Dust

XXXI

The house sits in a gray and still silence around me, and it has to be at least four in the morning.

I've spent the last hour, about, preparing myself for the journey ahead of me. The backpack on my back is heavy with water bottles, snacks that will hopefully support me until I find more somehow, and not to mention a ton of weapons. My most prized possession, however, rests in a special place inside of my boot. If I don't find Gael in the forest and take care of him, I'll find him in the human world. Either way, he'll be dead and I won't.

I sit at a barstool in my kitchen, my flashlight resting on top of the counter. Its beam illuminates the paper I've taped to the granite, and with a deep breath, I pick up my pen and begin to write:

Damien, Mother, and Finn—

First of all, I don't want any of you to worry about me. I'll be home as soon as I can, but right now, I need to end the boy that ruined me. You can't tell me that I'm being naïve or that rage is blinding me, because, well, I'll be gone before you have a chance to. In fact, since you're reading this, I already am gone. I've gone after Gael to end his life, and as soon as he no longer breathes, I'll be on my way back. I know what you're thinking, but if you loved him the way I thought I did, you would do the same.

So, like I said, don't worry about me, because I'm more than prepared. I can defend myself, considering I've been training to do since I was ten. I promise I'll come back to you. I love all of you.

Sincerely,

G. R. A. 

P. S. Dame, please tell Sloane I'm sorry.

I set the pen down, careful not to make much noise, then rise from my seat and head out the front door.

I draw my jacket tighter around my shoulders, tightening my grip on the straps of my backpack. One part of me is telling me to turn around and go back inside and go back to sleep, but the other is urging me forward. I flip my hood up, turning to face the forest, willing myself to carry this out. I'll find Gael, I'll get rid of him, and I'll come home. It's easy. It seems easy. It must be easy. I won't give up, no matter how homesick I get. I have been in the forest too many times to be in any real danger, right?

I reach the trees, mostly coniferous, and for a second simply stand at the border. I'm as small as an ant in front of these ancient plants—from which the forest gets its name—years upon years hidden in their bark. They were here when I was born, they were here when I first started training, and they were here the night my father died. They'll be here when I take my last breath, shutting my eyes to never open them again. I shudder a little, and not because it's chilly.

I trudge forward, the chirping of crickets more pronounced now that I'm so much closer. Above my head, the wind causes leaves to sway, their shadows dancing across my skin. I pull out my flashlight again, forcing it on. I'm certainly on edge; every noise and every sensation adding to my discomfort. It doesn't matter if it's a frog, an owl, or just the wind rustling the bushes; I'm prepared for the worst.

I walk for what seems like hours, wandering rather aimlessly. A map would be useful, but the Ancient Forest is so vast that no such thing exists; I remember telling Gael that, that anyone who wandered too far never really came back. That was before, when I was still oblivious to all he was hiding from me.

Eventually I become so exhausted that I have to rest. The sky's just beginning to lighten, so I know this is untimely, but rest is rest. Using twigs and a blanket I'd rolled up in my bag, I craft a makeshift shelter and lie down underneath it, wondering if this really was a good idea. It doesn't matter. I may already be in too far to go back now. Who knows how far I've travelled in two hours? Could be miles. Time seems useless in a place so dense.