She drew the hood of her cloak over her hair with practiced ease. Normally I paid little attention to such things, but I couldn’t help noticing the way the deep crimson framed her soft brown hair and brought warmth to the rich chestnut of her eyes. Her grandmother had been right—it suited her remarkably well.
My heart gave an unexpectedly pleasant lurch. She was undeniably pretty, but more than that, despite her reservedmanner, she possessed a quiet gentleness that drew me like the warm scent of fresh bread drifting from an open bakery door.
The realization should have pleased me. Instead it only deepened the knot tightening my chest. Somewhere inside that bakery rested a book I was becoming increasingly convinced held the answer to my curse. Yet the more time I spent with Cecelia, the more impossible the thought of taking it became.
I had come searching for a cure. Somehow, without noticing, I'd begun worrying far more about hurting the woman who might possess it.
Her grandmother’s words returned once more: acourtship outing. My stomach gave another strange jolt, equal parts pleasant anticipation and anxious dread. Had she truly meant it? Or had she merely been teasing us both? I stole a cautious glance towards Cecelia, searching for…something. A shy smile, a blush, some small indication that she viewed this outing as anything other than gathering berries.
She simply unfolded her map, no sign of tension in her movements. For a long moment she studied it with focused concentration, occasionally comparing its markings to the surrounding trees. If she felt even the slightest awkwardness about spending the afternoon alone with a man, she concealed it remarkably well.
I found myself relaxing. Perhaps I had misunderstood, and this was simply the way her grandmother joked about every young man who entered the bakery…unless she expected me to make the first move and say something. The possibility immediately tied my thoughts into hopeless knots once more.
She looked up with a tilt of her head that was rather becoming. “Is something wrong, Gabe?”
I met her eyes for the briefest moment before looking away again. “Nothing at all.” That, unfortunately, was an obvious lie.
I’d always been told I wore every thought plainly upon my face. Usually people laughed and assured me they knew precisely what I was feeling before I ever spoke. Cecelia merely regarded me with quiet curiosity before giving a small shrug and returning her attention to the map, apparently satisfied with my answer.
Her lack of suspicion should have been a relief. Instead it only sharpened the guilt for what I’d nearly done in her kitchen—and made me wonder, for reasons I couldn't yet explain, why she seemed so difficult to read. I was grateful Nutmeg hadn’t joined our outing; the little ember sprite had enough suspicion and intuition for the two of them and would doubtless have made the trip uncomfortable.
The forest welcomed us beneath a canopy of rain-darkened branches, the settling twilight glistening off the droplets clinging to the needles overhead. Cecelia scarcely hesitated as she set off along the narrow trail.
I fell into step behind her to let her lead, before remembering that if thiswasa courtship outing—which the less shy part of me secretly welcomed—it might be best to walk beside her. I quickened my pace until I was level with her; she didn’t seem to notice my change in position, her attention divided effortlessly between the parchment in her hands and the world around her.
For years every journey had begun with uncertainty. I would choose a direction only to discover hours later that the curse had quietly twisted my sense of distance or convinced me that north was east. Every path eventually dissolved into confusion, leaving me lost both physically and mentally.
Yet Cecelia never questioned her route. She studied the map, glanced towards the trees, and continued forward with quiet confidence, as though the forest were speaking a language only she understood…one I myself once knew a long time ago.
I felt a sudden surge of longing for that intimate understanding of the woods. Once, every bent fern, broken twig, and patch of disturbed moss had spoken to me like familiar words upon a page, quietly revealing who had passed before me and where they had gone.
Now those subtle trail markers seemed swallowed by the forest itself, leaving behind only the lingering memory of a language I could no longer understand.
Tracking had once been as natural as breathing; now that knowledge felt shrouded in fog, obscured by the curse that tightened its hold with every passing full moon. What had begun as the occasional misread trail or forgotten turn had gradually worsened into restless wandering, until even the paths I knew by heart no longer wished to lead me home. The confidence I used to carry whenever I entered the woods no longer belonged to the man I had become.
Occasionally, I caught fleeting glimpses of that former self. For a precious few moments, the forest would once again reveal its hidden language, and my feet instinctively knew where to step before the curse quietly stole the knowledge away again, leaving only uncertainty in its place. Those brief mercies almost felt crueler than never remembering at all. I had lost not only my sense of direction but a large portion of my identity, and every time I entered the woods I was harshly reminded of my loss.
Yet that familiar anxiety was strangely absent today, as I walked with beside my red-cloaked companion through the peaceful embrace of the rain-dampened forest.
She consulted her map with quiet certainty before continuing along the winding trail without the slightest hesitation, never questioning her direction or second-guessing her next step. I found myself trusting her so completely that I scarcely thought about where we were going at all. For perhaps the first time inyears, I wasn't measuring every fork in the trail or wondering whether I was already lost. I simply...followed.
I stole a cautious glance towards her. She walked with the same calm composure she’d worn ever since I’d met, her attention divided between the map in her hands and the forest unfolding around us. There were none of the shy smiles, lingering glances, or playful teasing I’d occasionally witnessed between young couples in the village. If this truly was the courtship outing her grandmother seemed convinced it was, Cecelia was conducting it in a manner unlike any I’d ever observed.
For reasons I couldn’t explain, I found her confidence…comforting. I hadn’t realized how exhausting it was to constantly wonder whether the next step would lead me farther from where I intended to go until someone else quietly removed the burden.
She glanced sideways. “Is something amusing? You’re smiling.”
I hadn’t realized until she pointed it out. I rubbed the back of my neck. “Nothing important.”
Though she appeared slightly confused, she accepted that answer without curiosity and continued walking. The silence should have been awkward. Instead it reminded me of sitting beside a crackling fire after a long day of travel, where conversation wasn’t necessary because simply not being alone was enough.
Her grandmother’s cheerful declaration drifted uninvited back into my thoughts. “A fine choice for a first courtship outing.”
My ears warmed all over again. Was this what courtship outings were normally like? I’d never been on one. My nervous gaze darted towards her hand. Would she want me to hold it? No, surely it was too soon. Then should I be saying something? Surely prolonged silence wasn’t consideredparticularly romantic. I wanted to get to know her better, but didn’t even know where to begin. I searched desperately for an appropriate topic before my gaze settled on the map in her hands.
“So…” I began cautiously. “Do you often invite men into the forest to gather berries?” The words had scarcely left my mouth before I wanted to recall them. Surely asking aboutother menwas thoroughly inappropriate this early.
Much to my relief, she didn’t appear offended; her expression remained blank as she answered serenely, “I normally gather my ingredients alone.”
