He tightened his grip on Tabitha’s hand, feeling her tiny fingers cling to him, fragile but determined, as though she were his tether to the real world. A soft squeeze, then he gently released her, offering a reassuring smile. She gave a small nod, understanding his need for a moment alone, or maybe sensing the weight in his gaze, the way shadows clung to his thoughts. The group, tired and worn, drifted into silence behind him, and he let his feet carry him a few steps ahead, breathing in the heavy quiet of dusk.
The path to Warren’s Run stretched out like a thin ribbon of mist, winding through a forest grown wild and old, its canopy knitting overhead in dark, twisted shapes. Trees rose like watchful sentinels, their branches bending low, as if whispering secrets to the earth. His every step crackled on dry leaves, a muted reminder of the silence in his chest. In the distance, a crow cawed—a low, hoarse cry that sent a chill skittering down his spine. The road ahead felt like a promise and a threat all at once, the darkness gathering thicker with each step.
The deeper they went, the more he felt his own fears gnawing at him, creeping in with the shadows. The weight of what lay ahead pressed against his mind, a tangled knot of worry for Tabitha and the others, but also for himself. He craved the solitude, a space to untangle the mess inside him, yet the world seemed to close in, heavy and expectant. Just as his thoughts sank into that dark place, Elara burst into his solitude with a flurry of wings and a glimmer of blue light.
“Am I doing enough?” he wondered aloud, his voice barely a whisper.
“Enough? Enough what?” Elara piped up, darting close to his face, her wings stirring the air like tiny whirlwinds. “I’ll say you are! Look at you—still standing! Still breathing! It’s practically a miracle, you know, with all those scary thoughts rolling around your noggin. The noggin’s a dangerous place!” She tapped his forehead lightly, her touch like a cool breeze.
The outskirts of Warren’s Run came into view just as dusk draped the sky in hues of amber and violet. The town nestled in a shallow valley, its thatched roofs and timbered buildings glowing in the warm lantern light. Thin trails of smoke curled from chimneys, filling the air with the scent of pine and warm bread—a smell that almost broke him. Voices drifted over the square, low and calm, a rare, welcome note of normalcy that contrasted sharply with the ruin they’d left behind.
“That village is way cuter than I thought!” she squeaked, her voice like bells on the edge of his consciousness. “Look at those roofs! Just like little hats, don’t you think? Like they’re getting ready to sing a tune.” She spun in the air, her tiny face aglow with delight, mimicking a cheerful melody that only she could hear. Her laughter danced through the dark, and for a moment, it chipped away at his gloom, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to smile.
Henry stifled a weary smile but stayed quiet, his thoughts drifting to the gnawing emptiness inside him. Days without a proper meal had left his body hollow, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. He pressed a hand against his stomach, trying to ignore the ache that seemed to sap his strength with every step. Elara darted down and studied his face with a tilted head.
“Hungry, huh? Just think of food! It’ll be almost as good as eating it! Remember that stew from the old woman with the six cats? Oh, she could make a mean stew! Or maybe just mean cats…” She trailed off, her wings buzzing in thought.
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If only, he thought. But it wasn’t just hunger that gnawed at him—it was the thought of his missing family, an ache that pulsed just beneath the surface, as persistent as a bruise. It seemed logical they might have been pulled into this world with him, yet the lack of any sign of them left him adrift in a sea of uncertainty. He glanced over at Tabitha, the little girl walking beside them, her doll clutched tight to her chest.
Yet as they drew closer, the scene shifted. Villagers paused mid-step, their routines forgotten, their eyes narrowing on the group in curiosity and suspicion. A mother hurried her children inside, and men exchanged cautious glances. Henry caught sight of Elara hovering beside him, a look of surprise on her face. “They’re staring! Oh, let’s stare back—it’ll be like a contest! Go on, Henry, give ‘em your most mysterious, heroic stare!”
He couldn’t help but chuckle at her antics, even as an elderly man stepped forward, leaning heavily on a gnarled staff. The man’s eyes were sharp beneath a furrowed brow, his silver beard tumbling over simple robes. He surveyed them, his gaze resting a little too long on Henry and Tabitha.
“Travelers at this late hour?” the elder called out, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
Their innkeeper stepped forward, her back straight despite the exhaustion that lined her face. “Elder, we seek refuge,” she began. “Our village was taken by the mists. We’ve nowhere else to go.”
Elara zipped close to his ear, her eyes sparkling mischievously despite the somber mood, and whispered, “Did you see their faces? Like you just announced a storm was coming!” She grinned, oblivious to the gravity of the moment. “I could probably do the storm effects, too, if you want some drama!” Without waiting for approval, she began making exaggerated rumbling sounds, her voice crackling and rolling like thunder. Her little hands spread wide as if she were conjuring lightning, and she bobbed in the air, adding a dramatic flicker that looked suspiciously like lightning strikes.
“The mists have not reached this far,” he said slowly, his gaze darkening as he stared at the exuberant fairy. “You bring troubling news.”
“We’ve lost everything,” the innkeeper continued, her voice faltering. “We ask only for shelter, a place to rest. We will work for our keep.”
A faint dizziness swept over Henry, blurring his vision. The day’s grueling journey, the hunger—it all rushed at him at once. He staggered slightly, steadying himself as Elara swooped down to inspect him.
“Oh no, no passing out! That won’t do. Here—think of strength! Just imagine yourself as…uh, maybe a big bear. A bear with an appetite! Rar!” She made a tiny roar, which earned her a weak smile.
The process of finding homes for the newcomers was both tedious and revealing. Elder Brynn led them from door to door, explaining their plight to each household. Some villagers welcomed the newcomers without a second thought, their kindness as warm as the lamplight spilling from their doors. Others hesitated, their guarded eyes betraying a reluctance borne of fear. The unspoken question hung in the air: what might these strangers, survivors of the mists, bring with them?
Henry observed quietly as each family was taken in. The blacksmith offered space in his workshop, clearing away tools and bits of metal with surprising gentleness. The baker swept out a storage room that still carried the faint scent of flour and yeast. The town’s sense of community was palpable, a well-worn tapestry of trust and shared burdens. Yet, despite the villagers’ hospitality, Henry felt like an outsider—a ghost watching life unfold from a distance.
“Look at them,” Elara murmured in his ear, her tone softer than usual. “All together, like the ends of a braid, weaving in and out of each other’s lives. Cozy, isn’t it?” She tilted her head, her gaze drifting over the scene with a mix of wonder and envy. “Almost like they don’t know the world is breaking.”