“Why do we have a sword in our house, mama?” My eyes shine as if not asked for the first time, I admire Mama’s sword with the emblem of a rose on its hilt that’s always stood in the bin by our front door for as long as I can remember. Turning my gaze towards Mama, chewing my lip, noticing her troubled expression. Her brown hair is braided, hanging over a shoulder as she sits and embroiders.

“No one else has them in their houses and they hate em’ even though this one’s so pretty. Why?”

Jeraldyne heaves a sigh at my question. “Ah… Halima. We won’t speak of this all over.”

“Mama… why?” I pout.

Mama frowns and mutters, “Fine. I’ll at least tell you one thing, Halima, not as though I haven’t before. As you know, my father died some ten or so years ago, leaving it to me. Would you give away something left behind by someone so precious to you?”

Thinking, I frown and nod, understanding. I walk over to the bin and poke the rose where the petals fold ever smaller inward. 

Mama says, “Don’t you ever touch it Halima. Weapons are dangerous.”

“Why don’t you put it inside that weird metal chest in the attic if it’s so scary? I don’t think so, anyway.”

“Quiet, Halima. That’d be…” Her lips twist. “This’ just the way things have always been and always will be.” Her needle thingies click against each other as she embroiders. “I keep things just the way they were when he was here.”

“Okay, I guess.” My lips purse. I wonder if she’ll ever let me play with it.

Mama mumbles to herself, clicking away as she works. “If the place changes too much, it feels like…”

“...Feels like he won’t be here anymore?” I ask, looking around. I don’t see him anymore, so Grandpa isn’t. It’s silly to believe in ghosts, isn’t it? Does Mama really believe he’s still here?

“Yeah. That’s right. Souls linger in Euphonia. When we die, our souls linger as guardian spirits. At least, the oldest of legends say so.”

“I don’t believe in that kinda stuff.” I shake my head. “When you’re dead, you’re gone, right?”

“Look at the monsters, Halima.” Mama says, stopping embroidering for a moment to look firmly at me. “They’re proof of our faith and our curse, our sins hauntin’ us. We made the goddess right angry at us and we richly deserve the punishment.”

Tilting my head thoughtfully, I purse my lips and an idea comes to mind. “You mean that thing ‘bout how people turn into awful things when they die? But that’s sillier, too! How could you believe…”

Mama sets her knitting down and walks over to me with a fierce expression in her eyes.

I’m only eight years old now, but I’ve figured out lots of things by now that no one else seems to get. “The pilgrims are all idiots, Mama! You already told me all about how Grandpa always said… that he said that we should just up and leave sometime…”

Mama slaps me hard with a fierce expression, leaving me to gape in shock. “My father was a very impious man, Halima. He was given to boasting and sometimes bendin’ the truth. Much as I love him, he loved this sword and the thrill of the life of an adventurer more than anything else, myself included.”

Nursing my reddened cheek, I sob softly. “If that’s true, why did he stay here and take care of everyone? He could’ve been out having lots of fun adventurers out there. There’s gotta be far more fun things out there!”

“Halima! Be silent!” Jeraldine yells. “My father was weak, tired, and old. He had nowhere else to go, of course. When I turned around twenty, he got sick and stayed that way a long time. When he finally died, I cremated him to make sure he wouldn’t rise and turn against the community.”

That doesn’t make any sense to me… “He wouldn’t, mama! Family doesn’t hurt family, and he was a hero!”

My head rings as Mama slaps me again, even harder. Her expression is fierce and tears run from her eyes. “I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes, child. You’re too young to speak of such things. We’ve all tried to forget all the misery the Demon Baron and the goddess both have thrown at us, but these are the facts, Halima.”

Clutching at my face, breaking out in tears, I look at Jeraldyne with wide eyes. She never hit me like this before. Why?

“Child, don’t assume that you know my father better than me.” Jeraldyne shakes her finger under my nose. “He wasn’t your grandfather. You have no right to call him that!”

“But… I… if you’re my mama… he… he…”

Jeraldyne draws her hand back, quivering with upset.

“Respect our faith, Halima. If you ever break our traditions, Alvera will deliver her divine punishment onto your head just like that poor woman that…” Jeraldyne claps a hand over her own mouth.

Stepping away from Mama, I shy away from her, fearing this untypical outburst of anger from her. “But I just want to be just like him, Mama… I… Why can’t he be my grandfather? You used gush about him years ago and even the other pilgrims—”

“HALIMA!” she yells at me and runs at me in a rage like one of those monsters out from her tales with a mottled, red face.

Crying, I sprint out from the inside of our house, towards the riverbank. A place where I can think and cry alone for a while. My feet stop pounding on the ground when I break through the brush at the riverbank and drop into a crouch at the sandy bank to gaze at my reflection. My face is red, my eyes red and there’s red marks standing out on my face from where Mama slapped me. My blonde hair shines in the sunlight and my blue eyes glimmer wetly, though wouldn’t anything look kinda wet reflected in a river? Kneeling with a trembling lip, I pick up a river stone and throw it as far out onto the river as I can put it there.

My eyes become hazy as I think. I don’t look anything like Mama. Maybe that’s why he’s not my grandfather. Is it really true? Family doesn’t hurt family, right? I sniffle softly, hoping Mama will come after me and apologize for having slapped me really hard, but she doesn’t. Why not? My Mama’s gentle and kind, right?

A hand gently pokes me from behind and I look over my shoulder. “Mama!” I exclaim, blushing when I see that it’s just stupid Gardenine.

“Oh…” she says softly, looking downcast for my sake. “What’s wrong, Halima?”

With a whimper, I throw my arms around Gardenine, sobbing. 

“What happened?” she asks.

Silent for a while, I just let it all out as I cry on Gardenine’s shoulder. She pats my back until I pull away, looking away.

Gardenine watches me squat down on the bank and finally settles down next to me to throw rocks with me into the river, wordless. She gives me time to gather myself and I start to feel better. I’m grateful for her company.

“Mama hit me hard.” I finally admit, taking my soft shoes off to dip my legs and feet into the cool water. My eyes lock onto my toes, their distorted image wavering under the stream’s surface and the rush of water flowing between my toes feels wonderful.

“Oh… my own Daddy’s hit me one or twice.” Gardenine sounds like she’s almost bragging about it. “He was always right. Right? I was playin’ in our garden and messed some things up, diggin’ around and accidentally killed some crops. I think I told ya about when that happened, right?”

I nod, looking at my only friend with a small smile. “Yeah. I guess it had to happen sometime, but I don’t think I did anything wrong like that. All I did was ask again about why Mama keeps Grandpa’s sword around.”

Gardenine giggles, shaking her head. “Everyone says your Mama Jeraldine has been a little crazy ever since her father died, leaving her alone and then she mysteriously had you. Used to sing alone loud enough that everyone could hear her outside her hut.” Gardenine giggles softly and as something occurs to her, she looks at me with narrowed eyes, tilting her head. “Hey, Halima. Have you heard about where you came from, yet?”

I shake my head negatively and sigh, shrugging. “Nah… Mama doesn’t wanna talk about it. Maybe I’m from another village or something where more of our family lives.”

Gardenine thinks about that, toying with her long brown hair. “I don’t… I don’t think either of you were pilgrims. Jeraldyne doesn’t completely try to fit in with us. She keeps that rusty old sword around, making people look crossways at her for that. More than that, she’s alone with you, Halima. Never did she try to take a husband among us, so if not a pilgrim, where did you come from?”

Chewing my lip, I jerk my head negatively. “I don’t know. She won’t even tell me where babies come from.”

Gardenine looks at me and her nose wrinkles. “I… I don’t either. I think it happens when you get married, like magick.”

“Oh… maybe… There’s lots of weird things in this world we don’t understand.” I giggle and she starts laughing with me, picking up another river stone, she skips it across the stream.

Watching it splash down where a duck rests in a slow current, startling him into flight, Gardenia looks at me again. “Did you find out much more about your mama’s dad? I’ve been thinking and wondering about it. The only man what  got close to your mama was him. So… um… did he… and she… and then they made magick together and you?”

“N-no!” I stand and stomp angrily, splashing water around. “They didn’t make magick together! Mama doesn’t know any!”

Garenine scowls and shrugs, standing. “You know, I’ve overheard other pilgrims say some indecent things about you and her sometimes, but…”

I gasp loudly, my eyes wide. “Th-They gossip about us and say mean things? Why? Mama’s pretty and her embroidery’s…”

“That doesn’t matter much, Halima,” Gardenine says firmly. “You’re both outsiders. At the end of the day, you haven’t always been pilgrims like us. Everyone says the southerners are immoral and impious beasts. If you weren’t always a pilgrim, that means you had to have been one…”

“Gardenine, that’s mean! Why would you imply that Grandpa and Mama would… and why are you saying we’re not pilgrims?” Waving my hands wildly, I blush furiously.

“So, that’s not right?” Gardenine stands, frowning. “Fine, if I’m wrong, where did you come from? Like I said, she never courted any men.”

“I don’t know!” I yell at Gardenine. Responding to my anger, she gets an angry look on her face and we start glaring at each other. Why is she badgering me? Does it really matter where I came from? Where did SHE come from? The moon?

“You don’t look anything like her.” Gardenine, cooling off, paces back and forth, adding, “She has dark hair and yours is bright-colored. You’re really skinny and she’s plump. People I asked told me that her dad was a little overweight just like her when he built his house here.”

“Don’t talk like that about my grandpa! He wasn’t fat and my mama isn’t either!”

“Of course, she is.” Gardenine huffs and grits her teeth. “Are you blind? Jeraldyne is really fat! Lying doesn’t get a person anywhere or so my folks say. Anyway, ever since you appeared, she got even fatter.”

Blinking at her insults, I scream. “Ahhhhhhhh!!! She isn’t fat!” How can I shut her up about this? Was she always a horrible person? No, how can I get back at her?!

“I’m sorry, Halima,” Gardenine says with a firm look in her eyes. “But, I’ll say this again. I don’t think you’re really one of us with that golden hair of yours. What kind of a name is Halima, anyway? None of us has a foreign-sounding name like yours.”

“What kind of a name is ‘Gardenine’ supposed to be?” I ask, belligerently. “I bet your daddy went outside your house when they did magick and you were born. He probably looked at that garden you like to play in and decided to name you after it, Gardenine!”

Gardenine gapes at the insinuation, shock painting her face darkly with growing fury. “Halima!”

She stamps on the ground and splutters, shouting, “What did your father do? U-um… OH! You don’t have one! Your mama, did she have a bowl of lima beans one morning, laughed really hard and had you? HA-Lima beans!”

My eyes widening in outrage, feeling embarrassed for her unclever, nasty reply, I’m unable to contain myself. Throwing myself at Gardenine, we wrestle, falling together into the river, pushing each other back and forth, throwing each other deeper into the river, the both of us screaming and hollering. Without noticing it, we tussle ever closer to the most rapid and dangerous currents. Splashing at each other, our screaming gets louder and ever more shrill as we battle, drawing close enough to slap it out. Gardenine grabs a handful of my hair and swings me around by it. I reach up and wind up a knot of hers in mine as we haul at each other by the hair.

A voice from the bank yells at us, “Gals! Get back to the shore!” It’s Mama’s voice. I strain to turn and look at her with tears in my eyes, but Gardenine isn’t done with me. She hauls me into the river and holds my head underwater. I struggle and flop my arms around to get leverage to get out of her grip. With a gasp, I inhale some water and my head starts feeling light.

Waving my hands in a panic, I feel myself jerked deeper into the river and start seeing sparkles before my eyes. Coming to a rest on the far shore, I come to rest with my head above water on the sand. I gaze across the river with dizzy, sparkling eyes as I violently cough out water. Sitting on the far shore, halfway still immersed, I lean up, taking painful, burning breaths.

Across the river from me, Gardenine lays prone on the shore where we were sitting. Mama bends over her, pushing on her chest. A burst of water sputters out from Gardenine’s mouth and she gasps for air, crying.

Laying my head on the ground, I cry alone.

Sitting up in thick grass with a smattering of flowers, I shake my head, rubbing a tear from the corner of my eye. Looking around, I see nothing of interest except for the forest, illuminated in orange by a sunset. 

Vayne isn’t with me anymore. Is he fighting Jeraldyne’s monster? How long was I out cold? I cover my body, anxious, and becoming chilled. 

I’ve somehow become more self-conscious about my nudity, even without anyone around. Standing, I peer through the stands of trees on the mountainside and scan the whole of the valley that this mountain overlooks. Near the center, by a twisting river, there’s faint smoke floating upwards. 

That must be what’s left of Pinesdale over there. 

Turning my eyes upwards in the opposite direction, I don’t see the cavern’s entrance anywhere on the mountainside above me. 

GET OUT, HANA! RUN AWAY RIGHT NOW! Get as far away as you can! Vayne said to me. 

I decide that even if I can’t see the cave, it might still be close enough that if Vayne dies in the fight, the Ogre might come after me next. Looking at the long grass around me, I don’t see the sword that I was holding either, which means I have absolutely nothing to help me survive.

Where could a naked young woman go and be safe? This place is far from being any kind of eden. There are probably a lot of hidden hazards down there, and I’m all alone. 

Looking at the grass more closely beneath me, I see some pear-like fruits scattered among the small flowers that my falling shook free. I look up at the nearby trees and spot one that more of these grow on. Bending down to pick these dropped fruits, I shrug, wondering if they’re poisonous.

They aren’t. I give one a tentative sniff, catching a citrusy smell mixed with a familiar odor. 

I’m reasonably sure that they aren’t harmful, since Halima has memories of eating them, grown in Jeraldyne’s garden. Taking a bite of one, I stare towards the village, but it tastes so good, my eyes lower again as I ravenously devour the rest, stem included. Turning on the second fruit I picked up, I down it almost whole, not slowing down. When I finish with the sweet fruit juice leaking from the corners of my mouth, I bend and gather a few more for later.

 I need to get moving, anywhere away from here. 

Forcing my legs to move, picking my way down the cliff sides, I slide down rock slides, checking them to make sure they’re reasonably safe. Scrambling down the mountainside and along it for some stretches of my trek, I keep going until I reach more level ground. As I work, the sun peeks at me from behind the far mountains to the west. Looking for a bush to sleep in for warmth, I shiver, wrapping my arms around my body as what warmth lingered in the air fades. Having spotted a copse of vegetation with dense leaves, I push my way inside, making the foliage rustle around and when I find a clearing that some animal used to make its den, I have a seat in the grass here, laying my food stores on the turf beside me. 

I seriously need some clothes and shelter.

Remembering videos about bushcraft that I took the time to watch in passing while relaxing before sleep, I frown, not recalling anything from them that would help me right now. I can’t dig, lacking the tools. 

I could gather up branches and such to put something together, but these trees aren’t too big and many of them are pines. 

Hearing the buzzing of nearby insects buzzing around, I sigh. I’m liable to get bit by insects too, maybe there’s some poisonous ones I don’t know about. What kind of dangers lurk around me? Ugh… 

Up in these mountains, there aren’t too many communities to run to. That makes me wonder where Halima came from when that woman brought her to Pinesdale. Having never left her village and given that the pilgrims stayed in this valley after settling here, Halima has no knowledge that could help me find a living, thriving village. She only knows that they’re out there. I’m pretty much out of luck here. 

I’ll have to wander around and see what I can find that might be useful. All Halima’s memories can offer me are thoughts of assorted roots and fruits to eat. What she knows about embroidering wouldn’t help me make a tent, not without the materials. 

Aww, shit.

Thinking about my recent dreams, what most comes to mind when I think about survival is Halima’s grandfather’s sword with a rose set in the hilt. Turning my head in the general direction of the village, I think about where I might find both the sword and chest that Halima remembers. Being made out from metal, they most likely survived the burning of their house. 

Even though the chest was always locked, I think that maybe I can find some way to open it. If any monsters still loiter around Halima’s home, I’m not sure I can take THAT risk.

Deciding that the cover of darkness might be helpful in a recovery operation, I press onward while eating another half of another of the fruit with me. I’m thankful that I at least still have shoes, particularly when a pinecone bursts under a clumsy step and the pine needles crunch with each footfall when I go through thicker clumps of pines. The heavy pine scent wafts up like incense, smelling very much like they should. Breaking the rhythm of the crunching noises of my steps, a loud howling comes from somewhere nearby. 

Whatever made that noise sounds pretty vicious—like a wolf. 

Crouching in the brush, I lay flat in the dried pine needles, listening. Their musky fragrance surrounds me as I quietly listen.