The night grew darker.
The pale moon—once a gentle coin in the sky—was slowly swallowed by thick, shifting clouds. The trees leaned in close, whispering in a language made of rustling branches and sighing leaves. The air carried the scent of damp pine and forgotten rain.
Luna pressed on, barefoot and shivering, her breath shallow, catching on the edges of her ribs. Luwi walked beside her—silent, smooth, a flicker of shadow between trees. His black coat melted into the gloom, but his sea-blue eyes still caught what little light remained.
She hugged her arms tight around herself, voice rising softly, almost to the trees, almost to herself.
> "I have to find them, you know... They're waiting for me. I know they are. They promised they would."
Luwi tilted his head.
> "Even after all this time?"
Luna nodded earnestly, her braid bobbing.
> "Time doesn't matter. Not when it's your family. You wait forever if you have to."
Luwi gave a faint hum.
> "Forever is a long time to walk barefoot."
> "I don't mind." She glanced down at her bleeding feet, wincing. "Well… maybe a little."
He chuckled, low and teasing.
> "You've always been dramatic."
> "Have not!" she puffed, though a grin tugged at her lips.
> "You sobbed for four days when your pet worm died."
> "It was not a worm, it was a caterpillar! And he had a name."
> "Wiggles, I believe?"
> "You remember!" she gasped, delighted.
> "Unfortunately," he sighed with mock pain. "I even remember his funeral. You made me dig the tiniest grave in the garden."
> "You brought the rose petal shroud!" she shot back, laughter in her voice now, despite the cold. "You liked Wiggles."
> "He was an excellent listener."
They both smiled as thunder rumbled far off, slow and deep like a beast turning in sleep.
The wind carried a scattering of leaves around them. Rain began to fall, soft at first, brushing their skin like fingers. Luna looked up, blinking as droplets caught on her lashes.
> "It's going to rain," Luwi murmured.
> "We should hurry, then."
His voice dropped to something slower, more thoughtful, like the first notes of a memory.
> "Follow me. I know the path to your house."
Luna stopped short, eyes wide with wonder.
> "You do? Really?"
He turned slightly, his smile small, almost sly.
> "Of course. You trust me, don't you?"
Luna hesitated… then nodded.
> "I do."
> "Then keep up. You walk like a sleepy duck."
> "Luwi!" she gasped.
> "A noble, dainty duck," he corrected. "With perhaps one slightly cursed toe."
She shoved him lightly with her elbow, laughing even as tears rimmed her eyes again.
Luna stepped over a puddle, nearly slipping.
> "Ugh, these roots are everywhere."
Luwi caught her arm, steadying her with a smirk.
> "Careful. The trees like to trip people who grumble too much."
> "Do they?" she asked, frowning at the nearest pine.
> "Mhm. Especially little girls who try to boss the forest around."
Luna huffed, brushing mud from her dress.
> "Well, they should mind their own roots. I didn't ask for a rain-soaked obstacle course."
> "Maybe they think you're too loud," Luwi teased. "You've been talking to yourself since we left."
> "I was not! I was talking to you."
> "But I wasn't listening," he said innocently.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
> "Rude."
Luwi grinned.
> "Admit it—you missed me."
Luna crossed her arms dramatically.
> "Hmm… Maybe. Just a little."
> "Only a little?"
> "A very tiny, barely-there, almost invisible little."
Luwi gasped, hand to heart.
> "Wounded. Deeply wounded."
Luna giggled, and for a moment, the rain didn't feel so cold.
Then, quieter:
> "I haven't laughed this hard since… since the witch caught me."
Her smile faded even as the words left her lips. The warmth dissolved, as if laughter itself had reminded her of the cold.
Luwi's smile flickered, then vanished. His gaze slid sideways, sharp for just a heartbeat, his voice low and careful.
> "The witch?"
Luna nodded slowly. Her voice changed—stiffened—like thread pulled too tight.
> "She says it's dangerous. I ask too many questions. That the past should stay buried."
She glanced down at her feet, then back at the trees as if the shadows themselves were listening.
> "But she doesn't know anything," she went on, the edge of bitterness creeping into her tone. "She locked all the doors. She took my letters. Said it was for my own good."
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, eyes flicking to the darkness between the pines.
> "But it wasn't. It was just to make me forget."
Luwi's voice came softer now, the teasing gone:
> "And did you?"
Luna shook her head, her braid dripping rainwater.
> "Not a single thing. Not Mama's laugh. Not Papa's song. Not the way the roof turned golden in the evening light... I remember it all."
Raindrops slid down her cheeks, blending with the quiet shimmer of her tears. Her thin dress clung to her skin. But still, her voice held that steady, fragile resolve:
> "I'll find them. No matter what the witch says."
They walked on. The pine needles beneath their feet made no sound. Mist curled around them, thickening like breath held too long. The trees swayed, their branches heavy with rain, leaning in to listen.
And something else listened, too.
Luwi slowed for a heartbeat, his gaze flicking toward the dense shadows between the trees. His expression shifted—just slightly.
Luna noticed.
> "What is it?" she whispered, pausing beside him.
He blinked, then gave a small shake of his head.
> "No… nothing. Just the wind."
He offered her a faint smile—too quick.
> "Come on. We're close."
Luna hesitated, eyes still on the place he'd looked. The mist moved like it was breathing.
But she didn't ask again.
They stepped forward into the hush of the forest, the path curling ahead like a ribbon through the rain.