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“Alright, Price.”
The wind bit at her scarf, and the snow crunched under her boots as she walked. She pulled to a stop, though, and fisted her hand in her coat pocket.
Her skin was waxy pale - clinging to her bones like wet paper. She looked anorexic, nearly no flesh separating the sharp line of her jaw and her sandpapery surface. Her coat was a dark blue, that barely contrasted against the leaves of the trees surrounding her. Silver fastenings glinted in the sunlight. Her scarf whipped wildly in the wind, and covered the entire lower half of her face - only barely showing the line of her thin button nose, pink from the cold. Her hung in curtains down to her shoulders - a light shade of dirty blonde.
“Go into the forest,” she said to herself, eyes glittering with determination. “See her again. Come back with a star. Simple.”
She took her hands out of her pockets, to wrap her coat a little more snugly around her ribs.
Her feet crunched through the snow.
The trees cast shadows along her walkway. They stripped along her face like prison bars.
The call of a crow echoed in the distance.
Price didn’t stop walking.
It was only after minutes that crawled by like hours that something finally changed for Price.
Through the thick snowfall, something began to come into view.
Wood.
A bridge.
And a person.
He glanced up as Price walked towards him.
His hair was a deadly shade of black - with droplets of melted snow glittering like stars somewhere inside it. His teeth were crooked, but perfectly white. His eyes were a bright, glittering green.
He shifted slightly, so he was facing her as she came up to the bridge.
“I’d like to pass,” Price said, firmly.
The man raised an eyebrow. “Would you?”
“Yes.”
He gestured vaguely to the woods beyond.
“You’re going to die in those woods, you know,” he said, simply. Like it was the most apparent thing in the world.
Price raised an eyebrow. “Am I now?”
He hopped up, so that he was sitting on the railing of the wooden bridge. “Yep.”
“Are you a prophet, then?” Price said, taking another cautious step towards the bridge.
The man smiled, a little. “Of a sort.”
“Well. That’s wonderful.” Price glanced past him. “I’d like to pass, please.”
“Well. I’m not going to stop you,” he said, staring at her with those glittering eyes - that seemed to say to her,
Take caution, young one. And take fear.
Eyes that seemed so much older than the face they were socketed in.
“Well. Alright.” Price walked past him, glancing back briefly. “Goodbye.”
He gave her another tiny smile. “Goodbye, dead woman.”
She repressed a shudder as she walked away.
Wind chimes.
She’d been hearing them for a few minutes now, and only at this moment did Price finally realize what they were. Why they rung that vague bell of recognition in the back of her head, that seemed to tickle some little part of her preoccupied thoughts.
They were wind chimes.
They’d had a set of wind chimes, before…
Well. Before.
It had been just outside the door. On the porch. And birds had imitated the notes - chirping in the near distance on windy nights. The sound always brought a smile to her face.
It evoked nothing but a deep ache in the pit of her stomach, now.
She didn’t stop walking.
Her skin was buffeted by the wind.
But finally - finally - something began to appear in the distance.
It was a cabin.
Socketed into a neat little gap in the woods - like the world had carved out a hole especially for this hovel. Smoke billowed from its thin, spiraling chimney.
Price’s hand closed around the ice-cold knob, and twisted.
Instantly, a rush of heat hit her right in the face - and a voice began to shrilly call,
“Close it, close it close it!”
A figure rushed forward, shoving her lightly inside and slamming the door shut behind her.
The tiny figure breathed heavily, for a moment - before turning sharply towards her, and giving her a weird, crooked grin.
“Now - interested in buying a coffin?” they asked, a little more cheerfully than they should’ve considering the contents of the question.
A pipe stuck out from there mouth. Their lips were thin and chapped. Their hair was short and raggedy, dyed a shade of pale blue. Price couldn’t tell for the life of her if they were male or female - assuming they were either.
The inside of the cabin was incredibly cramped - with only enough room for a burning wood stove, a single table covered in books and empty bottles, and a stack of oddly-shaped boxes.
“Uh… pardon?” Price said, raising her eyebrows.
“A coffin!” the person chirped, hopping up onto a stack of what Price was just beginning to realize were open coffins and dangling their legs over the edge of one. “Lotsa folks die out here - and I provide a service! Find your body in these woods, and get you a proper burial.”
“And you… charge in advance for this?” Price asked, a little flatly.
The person gave her a sardonic smile. “Can’t really charge any other time, can I?”
“Ah. Right.”
“So? You interested?” They gave her a wide-eyed look. “These woods’ll take your life, y’know!”
“You’re still alive,” Price pointed out.
“Only because I stay shacked up!” they countered.
“Uh - yeah, no thanks. I’m not dying tonight,” Price said, firmly.
“Oh? You’re leaving?” they asked - like this was the only explanation for her not dying.
“Eventually.”
“Well, that’s good!” they said, relaxing in their coffin - which Price still couldn’t help but be a little creeped out by. “If you planned on going east, you’d die for sure! I might lose a customer, but I’d rather you didn’t die - these woods have enough ghosts as-is!”
“...I am going east,” Price said, raising an eyebrow.
“...Oh.” Their voice lost some of that cheer for the first time. “Well. I-”
A raggedy cough interrupted them.
Price ignored the light stirrings of concern in her gut, and instead resolved to leave as soon as possible. Their pipe was probably filling this place with cancerous smoke, and Price wasn’t going to die tonight - partially just to spite that weirdo from the bridge.
Plus - she had a job to do.
“I warn you,” they finally managed, fighting back their cough, “that place’ll take ya! The trees here move, y’know. Confuse your path.”
“Mm-hm,” Price hummed, already eyeing up the door. This person was clearly crazy.
“The only way you’ll be getting east is if you got the Forest God’s blessing, and he hasn’t granted one in quite a bit!”
Price blinked. “...The Forest God?”
“Yeah!” they said, leaning forward to peer at her intensely. “The god of this forest! With its blessing, you’d never have to worry about man and beast alike laying a malevolent finger on that horrible hair of yours-”
Price, instinctually, glanced worriedly at her hair.
“-I certainly wouldn’t try to go east without that blessing, girl!”
Price chewed her lip.
On the one hand, this person was clearly crazy - and it was quite possible that this god didn’t even exist.
On the other hand…
Gods were not to be taken lightly.
“...Thanks for the heads up,” Price said, stepping back. “I think I’ll go without the coffin, though.”
“Suit yourself!”
Price hurriedly left the cabin before the person could say another word.
She resolved not to enter the cabin again, if she could avoid it.
Crunch crunch crunch.
Price began to hum to herself as she walked.
Crunch crunch crunch. Crunch crunch crunch. Her steps provided a nice little rhythm - a slight gallop to her steps.
The wind bit at her heels.
Her humming slowly tapered out.
All was silent again - but for the crunching.
Crunch crunch crunch.
When she first saw the tiny shape emerge from the fog, she thought it was a sapling in the snow.
As she grew closer, though, that happy little idea began to die.
No. No, not a sapling.
An arm.
A blue, frozen, severed (hopefully) arm, sticking up from the snow - like something was desperately trying to reach out of the white, powdery slate.
“Oh. Well, that’s a good omen, I’m sure,” Price said to herself - trying to ignore the sickening feeling churning in her gut.
After a moment - she knelt by the arm, and dropped her head, closing her eyes.
“May you find peace,” she muttered to herself.
There was no answer for her prayer.
She stood again - and continued to walk.
“Pilgrim!”
Price blinked.
It was only when she glanced up that she saw the person that had called down to her.
He was… small. Very small. That was the first thing she noticed. She wouldn’t say he was a child - there was a certain way a child looked, that this person did not possess. But he was very short - short enough to be as young as five or so. His hair was white as the snow on the ground, and his mouth was pulled into a firm, unforgiving line - like Price had already done something he very much did not approve of.
He was also sitting on top of a high tree branch. The tree in question had no leaves, unlike the rest of the pines of the forest - and, instead, had a single wide hole in the trunk, and bark that was singed black.
She, weakly, lifted a hand and waved. “Hi.”
“I am Father Patience Forget-Not-God!” the man said - his voice was very high, too. Again, like a child’s.
“...I see,” Price said, for lack of anything better. “Nice hat.”
He did, indeed, have a nice hat. Conical - clearly religious. Green, with a yellow pattern on the face.
“Thank you!” he said - voice notably unchanged. “It was gifted to me when I was ordained!”
“Mm,” Price said, already looking for a way out of this conversation. She had other things to do.
“Would you like to say a prayer?” Father Patience whatever-he-said asked, peering at her sharply.
“...A prayer?” Price said, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes! A prayer!” the Father chirped, gesturing down at the tree. Like this was any kind of explanation.
“...At… this tree,” Price said, glancing at the tree in question.
“This is no ordinary tree, pilgrim!” he said, sounding deeply offended on behalf of the clearly ordinary tree. “This tree was blessed by Saint Orolony himself, when he made a pilgrimage of his own through this forest, and was blessed by our beloved Forest God, and thus, shown the way to the chasm and the red bell, and into His Holy Mountain!”
“Huh,” Price said, silently taking a moment to admire the Father’s breath support - he had managed to get out that whole sentence without a single pause. “How about that.”
“So? Are you going to say a prayer?” the Father asked again, peering at her.
“...I’m not sure what kind of prayer is… traditional, exactly,” Price said. “I’m not from around here, understand.”
“Oh! Well, it is simple!” the Father chirped, lifting his head. “Recite North’s Canticle!
When Price made no instant noise of recognition, Father Whatever sighed, and recited tiredly,
“In their wings, in their trees,
All things die, be at peace.
Cease all care, they are coming,
God of the Forest, carry us.”
“...Oh,” Price said, taking a moment to make sure she had it right - and then, she knelt, and lowered her head.
Softly - so that her voice only barely carried - she recited,
“In their wings, in their trees,
All things die, be at peace...
Cease all care, they are coming,
God of the Forest, carry us.”
A beat.
She glanced up, and opened her eyes. “Uhm… was that right?”
“Yes!” the Father said, waving her away. “Now, go on, pilgrim! Finish your journey - with the Forest God’s blessing painted upon your skin!”
“I… have its blessing?” Price asked. “I don’t… feel different.”
“I know not, pilgrim!” the Father said, as if this wasn’t concerning. “But you have done all you can to get it! If He finds you worthy, then He will grant you a blessing, whether you know it or not!”
“...Ah.”
“Now, go! Do not waste away here! There is nothing left for you at this blessed tree!”
“Yes, Father,” Price said tiredly - already happy to be walking away.
She resolved not to talk to the Father again if she could help it.
Price wrapped her jacket a little more snugly around her chest - and gently breathed onto her gloveless hands.
The rush of hot air did little to help bring sensation back to her skin.
She stuffed them into her pockets again.
...It was only after she had walked over the bridge that she realized it looked almost exactly the same as the one that strange man had been on before. The one who had said she was going to die.
...No. No, not almost exactly like it.
Exactly like it.
...She tried to ignore the concern stewing in her gut.
She was lost.
Price was secure enough in herself to admit that. She was desperately lost. She’d walked through this same stretch of woods at least twice at this point - she’d passed the frozen arm, and tree with the hole in it and black bark, and cabin with the spiraling chimney.
And she was back at the bridge.
Despite the fact that she hadn’t turned once.
…
She glanced up, and looked for the north star.
There. There it was.
She turned to the right.
There. East. Easy. She just had to go east.
She stopped when she saw the frozen arm again.
Glanced up.
...Okay, yep, she was still heading east. Perfect. She was going in the right direction.
And there was the tree with the black bark. No Father Whatever, though.
She glanced up.
...Still heading east.
Great.
She walked over the bridge. Again.
Glanced up.
Still east.
She heard the light, distant ringing of wind chimes.
Glanced up.
Still east.
She passed the coffin cabin.
Glanced up.
Still east.
...And there was the arm.
Again.
She glanced up.
...She was still heading east.
Without anything else to do - she kept walking.
Eastward.
The tree with the hole in its trunk, and black bark.
She glanced up - just to make completely sure.
Still east.
When she saw the bridge in the distance, though, she stopped trying to fool herself.
In near-desperation, she glanced up.
East.
Still east.
She hadn’t stopped going east at any point.
And yet… she was right back here.
…
She couldn’t give up.
She’d done her best to get a blessing. She’d come all this way.
And she’d made a promise.
…
Her foot landed on the bridge.
She resolved not to stop again.
Eastward.
Crunch crunch crunch.
She heard distant wind chimes.
Cabin.
Arm.
Tree.
Bridge.
Chimes.
Cabin.
Arm.
Tree.
Bridge.
Chimes.
Cabin.
Arm.
Tree.
Bridge.
Chimes.
Crunch crunch crunch.
She took her hands out of her pockets, for a moment.
It hurt to bend her fingers.
…
Crunch.
She had to stop.
It felt like it had been hours. The same loop, over and over. She couldn’t keep going.
She glanced at the cabin. The cabin she’d seen at least five times over.
Her hand gripped the ice-cold knob. This time, she struggled to bend her wrist properly.
The hinges creaked.
“Close-”
“I know,” she interrupted, stepping in and slamming the door shut behind her. Her voice came out as a shallow croak.
“Oh! It’s you again!” the person chirped, leaning over the edge of their coffin to peer at her. “How’s traversing east going?”
“Fine,” Price said, kneeling by the wood stove and opening it. She repressed the urge to just stick her hands into the fire, and instead held them as close as she could without singing any of her skin.
A little flare made specks of burning bark fly onto her palms. She flinched.
“You re-thought that offer?” the person chirped above her.
“No.”
“So you’re just here to hog the stove, eh?”
“Yes.”
They laughed easily. “Nothing wrong with that! Had a few wanderers need to do that from time to time. Just gives me longer to make a sales pitch, usually!”
“Mm.”
“But you ain’t much interested in a sales pitch, are ya?”
“Not particularly,” Price said, starting to feel the tell-tale pricklings of sensation coming back to her fingers.
“...What’re you out here for, anyway?”
“I’m finding the Frozen Lake,” she said. There was no room for negotiation in her voice.
“Oh! Well, where’s your supplies?”
Price blinked, and glanced up at them. “Pardon?”
“Your supplies!” they repeated, raising their eyebrows and grinning again. They did that too much. “Even if you can make the trip within a day, you still need the arm of a dead criminal and something to light it with to get there!”
“...What are you talking about?” Price asked, standing up and stuffing her (now warm) hands into her pockets again.
“Well, you’ve got to get to the Huncher’s Hollow, and only the alight arm of a dead criminal will lead the way to that accursed hovel,” they said, like it wasn’t completely insane.
“...You don’t say.”
“I do!” they said, grinning and leaning back again.
“...Well,” Price said, racking her brain for some way to make this trip work.
It was Longest Night, but it was already dark, meaning that if she went back now she’d have to wait another year to get her chance. And she didn’t want to do that.
On the other hand, she didn’t exactly have the arm of a criminal on hand…
…
Well. There was that arm in the snow, of course.
And really, who wasn’t a criminal, in at least one respect. The vast majority of people, especially adults, had committed a crime at some point. It was safe to assume that the person who had died in the snow had done so, as well.
And she had a fire right next to her.
…
She pushed down the disgust already stirring in her gut, and set out into the snow - ignoring the strange person’s hurried call of ‘uh - goodbye!’ after her.
She had her a frozen arm to find.
Please don’t be attached please don’t be attached please don’t be attached-
She yanked harshly at the frozen arm - ignoring the awful sensation of frost melting against her hand.
It came right out of the snow - severed cleanly at the elbow.
Price, instantly, repressed the urge to gag.
And then repressed the rising curiosity in her gut, about why exactly this arm was severed.
Instead - she simply set back towards the cabin, trying to imagine that the stiff object in her hand was just a walking stick.
It didn’t quite work, but it stopped her from gagging again.
“Clos-- uh.”
“Sorry,” Price said, opening up the wood stove and trying not to look the coffin seller directly in the eye. “I need to use your stove.”
“Wha- to set an arm on fire??”
“Shhhh,” she murmured, sticking the arm into the wood stove slowly. When she saw the fire flare in that way, she gently took the arm out again - now with a little, whispering flame on the end, that was slowly growing larger.
“That is messed up,” the coffin-seller said above her, peering over her.
“You’re telling me,” she deadpanned, already reaching for the door again. “...Thanks.”
“Uh - no problem?” she heard them say, as she left.
Trudging through the snow, with an on-fire arm as her guiding light, Price had nothing to do but think.
She very much didn’t want to think about the putrid smell of burning flesh that was drifting through the air.
She also didn’t want to think about whose arm this was, and what they might think about her burning their remains.
She didn’t even really want to think about why she was out here.
…
She just did her best not to think.
Soon enough, her mind was being lulled into a kind of… drifting stupor. Until all she heard was the gentle crunch of her footsteps, and all she felt was the refreshing bite of the ice-cold wind against her face.
“To the Huncher’s Hollow,” she muttered to herself. “...Whatever that is.”
The flame on the end of the arm flickered.
It was only when she heard the sound of the wind change slightly that she glanced up.
When she did, it became clear that she’d either gone the wrong direction… or that crazy coffin seller had been right.
The fog was thinner, here. It drifted over frozen dirt and mud, and a field of trees - all completely leafless. Something about the way the light hit the drifting fog, and the slight coat of ash that seemed to coast through the air, made the entire forest an odd shade of aqua-marine.
It smelled like gasoline and burnt wood.
Suddenly, the image of that burnt tree that the Father had been sitting on flashed through her mind.
...Somebody had torched these woods.
A creeping dread began to settle in her stomach as she walked.
When she glanced down, though, she noticed that the lit arm - her guiding light - had vanished.
She repressed the urge to jump slightly.
...That creeping dread started to feel more suffocating than creeping.
The oddest thing that unsettled her, though, was that there was no crunch when her foot met the ground. Just a very light thud.
The rhythmic crunching had been her only constant companion throughout this journey, and without it, a part of her felt… lost.
She shrugged off the dread, though, and let her shoulders square in stubbornness instead.
Time to see what this ‘Huncher’s Hollow’ was all about.
After just a minute or so of walking, something began to emerge from the fog.
A house.
There was nothing special about it. Not anything particular, anyway. A simple a-frame roof (it seemed, anyway - Price had a view of the side, so she couldn’t be entirely sure), wooden walls, thick, sturdy chimney. Nothing about it to cause any shuddering dread to drip down her spine.
Price, gingerly, walked towards the steps that led up to the porch - which had icicles forming on its edges.
She hesitated before putting her foot on the first step.
She glanced around.
There was no other way through. Nothing but the porch. The house was almost completely surrounded by brambles - the fastest, safest, and simplest method to get through would be simply walking across the porch.
Besides, there were no indications that the house was even occupied. There was no smoke coming out of the chimney. No noises coming from inside. Nothing.
No reason to find the place so deeply unsettling. No reason to feel some strange, half-formed desire to run around the brambles and take an extra few minutes to avoid stepping on that porch.
…
She glanced around, at the front side of the house.
The door had odd patterns scratched into it.
But there was nothing to indicate that the place was in any way… strange.
Nothing at all.
Nothing to stop her from walking on that porch, jumping off the other side, over the brambles, and continuing east. To the Frozen Lake. To the end of this voyage.
Her goal was just within reach.
And all she had to do was… walk across a porch.
…
Her foot landed on the first step.
It didn’t even make a sound.
And yet - she heard a voice shriek through the door of the house,
“Who’s there?!”
Price froze.
The voice was old. Very, very old - clearly female. Shrieking and coarse, like the sound of striking a stone against metal.
“...Hello?” Price said, before she could really stop herself.
A sweeping sound - like a gust of wind picking up a sheet of leaves.
Price landed with a thud.
There was an explosion of dust - and a hacking cough began to tear through her lungs. The musty taste of cobwebs coated her mouth.
She desperately pounded at her chest, trying to grapple any form of understanding and coherence after the sudden change of surroundings.
It was only once her cough subsided that Price began to hear the distant mutterings of voices.
She glanced around.
She was in what looked like a basement. The walls were wood, and cobwebs coated nearly every surface - though the only spiders to be found were corpses on the ground, oftentimes already squashed by a careless boot. There were two neat stacks of firewood next to her, and gardening tools were lined up on the wall. A broom was leaned carelessly against a box, and there was a staircase at the end of the room.
The mutterings grew louder above her.
She managed to struggle to her feet, and walked towards the stairs - with nowhere else in sight to go.
She hesitated before putting her foot on the first step - but saw no other option.
She began to climb the steps.
As she did, the voices grew clearer - until she could make out,
“There are old bodies in the north.”
She blinked, and didn’t stop climbing.
“Where the ground never thaws.”
She could recognize the voice, now. It was the same one who had called out when she was on the porch.
Speaking of which… how the hell was she here, anyway?
“Frozen in the ice and dirt for millennia.”
She climbed the last step, and glanced around.
The first thing she saw was the woman.
She was standing near the back of the room. Her entire body was contorted oddly - a permanent slouch to her back, arms short and spindly like a t-rexs. She had a simple loop of an earring in one ear, and her hair was spiky and grey. She had a hat on - a simple beanie. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her mouth was drawn.
She was tall, too. Inhumanly so. Her shirt was a patchwork quilt, that hung down below her knees. Her eyes were socketed a little too deep into her skull. She was tan, and her skin was sandpapery.
“In some of them there is a sickness, against which we are no longer strong.”
Price blinked - trying to figure out if the woman was talking to her, or herself, or someone else.
“Someday, the earth will warm, and the ice will melt.”
Price, distantly, heard the soft honking of what sounded like a cornett.
“And that sickness will finish its work on us,”
“That began when we were first born.”
A resounding silence followed this dramatic declaration.
Suddenly - the woman glanced up sharply.
“Kid! Will you please stop that honking?!!”
Price - instinctually - glanced up, too.
There was a small girl, sitting on the rafters of the room. She had a horn in her tiny hands. Her skin was pale, and her jacket was thin and simple - a shade of indistinct mud brown.
The girl removed the horn from her lips, and smirked. “Nope.”
She began her honking tune again.
“...Fine,” the woman grumbled.
“No respect, this one,” she said suddenly, turning to Price sharply.
“...Indeed,” Price said, soft enough so that no confusion rang clear in her voice. “Could you-”
“I’m going to leave you where they’ll never find you!” the woman said, glaring up at the kid again.
The kid just laughed softly.
“Could you point me to the Frozen Lake?” Price tried again.
“You just show up here, demanding information?” the woman said, glaring fiercely at her. Glaring fiercely seemed to be her resting face.
Her eyes drifted
“Ugh. We all just show up. It’s staying that’s the problem.”
Suddenly, she turned to Price again - this time with a slightly more sly glare.
“But that won’t be a problem with you, girl.”
“...Is that a very vague threat?” Price asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Her? Vague threats?” the kid said sardonically from the rafters. “Fat chance.”
“Oh, I’ll be specific with you, kid!” the woman said fiercely, glaring again. “I’m going to bury your pieces in a lonely hollow. No - no, not even bury them! I didn’t bury the last one! And she did chores!”
“Your family will never find you,” she finished, with a fierce kind of satisfaction.
“Oh nooo. Not that,” the kid deadpanned, before instantly going back to her honking.
“...Is this your usual dynamic?” Price asked, glancing between them.
“This is everything’s dynamic. The dynamic of all things,” the woman said - like it was the most profound thing to ever leave human lips. “It was no different for her. They didn’t even give you a name at the sawmill, did they, kid? Just kid?”
“Um, excuse me - the full name was sawmill kid,” ‘Sawmill Kid’ said, playing with the valves on her horn.
“Well, now you’re just kid,” the woman said.
Price glanced up at Kid.
“They didn’t name you?” she asked, softly. Voice kinder than usual.
Kid didn’t answer.
“You never realize how little and how much you need a name,” the woman said, “until they refuse you yours.”
“...Mm. Well, I need to get to the Frozen Lake,” Price said.
Suddenly - the woman began to sniff the air.
“...I can smell the Forest God’s blessing on you,” she said, suddenly.
Price raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”
“If you knew anything, you’d wash until it came off with your skin,” she muttered fiercely, snarling.
“You don’t say,” Price deadpanned.
She heard Kid snort.
“When you leave,” the woman said, apparently not noticing the insult, “you’re going down into the brambles like all the others. And when I go out onto my porch, I’ll look out onto the Hollow. And nothing will be stirring. And that will be what happened to you.”
“I’m sure,” Price said. “Are you going to kill me, then?”
“No.”
Price raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because of that smell.”
“...Ah.”
“What are you, anyway?” she asked, suddenly.
Price considered the question.
“...I’m an astronomer,” she said, eventually. “Former apprentice.”
“Oh, honey,” she said. “All of those stars in your head. They’ll go out like candles tonight.”
“...And what are you?” Price asked - more out of politeness than curiosity.
“The Forest God isn’t really a god,” the woman said, instead of answering. “I am twice their size. I am twice as real. Honestly, whoever you are, you’re probably twice as real as they are. Who are you, anyway?”
“Price,” Price said, simply.
“...”
“That’s it?” Kid said, suddenly, from the rafters - leaning over to peer at her.
“Yes. That’s it.”
“...Well-”
“Shut it, Kid.”
Price took a solemn step back, moving for the stairs. “Exit is down here. Right?”
“Look out for those brambles, girl!”
Price ignored her, and descended the stairs.
Indeed - if she had just turned around - she would’ve seen the exit.
She didn’t bother to wonder how she’d gotten in here. Or who that woman was. Or what was up with the Kid.
None of that was her business.
She just left.
She hopped neatly off the edge of the porch, and landed with a thud.
Without thinking, she glanced behind her - towards the thick bush of brambles at the edge of the house.
Her bones ached.
It had been a long night.
Her hand fisted in her jacket pocket.
Just a little longer, Price. You’re almost there.
Just a little longer.
She turned east again.
It was about time she ended this journey.
As she walked, she heard the dull thud of her boot landing on frozen mud slowly become the familiar crunch of trampled snow.
She began to hum, below her breath.
She didn’t quite remember the lyrics of this song. It was one that Mom had sung a lot, back home. Before she’d left. Price only barely remembered the melody.
The aimless, floating humming drifted off into the endless woods as she walked.
Crunch crunch crunch.
Not too long now.
She was almost there.
Almost there.
Price stopped. Cold.
There was a figure, in the distance.
Slowly - very, very slowly - she began to walk again.
It was him. The man with black hair and old eyes. The one who’d told her she was going to die.
He was sat on a stump, high above her.
She looked up at him as she approached.
“...You were wrong, you know,” she said - not even really sure why she bothered speaking to him.
He raised an eyebrow. “Was I?”
“I didn’t die in there,” Price said, voice just a little triumphant. And maybe a little smug, too.
“The night isn’t over yet.” He smiled softly at her. “But yes, you managed to survive. I’ve never died in there either, though, so forgive me if I’m not too impressed you managed it once.”
“...Who are you?”
“Pardon?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Like… who are you? Why are you out here? What are you?” Price said - not quite sure why curiosity suddenly bubbled in her gut.
“...I’m a thief,” the man said. “I take what I need. Find the warmest place to shack up at night. Eat food meant for others’ mouths. And I survive.”
“Who are you?” Price repeated.
“Does it really matter?”
Price didn’t answer.
“...Corvin,” the man - Corvin - said, after a long pause. “My name is Corvin.”
“Just Corvin?” Price asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Just Corvin,” Corvin said, with a soft, wistful smile. “...And who are you?”
“Price.”
Corvin gave her the widest smile yet - a small smirk. “Just Price?”
“Just Price,” she said, not smiling back.
“Well - you’ve caused a bit of trouble tonight, Price.”
Price’s expression didn’t change. “So be it.”
“You know - the Forest God, the Huncher, her child. None of those things are your business,” Corvin said, peering at her with those wide, old eyes. “This is their forest. Leave all of that here.”
“I’m an astronomer,” Price said. “It may be their forest, but it’s under my sky.”
Corvin gave her another tiny smirk. “I bet that sounded great in your head.”
“It sounded great when I said it, Corvin,” Price deadpanned, glaring at him.
He laughed softly. “Goodbye, Astronomer Price. Happy Longest Night.”
“Happy Longest Night,” Price said, mostly on instinct - already walking past him, and towards the glittering surface of the Frozen Lake.
It was about time she got her star.
On the Frozen Lake, her footsteps sounded… different.
Almost like the light ringing of distant wind chimes. Sparkling, and young. Flute-like.
The lake glittered - like an ocean of black beneath her.
Suddenly - she heard a voice behind her.
“...I was afraid you’d forgotten.”
Chloe smiled.
“Of course I didn’t. I made a promise, after all.”
“...How’re things back home?”
“Decent. Pretty much the same,” Chloe said - and a note of youth and softness rung through her voice. “Victoria and Kate finally got together.”
She heard the distant voice laugh softly - and a deep ache pulsed through her whole body. “Took them long enough.”
“They threw a party,” Chloe said - and a smile tugged at her lips. “Vic’s gone totally soft. Even lets Kate call her Tori. She’s so lovestruck that I’m shocked she doesn’t have a concussion.”
“...That’s really great.”
“...Yeah.”
The smile slipped off her face.
“I know you can’t stay long.”
“I can’t.” Chloe heard the sad smile in her voice. “So ask.”
“Did you find the ghost star?”
“I did. My first night here.”
“Where is it?” Chloe asked, peering at the perfect reflection of the sky on the surface of the Frozen Lake.
“...There.”
Chloe couldn’t see her point - but she didn’t have to.
The star glittered blue in the moonlight.
“You’ll remember, right?”
“Of course.”
There was a hushed pause.
“You know,” Chloe said, peering down, “it’s weird. It was always there. I just… had no way of seeing it.”
“...Isn’t that how all this is?” the voice said, a smile in her voice. “Astronomy? We’re taught to see things we had no way to see before? See these lines in our skies that aren’t really there?”
“...They look so close,” Chloe murmured, glancing up at the sky. “Close enough to touch. There’s this thing, bigger than I can even think about. And between us is this sheet of black. And whenever I think about it, I feel like I’m going to overflow. And yet… they look close enough to touch.”
“They are,” the voice whispered to her. And her voice, too, sounded so very far away - and yet, she could hear the whisper without a problem. “They’re close enough to touch, Chloe. We draw these lines between them, and give them a name. And give ourselves a name for doing so. It all makes this… connection. And that becomes the thing we can touch.”
“...I’m gonna miss you all over again now.”
There was a heavy pause.
“...I can’t stay.”
Chloe - silently - closed her eyes.
“...Goodbye, Chloe.”
“...Goodbye, Max,” she whispered - voice too choked to come out quite right.
The ghost star faded into the ocean of black again.