for her to emerge triumphant. She would never escape their untenable scrutiny. But the larger reason was her mother. There was no question that her mother would welcome her back relieved and joyous. But somewhere, lovingly concealed on the inside, there would be sorrow too. Murel would despair at the thought that her daughter hadn’t found what she wanted, grieve for the part of her dream that had been crushed.

That dream might have felt distant and wavery to Idrian, but she wouldn’t do that to her mother. She looked up at the night sky. She had been asleep for a long time – the moon’s phase had shifted greatly from the time she had set out. Idrian picked up her leaf-strewn sword and hobbled forward.

She actually did end up using the sword as a walking stick. It was a good height for her. To the blacksmith’s credit, it resisted chipping or dulling even when thrust repeatedly into small stones and gripping earth. She felt guilty at first, but her leg felt worse. And after days of walking, when she began to regain her range of motion, she had already become accustomed to its assistance. She also thought it might make an interesting affectation – A young girl with a limp using a beautiful sword as a cane. It would certainly make her easy to recognize if she ever did anything impressive. But to that she would need to reach the edge of this forest, and that itself was proving a challenge.

She had never comprehended the actual vastness of the forest in which the elves made their home. Nor had she experienced its far-flung dangers so intimately. Several days after she encountered the first monster, when she thought she might be relatively near the edge of the woods, she heard indiscreet footfalls ahead and a violent rustling of branches. She readied herself as much as she could, preparing to bend her surroundings to her will. A humanoid shape broke into view, reassuringly non-gelatinous. She attempted to grab at it with the branches of a nearby tree, but its reflexes were surprisingly quick. It dodged to the side, manically fixated, then continued its charge. The beast tackled Idrian head on, crushed her to the ground. Her head snapped back, and she felt superficial cuts reopen on her throat.

Later, Idrian would have difficulty describing exactly what flashed through her mind in that moment. It was more like irritation than anything else. Her situation too closely mirrored that with the monster only a few days ago. Everything just seemed so random and arbitrary, one meaningless encounter after another. Her assailant raised an arm up to strike her, it was encased in some sort of chitinous shell. This time Idrian reacted first. She clutched a fistful of dirt in her free hand, another annoying parallel to her previous battle. She intended only to use it as a distraction, a chance to escape the creature’s grapple, but when she smashed the soil upwards into her attacker’s face, the humble clump of dirt eagerly proved its usefulness.

The creature instinctively raised its clawed hand to wipe away the dirt. It died before it could touch its face. Whatever fragments of life had lain dormant in that little cluster of forest floor, whatever un-germinated seeds dropped by indiscriminate trees, or splinters of weathered root and bark, it all burst brutally forth in the space of a single, life-and-death-filled instant. Expanding twigs pierced the creature’s many eyes. Shoots took root in the wads of dirt lodged in its mouth, and they exploded into thick growths that lodged in his throat and cut off his airways. It didn’t have the chance to think or react. It just died.

Idrian shoved the body away from her and shot to her feet. She took in its appearance for the first time. It had been some sort of spider-like chimera. Glossy natural armor covered much of its body, and its mouth, which had been distended wide open by protruding plant matter, sported fanged incisors. Still, it’s shape was that of a man, and there was skin visible between jutting plates of chitin. Idrian shuddered and turned away.

Her last encounter came within a day’s walk of open land. She saw another one of those gelatinous monsters in the distance, it tentacles steadily reeling in a captured bird. The smell reached all the way to her safe position. Disgusted to see another of these monstrosities in her forest, she instructed nearby roots to entangle the creature. Before it could ooze its way out, she buried it deep in the ground. Idrian didn’t stay to watch it disappear, but she could sense it struggling in the roots grasp, unable to move through the solid earth. The easy victory gave her no more satisfaction than her near defeats.

She finally found the edge of the forest. It was unnaturally abrupt – dense trees in one step and green pastures in the next. Some civilization clearly kept their boundaries to the massive wood carefully maintained. It struck Idrian how little she knew of the actual world. The older elves sometimes mentioned human empires and settlements of other races in passing, but details were always vague and confused. She should have been intimidated by the depth on newness and unfamiliarity she was about to experience, but after her time in the forest, she needed contact with other people. So, she headed towards distant rising smoke, a sure sign of inhabitation.

The village appeared disappointingly similar to her own. The same modest thatched huts dotted the landscape, and denizens trotted about performing mundane chores as they always did. There was less finery strewn about, none of the masterwork glass or metal casually produced by elven artisans. Overall, her first contact with humans had been amiable but underwhelming. She had entered the settlement’s proximity and naturally drawn stares. The residents seemed interested in her pointed ears, for many had never seen an elf in their lives. Idrian also couldn’t help but gawk at the smooth rounded edges of human ears. She wondered how the difference had become established and if it served any purpose. But more significant than her elven features, Idrian presented a compelling persona. Despite her relative lack of experience, her scars and her limp could have belonged to a girl both brutal and battle-versed. She did nothing to assuage their assumptions. When she requested audience with the small elderly council that formed the village government, her affirmation the she was an adventurer was met with nods and knowing smiles. Idrian asked if there were any problems around town that needed to be resolved, any plagues of monsters or other ominous existential threats. When the answer was no, she asked again to different people. She was determined to find work as an adventurer. But despite the village’s proximity to the apparently dangerous forest, it currently lied unmolested by monstrosities and predators. It was disheartening to have come all this way only to be stymied at the first possible opportunities. Yes, there would be more settlements and more chances to distinguish herself, but the fact that her first ties to the world at large so obviously didn’t need her seemed an inauspicious omen. The people of the town reacted kindly to her lost expression, or perhaps they simply grew tired of her prolonged lingering and gave her a job so that she’d go away. Regardless, after a polite but forced conversation in which Idrian probed for a purpose and came up empty, a local farmer asked if she could do anything about a mild blight that affected some of his crops. He was mostly hoping she’d impart some natural elven knowledge upon him, coming from deep within the forest and all that. Her solution proved much more interesting.

The villagers gathered together along the borders of their fields. Their patches of farmland butted against each other atop a verdant, imperceptibly rolling landscape. Their eyes were trained on the strange eleven girl who had arrived earlier that day. She had purposefully conveyed herself to her best estimation of the farmland’s natural center, and now she kneeled on the ground with her hands pressed against the earth. With her mother in the garden, she’d learned how to grow plants healthy and lush. Her attentions imbued them with vigor and hardiness, so that fruit and flower alike had reached levels of abundant prosperity unachievable by non-magical means. This was the gift she attempted to confer upon the village, at least of the coming season. It mostly took the form of a prayer. Sometimes a coax or a cajole was required for the wilder, more independent specimens. But the grain crops outside the forest, bred and sown to provide, needed only a gentle reminder of their untapped potential in order to shatter their natural boundaries of growth and fertility. So, Idrian knelt in the center of the fields as the sky darkened, her audience skeptically intrigued. And the crops around her erupted.

Vitality flowed into each stalk and stem. Not yet fully ripened in these midsummer months, the youngish shoots as much as tripled in size under Idrian’s encouraging direction. The sight inspired and delighted. To see their efforts of cultivation, so fundamental to their basic survival, multiplied in an instant from moderate sustenance to luxurious surplus, instilled genuine, profound wonder. Children and adults wandered through their transformed land, their crops now reaching to the tips of their heads and not even fully grown. They converged on Idrian to thank her. She felt overextended from the large-scale effort, but she glowed with accomplishment and joy. This wasn’t like the glamorous heroic deeds she had imagined, but for the moment it was far more real. It was a taste of fulfillment.

The crowd dwelled in the fields late into the night, but as children grew tired and another day of working approached, the villagers gradually dispersed with a happy air. Idrian stayed in the field; she had nowhere else to go. Assuming she was alone, she began laying out her blankets on the warm summer earth. It would be a beautiful night to sleep under. That’s when a boy emerged from the new thicket of grain and sat himself in front Idrian’s cozy spread.

They stared at each other for a moment. It was a strange set of circumstances, but both parties seemed intent on maintaining a calm, knowing façade.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

A pause. They waited to see who would speak next. Eventually, the boy broke the silence.

“That’s a beautiful sword.”

Idrian looked down at it, as if she’d never considered it before.

“Yeah, it is. I don’t use it much though.”

“You use it as a cane.” A hint of annoyance.

Idrian shrugged. She waited for him to get to his point. He shifted uncomfortably but soldiered on.

“Look, what you did out here was amazing.”

Idrian smiled genuinely. It still felt good.

“Oh, Thank you.” She’d actually wanted to say more, perhaps a bit of faux-modest demurring, but she couldn’t find the right words, and brevity came easily.

“It’s just, I heard about what you were looking for around the village, whether there were any…threats, that needed to be dealt with. And I just wanted to know…”

Idrian waited. She thought she knew what might be coming.

“…how you became an adventurer.” He glared intently at her, and as his detached exterior melted, so did Idrian’s. There was a sincerity of conviction in his voice that she recognized with instant sympathy. He wanted an invitation into the life she was pursuing. He was rattling the gate just like her.

She seriously considered his question. She ached to be to help, and she would have given a great deal to be is a position to do so. But all she could manage was a self-deprecating chuckle. It was dry and sarcastic, but there was a bit of warmth in it too. Here she was playacting again, and she’d fooled this boy into thinking she was some seasoned adventurer. She really looked at him, his restless hands and invisible ambitions. He was her a few weeks behind.

So she told him the truth. She was barely an adventurer yet, just getting started and surviving only on luck and her natural gifts. She saw disappointment bloom in his eyes, but they never fell completely defeated. He clearly had more to say and just barely held back as she recounted her experiences in the forest. He processed how close she had come to death, reconciling that vulnerability with the display of power he had witnessed in the fields. That acknowledgement of danger did not deter him though, and his next words surprised no one.

“I want to go with you.” At once hesitant and tenacious, his inflection conveyed the uncertainty of finally confessing his hopes after years of silence, as well as a refusal to be ignored any longer. Idrian nodded. She could feel that buzz radiating off of him, that same frenetic yearning that had thrust her into action. She couldn’t imagine saying no.

“Can you take care of yourself?” The boy straightened his back. He was a little younger than the girl, but he tried not to appear that way.

“My father is a blacksmith. I was able to practice sword fighting on my own for years.”

It sounded fairly unimpressive, no matter that Idrian did not possess the highest opinion of blacksmiths to begin with. But if he thought he could handle himself, she wouldn’t stand in his way. She thought back to her terrible time in the forest. She was tired of being alone. Picking up the sword from where it rested at her side, she studied it one last time. It glinted in the starlight. Idrian tossed it to the ground between herself and the boy.

“Then here,” she said, “take it and let’s go.”

Idrian and the boy, whose name was Aureus, travelled together from then on. They were a proper adventuring party, all they required was an adventure. It wasn’t as if no opportunities presented themselves. They walked from settlement to settlement, living off Idrian’s control over the land. On lucky occasions, a poisonous spirit would have infested a well, or a band of goblinoids would be conducting raids on poorly defended homes and fields. Idrian and Aureus dealt with these incursions with relish and pride. But other times, there would be nothing. They’d enter a town and leave it unchampioned. And though neither adventurer admitted it outright, the small, one-off battles weren’t quite enough either. Yes, Idrian and Aureus gained some renown in local circles. They were “heroes” in a certain sense. But everything they encountered felt entry-level, not nearly as fulfilling as a dark lord summoning a cursed army, or an invasion of infernal demons from a boiling underworld. Those things were in unfortunately short supply. Still, the pair was chasing their desires. They could feel their break through on the horizon.

Their partnership had begun on unequal footing. Idrian was of course very powerful, yet Aureus began his adventure less skilled with a sword than he believed. She had to protect him on many occasions as he rushed into combat with beasts slightly out of his league. However, his understanding of his limits grew in tandem with his dexterity, and he grew into the role of a monster slayer both physically and mentally. His style never became disciplined. He would hack his beautiful sword through the air with inconsistent abandon. But his new profession demanded strength and acuity, and he craved success enough to adapt. In many ways, he relied on personal growth far more than Idrian. Her power shaped the world, mysterious but relatively easy. His contributions were fought for, and they brought greater pride. If either resented the disparity, they kept it to themselves.

A lot could be said between the two without much need for words. They understood certain facets of each other instinctively, because they saw those features reflected in themselves. On everything related to heroics, they agreed wholeheartedly. They wanted the accomplishments, the acclaim, the validation. Whatever part of their upbringing or biology demanded that they achieve without rest, they gave into without question. They were both altruistic and selfish –

they wanted to help the world, and in doing so they would help themselves. Both sensed and bemoaned the lack of an overarching plot, the absence of a real villain to fight and overcome.

They often slept on the ground, talking in circles before acquiescing into sleep. This night, like many others, they watched the heavens and imagined the shape their greater quest would take. Aureus suggested an ancient artifact needing to be destroyed. Idrian thought that was boring. She described the second coming of some malevolent eldritch horror, amorphous and incompressible. The idea seemed farfetched to Aureus. It was a comfortable rhythm, even if there was no real purpose behind their words. They would accept whatever call they received. The conversation lulled. Each thought the other might be asleep. But Aureus’ mind held his eyes awake.

“Idrian?”

“Yeah?” She was slipping into restfulness. Her lips didn’t put much effort into forming words.

Any response was good enough for Aureus. He pressed on. “After we complete our quest—”

She murmured in agreement. The idea comforted her.

“—Afterwards, what do you think you’ll do?”

Her eyes fluttered briefly in the direction of consciousness. The question deserved an answer; she had already given the topic some thought.

“I’ll find another one.” Her convictions were strong in her last moment of lucidity. She drifted away before she could ask him the same.

This might be it, their calling.

Idrian and Aureus had wandered into a town as they always did. This one was incredibly provincial, barely a hamlet of a few ragged shacks and plots. According to Aureus, they were travelling in the direction of the largest city for hundreds of miles around, a massive outpost of the human empire. The idea of reaching the behemoth city intimidated Idrian, and she was relieved to learn that they might be delaying in this quaint village to deal with a threat. Relief burgeoned into incredulous, shining hope when they discovered the nature of the disturbance. According to a haunted-looking aged man who declared himself the town’s spokesperson. A boy had disappeared over a week ago. Apparently, He was known to be a bit of an explorer and would often spend his days alone probing entrances to a nearby hilly cave system. Few had thought anything of it when he failed to return home after the onset of darkness. But then hours stretched into more. In the morning, a search party was organized. Their efforts seemed fruitful at first. They discovered intentional scratch marks placed at intervals on the cave walls in the areas immediately surrounding the entrance. They looked to be situated at about the height of a boy’s shoulder. The searchers, assuming that these marks had been left by the boy in a failed attempt to keep his bearings in the tunnels, hoped that the trail would lead directly to him. Instead, it had gradually petered off. The markings spread further apart, and each one seemed to have been scratched in with less force than the last. The search party was left arguing over whether a barely visible mark at the general correct height was another essential notch or simply a natural marbling of rock. After that, the trail froze completely cold. They pushed deeper into the shadows, but soon returned empty handed for fear of becoming lost themselves. The village grieved and prayed for his return, but when he made an appearance that very night, no one rejoiced.

It was his corpse. Bluish, not yet decomposing, cold. It walked stiffly, as if it was unfamiliar with the motion. There was initial confusion, followed by screams. No one had the nerve to touch it. It possessed no such qualms. It grabbed another small child and hauled it away. People chased after, but once it reached the caves they couldn’t find it again.

Two corpses came back the second night. People were locked in their homes, but the monsters tore through flimsy door frames. They didn’t fall when struck with the farming implements and blunted swords the village used as weapons. More people disappeared. The next night, the same number returned. The more people the growing horde dragged away, the harder it became for those still alive to defend themselves. Many fled to the city, either to seek help from trained guards or simply never to return. The stubborn collection who remained hunkered together in the largest residence available, which was just the vacated home of a slightly wealthier villager.

Idrian and Aureus looked at each other. The gravity of the situation sobered them to a grim degree. Tragedy and death tempered with the knowledge that this could be what they had been looking for. It was bigger than anything they’d contended with, not a random monster but a blight, a horrifying, actual evil. They could only imagine the source of the corruption, what it might lead to.

With promises to return soon and triumphant, the pair set course for the caves.

The walk was uneventful, but they brimmed with nervous energy. Neither one spoke. Aureus held his sword aloft. Idrian’s ankle ached only slightly. After thousands of identical steps, they stood at the mouth of the cave. It leached away all light. A boy had entered here and come out a monster. The two-person-wide opening set into a grassless mound betrayed nothing beyond the portal into darkness and death. A little rivulet of water trickled down the slope of the hill and formed a puddle in its shadow. Aureus ignited a lantern. Side by side they entered.

Idrian understood how even a natural explorer could become entombed in these caves. They were truly treacherous, deceptive even. The tunnels began straightforward and unintimidating. They sloped instantly downward into the earth beneath the hill, at first comprising either straight corridors or obvious forks. But subtly, insidiously, the cavern paths began to conspire against interlopers. Dead ends cropped up at random. They were forced to turn back so many times that if they had been marking their path by normal means, perhaps with scratches on the wall, they could have easily become confused about their actual route. Idrian refused to let herself fall victim. As soon as she took her first steps into darkness, she had reached out for natural life. All she could perceive were the strange lichens and fungi that grew sporadically on the wall. These were lifeforms that Idrian knew poorly. They could be made to bow to her will, but they did not embrace it in the manner of trees and other plants. Still, she managed to control them well enough. She caused the fungus to grow to extreme size whenever they settled on a viable path. It drooped from the walls and ceiling like alien stalactites. They would be able to retrace their steps.

The caves contained other tricks as well. Switchbacks and interweaving paths, drop-offs and small, jagged passageways all impeded their progress. The entire system must have been unimaginably vast, a fractalized web that extended unceasingly in all directions. There were probably tunnels beneath the village and beyond. It was unbearable not knowing where they were going, but companionship was comforting. There was no option of retreat. Whether the undead infestation spawned from a buried evil artifact or an awakened eldritch horror, they world discover the source and continue to quest until they snuffed it out. They owed as much to the villagers and to themselves. The never entertained the possibility that they wouldn’t find what they were looking for. 

The monster found its hunters in a tall-ceilinged cavern hundreds of feet below ground. It was luck more than anything else. It was accustomed to wandering its domain, searching for bugs and the other small creatures that could inhabit such an isolated environment. But it never expected to find actual people so deep within its kingdom, especially given all the success it had already had recently. The monster emerged from shadow, eager. Dozens of corpses walked with it.

Dread and adrenaline. The complementary sensations diffused freely between the two adventurers. They watched as grey cadavers crawled over rock outcroppings and internal. Around ten were obviously human and looked relatively fresh, though the smallest corpse, a boy, was beginning to show signs of rot. The rest of their enemies took the forms of spiders, scorpions, and other cave-dwelling pests. For the most part, they looked no different in death than they might have in life. They skittered across the floor unnaturally in a manner indescribably reminiscent of the movement of the dead humans. There was no telling how many of these reanimated arachnids actually lurked in the dark, but judging from the hushed chittering that now filled the echoing cavern, the numbers were not in the favor of the heroes. The insects had probably been amassing long before the human corpses emerged from an adjacent tunnel.

There was no sizing up, no strategizing. The dead bodies simply surged forward as one. Idrian and Aureus fled to less exposed ground, back into the tunnel from which they had entered this trap. Magically enlarged fungus greeted them as a reminder of their backwards progress. The dead swarmed their tunnel. Human corpses crusted with scorpions and centipedes stumbled into the enclosed space and lunged for the pair. Idrian scrambled back, slapping away any stray creatures that might have landed on her. Aureus moved away as well, but foolhardily, not as far. Maybe he thought she would protect him. In the outside world, her power had proved so immense, so world-shaking. But this was not her element. She tried to fight with the fungus and lichen, but it resisted her influence. It wouldn’t grow large enough, wouldn’t entangle quite enough assailants. For every corpse that sprouted deadly mushrooms through its mouth and eyes, collapsing to the stone floor, another slipped past with impunity. The moon did not shine in these black caves, and its daughter held little sway over their denizens. And really, what could a boy with a sword do against a mass of death?

He cut down the shambling humans admirably, requiring no more than two swings to decapitated and maim the most visible threats. But the insects swarmed his body. 

They tore him apart. They completely tore him apart.

Idrian ran. She wouldn’t have made it but something was happening. She wanted everything buried. The bodies, Aureus, herself. She wanted it crushed and never seen. The gore, the evil, the failure, she needed it locked away. And she was the Daughter of the Moon. 

Her power over the life in the cave may have been dimmed. Her grasp over the foreign fungi and lichen may have been tenuous; her power might have no purchase on the cold, unloving stone. But all this resided under tons and tons of loving, fertile dirt. It, as always, answered her call. Every cavern shook. Stone cracked like wood. The earth pressed against the hallow pocket deep within it. It wanted it gone. From the highest cave ceilings, between layers of stalactites, fissures erupted. Streams of soil streamed in, dense black soil that hadn’t seen the sunlight for thousands of years. It obeyed the moon. Chamber by chamber, the cave system collapsed and filled with earth, always just behind Idrian’s path. The cataclysm refused to crush her. In that regard alone the ground disobeyed.

No matter how many times she fell or strained her injured ankle or knee, she didn’t stop running. Her whole being compressed into a single objective: away. She did reach the outside world eventually, but that didn’t begin to satisfy her. Her mind kept fleeing, but her body collapsed. Her leg would never fully recover from how she had abused it. She blamed herself, absolutely. She had allowed him to come with her and failed to protect him. Failed so utterly and brutally this his shredded corpse now lied pulverized under tons of earth. She hated herself, hated the earth. And the worst part was, she still wanted it. She still wanted the adventure, the success, even after what she had just witnessed. That piece of her was cruelly, perhaps solely, undamaged. She didn’t think, she convulsed. Eventually she would have to get up. For her life to continue she would have to make a choice. Pursue adventure despite all its evil? Go home and give up? 

For the moment, both were untenable. But that would soon have to change. In the sky above, the moon was new, but in time, Idrian would stand, and she would take a damaged step.