“You looked like you needed the rest. I couldn’t bear to wake you,” he says with a nonchalant shrug.

“You mean you stayed up the entire night?! Are you mad?”

Tossing me my water, he chuckles. “Blame Aunt Deria! Whatever she puts in that breakfast special is powerful! I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to!”

I’m not amused, and I roll my eyes.

“There’s a river, just a few meters over that hill if you want to bathe,” he says, skillfully changing the subject. “I can sleep while you wash up. Unless, of course, you’d rather me watch you.”

I scowl at him and swat away his idiotic proposition.

“Sleep it is then,” he says with a smirk.

I wait until he dozes before I set off. Mumbling, I weave through the crowded trees and down the slope towards the sound of flowing water.

What an absolute clod! Letting me slumber through the night, and now he’s sleeping when daylight is the safest time to travel? The water’s rush grows louder as I approach, and the stale, pungent smell of mildew coats my nostrils. I swear under my breath as I step onto the narrow rocky riverbank and remove my boots. A quiet breeze tickles my ears, and I relax as I listen to the water burble past me.

“My sweet Idalia…”

I clutch the vermillion cloak around me. Are the trees playing tricks? I can’t be sure in this Wood.

“Idalia.” The voice is louder, and I freeze. I recognize it. My teeth begin to chatter as I scan my surroundings.

“Who goes there?” I release one hand and point my palm outwards. “Are you a Keeper of the Dark?” Only after I ask the question do I realize its ignorance.

“My sweet,” it breathes again. “My sweet Idalia, can you hear me?”

I shuffle in a tight circle, almost tripping over my own feet as I gaze up and around me. I know this voice. I’d know it anywhere.

“Mother?” I cower behind my raised hands as the river rushes faster. Its surface ripples are gathering and forming a shape. I would scream, I should scream, but my mother’s voice calls to me once more.

“Sweet Idalia,” she says. “I am here now. Believe in me, and I will come to you.”

I wait for my hands, or my limbs or even my gods forsaken head to give me a signal. For the almost now familiar discomfort and pain that will tell me what to do. But there’s no heat, and my hands are cold as I watch the water move and grow into a tall, translucent figure. A shadow of a form I once knew so well.

“Can you hear me, my strong and brave daughter? I do not have much time!” My heart pounds. Disbelief wanes in my chest, and a flood of sorrow fills its place.