So, it's been another seven days. A whole week of walking, limping, slipping, climbing, sweating, freezing, and sometimes running for my life. Traveling with Seren is… weirdly peaceful? But also kind of terrifying. This place doesn't let you relax.
We've been heading south (I think?) through forests, hills, and a swamp that smelled like rotting dreams and sadness. Seren doesn't complain, not once. She just keeps walking, adjusting her oversized kimono like it's completely normal to trek through muddy woods in something made for ceremonial tea-drinking. The sleeves drag, and she has to bunch them up with vines. She looks like a ghost pretending to be a traveler. Somehow, it works.
She doesn't speak, obviously, but her gestures are getting easier to understand. A wave means "stop." A flick of her fingers means "something's watching us." A specific angry squint means "don't touch that, it'll explode." I've learned the hard way not to ignore the angry squint.
So far, we've seen:
A flock of things I thought were birds, until one landed near us and unfolded into a floating jaw with wings. I named it Chuck. Seren did not approve. We hid under some thorny roots for a full hour until Chuck and his screeching cousins left. I'm still picking thorns out of my pants.
A tree that blinked. That's it. Just… blinked. I nearly had a heart attack.
Rain that wasn't wet. No really—it fell like mist, but when it touched you, it made your bones ache. Seren pulled out these waxy leaves and made us tiny shelters. I don't know where she learned that, but I owe her big time.
We sleep in makeshift huts, lean-tos, even once inside the hollow of a dead giant (Seren called it a "Skyroot corpse"—no idea what that means, but it had ribs the size of wagons). Sometimes we don't talk at all—just walk, eat, sleep. But sometimes, when the sky turns violet and the wind carries all the sound away, I catch her watching the stars like she's waiting for them to whisper something. I don't ask. I just sit beside her. It feels right.
Also—I found a mushroom that glows in the dark. I called it "Larry." Seren took it from me, crushed it, and smeared the glowing juice on her arms. Turns out it's a repellant for something called "Skin Spiders." So. That was a learning moment.
Magic still doesn't make sense. My right hand started tingling the other night when I passed through some glowing grass, and now it occasionally sparks when I sneeze. Seren thinks it's hilarious. I do not.
But still… I'm alive.
Two weeks in a place that wants me dead, and I'm still here. Tired, muddy, sore, confused—but here. And maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to figure things out.
Or at least, I'm learning how to run faster.
— Veyle
(Officially a traveler. Still confused. Definitely allergic to magic grass.)