The rain had let up before dawn, and the earth was bumpy and spongy. Ashen clutched his journal to his chest as he strode, his thumb on the damp leather cover. Every page inside it was heavier than they should have been.
Galen lagged a few strides behind, splashing with his boots in the mud.
"You're moving too quickly," he added. "You're running after something."
"I'm just. thinking," Ashen replied.
Galen said nothing. He did not need to — his silence reminded Ashen that he had noticed how Ashen had not even glanced back at the settlement which they had left behind.
The trail narrowed and they had to proceed single file. Ashen's boot snagged on a root somewhere. He grabbed for the trunk of an ancient oak and for a moment he could have sworn he saw something etched in the bark — a slight curve, the end of a letter. When he opened his eyes again, it was gone.
"Watch it," Galen warned. "Last thing we need is you rolling your ankle again."
"Again?" Ashen frowned.
Galen was stunned. "Two weeks ago. You limped for days. Don't tell me you've forgotten."
Ashen glanced back in his mind. Two weeks prior, they were far from this forest. They were—
He got rid of the thought and kept walking.
They came to a ridge at noon. In front of them was a big field and a glinting narrow stream running through it. Galen lowered his backpack and sat on a flat rock, taking in the view.
"Isn't it odd?" he said.
"What is?" Galen pointed to the meadow. "There was a barn there a year ago when I was traveling through. It was owned by a family called the Kellers. I don't see it anymore."
Ashen swept the field with his gaze. Grass and flowers that blew about in the wind. "Maybe it collapsed."
"Maybe," Galen answered, but his voice said differently. "Or maybe it never existed."
They spent the night there, camping under an overhanging rock. Galen was asleep in a few minutes, his head on his pack. Ashen sat by the fire with the journal on his knees. He read the entries for the previous month, his own writing following the lines.
Every day was written down — or at least it appears so. There was, however, a gap. One empty page, not used, between the 12th and the 14th. No marks. No letters. Not even the faint traces of a pen.
Ashen closed the book quickly, as if she feared someone would notice.
The following day, there was a silver-haired woman with threads of silver in her hair who crossed their path. She had a basket of herbs balanced on her elbow, and her sharp eyes left Ashen thinking he was being appraised.
"You're back," she told him.
Ashen glanced over at Galen, but Galen was too engrossed in the herbs. "I've never been here before," Ashen stated.
The woman cocked her head. "If you say so. You still think and behave like the fellow who passed through here last spring, though. Same coat. Same eyes."
Before he could question her as to what she meant, she turned and disappeared down the side path. That evening, Ashen was awake, listening to the wind rustle past the trees. He grabbed his journal again, but he did not open it. Rather, he had his hand on the cover, as if he feared that if he opened it, he would discover that something was missing. In the distance, a lone owl hooted and became quiet.