Within the dark wood, the powdered path between the old, proud pines, an endless shadow loomed just beyond reach. They say you are born with the fear of the dark, of the unknown. I say we are born with an insatiable curiosity, and that hunger alone is enough to ward people from dark places.
Some see it as self-harm to leap into unforeseen circumstances right as the dust settles. The danger of insatiability, yet the dark is filled with wonder, practically teeming in the void. It called for me, I hungered for a taste.
Every step was no different from the last, the pain ensued, and the void always at arm’s length.
The physical limits of my body screamed and begged me to stop the more I pushed. The ache of my joints, the prick of the pads of my feet, the numbness that followed. Yet, the void still called louder, not unlike the groan of some large ship, something so calm yet unable to be ignored.
Even when I tried running, my bones must have turned to lead with the gravity of it all, the equal and opposite pull to protect me from myself. A constant trudge upstream of brackish water.
The pain grew, an unforgettable memory bled into my throat like tasting a long-lost flavor of adrenaline. An unmistakable dread came over me, and when I looked down, the snow had changed. Blood dripped, staining the ground. Blood seeped through my nightgown, the drip turning to a dribble, and my blood spilled over the expanse of rice. Millions of grains cut into the sole of my feet. Every step was more painful than the last, and there was nowhere to go but over.
“Alina.”
Something wet in my hands, dripping down my forearm.
I blinked, my vision coming to me slowly like the steam clearing from glass.
Phoebe stood in the archway of the kitchen, hugging the frame. Her face was stern, alert despite the soft way she called my name.
The tiles of the floor were cold on my feet, but not as cold as the snow dripping down my ankle until it made a puddle where I stood.
The house was gray at such an hour. The chairs were neatly tucked under the table, the table spotless, not even crumbs for mice. No pots and pans on the stove and the sink vacant of any dishes or cups. One would find it hard to believe that anyone lived here, never mind over a dozen, with no evidence to suggest otherwise.
I glanced back at my hand, wild belladonna berries dripping from my palm in clots, escaping between my fingers.
Soft, pale hands took mine, then placed my hands over her shoulders. Phoebe wrapped her arms around my torso and squeezed me tight, not caring that the berries stained dark across the back of her nightgown collar.
There was no use for words, because not even I could come up with what to say.
The snow cast a stiff shell of ice over the ground, gracing the morning with a seasonal mystique. Rebecca and I used the morning to forage for things needed or wanted. Past the tree line surrounding our field was a forest with much to give. Despite the season, there were many delights hidden among the foliage. I used to refuse to partake, as I had my reservations about eating wild plants. That was until Rebecca showed us the safest things to forage and worked from there.
It was a harsh transition moving to a place surrounded by nature while not being too far off from civilization. I became more comfortable as the months went on. Rebecca and I bonded over our wilderness finds. She was quite handy, that one.
There were old tracks in the snow,mine. Last night’s footprints in a stiff trail. I kicked the fresh cold powder to fill them in, erasing last night’s wanderings.
“What is on your list for today?” Rebecca nudged my side as we stepped through the unbeaten path.
“Staghorn, sumac, and rosehips,” I answered, staring down at the places I was stepping to avoid the roots.
“Phoebe’s favorite.” She smirked. “I have juniper and pine. I thought it would be nice for seasonings and tea.”
“That is only because you like how Adeline tastes after,” I teased, nudging her back.
“Is that so unfair? She doesn’t mind. She loves pine tea!”
“I would rather one of you made use of the juniper and learned to make gin.”
“We have nothing but time.” Rebecca stopped to rustle through a small shrub, plucking small waxy berries from in between the brush.
I helped her gather, rolling the pale berries between my fingers before putting them in her bag.
“How are you and Adeline?”
“What about us?” She frowned, her attempt at hiding her blush was poor.
“Don’t get flustered! It isn’t unusual for feeding partners to get so close,” I laughed. “I figured it was a matter of time, and the two of you have been paired the longest out of the rest of them!”
“It is purely beneficial. An efficient pair doesn’t need to be changed,” she said matter-of-factly, a small smile tugging at her lips.
