Time comes before she can sense him, and she supposes that make sense.
Hawke is running down the path, guided by nothing but the thumping of her own heartbeat when he appears and suddenly, before she even realizes why or how, she is slowing. He is unlike anything that she has ever seen and likely anything she will ever see again, but she is intrigued. More curious than frightened—so curious, in fact, that she almost forgets the screams that drove her here in the first place.
At his words, her expression grows puzzled, and then frustrated, and finally resolute, in the way that only the youthful can be. This was an adventure. No, not just an adventure—a rescue mission. Hawke’s young, thin face swung upward and away from Time to peer ahead, straining against the dark. Someone had screamed, and she was responsible for finding it. Her, she corrected herself. Saving her.
As resolve settled into her heart, Hawke turned to look back to Time, but he was already gone.
“Okay,” she whispered, softly and to herself. “I will go.”
Because of course she would. She always would.
Ignoring the shivers that raced down her spine, ignoring pinpricks of fear, she straightened her shoulders and moved toward the faint glow that now lit the horizon. In her head, she thought of the stories that her parents had told her; she thought of the stories she had been told of them. Of the wars they had fought and the bloodshed they had seen. She was born of Kings and Generals; of shadow and light.
There was nothing she could not face.
Still, her pulse quickened as she stepped outside, as the temperature dropped, as the cold took hold. The wind was vicious and cutting as it whipped around her, water leaking from her eyes as the breath was stolen from her lungs. This was unlike any winter that she had ever experienced, certainly unlike the mild seasons that she experienced on the volcanic island of her home. Her slender body quaked in response.
Up ahead, through the drifts of snow, the path twisted and turned, shooting outward and upward, and then forking. To the left, the path was wide and the snow was trampled down; it sloped gently. Were it not for the promised length of the trek around the mountain’s base (so similar to the craggy slopes of the volcano on Tephra) or the frigid temperatures, it would be an appealing option. It was certainly safer.
To the right, the path bled into the mountain.
It was darker, thinner, the path growing steeper the more she stared at it. She could not see the entire expanse of its journey, but in her heart she knew that it would be more dangerous. But it would be, could be, quicker. It was a gamble, as the path could very well also wind through the mountain and spit her out no closer to her destination than when she began, but it could also cut her trip in half.
The wind cut through her, and she shivered violently, but not from the cold. On the fingers of the gale, she heard the echo of that initial scream, and she saw the strange creature walking alongside her. She thought of his voice, and the promise she had made him. She thought of her parents, and their home.
“Okay,” she repeated to herself. “I will go.”
And so she did. Ignoring the instincts that told her to play safe and being braver than she had any right to be, she turned her path toward the right and feigned courage as she entered into the mountain, the light dimming and the path narrowing even more. As she walked, she felt the damp walls closing in on her, the cool rock brushing against her shoulders. The further she went, the more tension rose in her throat until she felt that she would tear apart from anticipation. She stumbled but righted herself, pulse skyrocketing.
It was at that point that she saw it.
Felt it.
The air began to glow and she stopped, breath catching in her throat as the thing began to form before her. When her eyes finally adjusted to the being, if she could even call it that, she noticed that it faintly pulsed, the light shifting from a soft, cool white to a glowing ember of yellow to a fierce swath of blue. It flickered in the stagnant air and shifted ever so slightly, bouncing in place with the delicacy of an exhale. It had no true shape, no expression, no features to speak of, but she somehow knew it was alive.
So she was not as surprised as she perhaps should have been when she heard—no, felt—its voice.
“Hawke. Over here, Hawke.”
She did not move—not at first, expression hardening into a frown and heels stubbornly dug in.
“We can help you, Hawke. We know where to find her.”
At this, she softened, youthful confusion shaken before the seemingly mature confidence of the being. If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t know what she was doing. She was just a child playing at the adventures her parents had told her. She was no great warrior or wise diplomat. She had no years of experience from which to draw—only childish bravery and foolish ambition. She took a step forward.
“Yes, over here. We’ll help you. We’ll help you save her.”
Her pulse thudded in her throat but relief washed over her. Help. She needed help. She glanced away from the softly pulsing light and looked around to where the walls were closing in on her, to the path that had led so far away from the ferocious winter of the mountain, to where Time paced waiting on her. Trusting her to do a job she said she could do. If they could help her, maybe she still could. She took another step.
“Good, Hawke. You are so smart. So brave. History will remember you for this.”
Would they? Would history remember her like her parents? Her grandparents? Would Time remember her fondly, keep her memory around after her bones had long been ground to ash? Excitement pooled in her veins at the thought. Time would thank her for her service. She would be a hero. And so, another step.
“So close.”
The light flickered, pulsed with joy.
“Another step. That’s a brave warrior. Another step.”
She obeyed, the path opening up. She paid no mind to the path as it twisted to the left and stepped blindly after the light, hooves leaving hard-packed ground to dirt that was softer, less sturdy. If it began to give way, if the way began to slope, she paid it no mind. The light was her friend. It would not lead her astray.
“Your parents will be so proud.”
At this, she blossomed like a flower. The idea swelling in her chest.
“Just a little closer to glory, Hawke.”
Something clicked in her as soft as the changing of the minutes on the clock. A reminder. Intuition. Her eyes sharpened, focused, her voice ringing out. “You mean closer to saving her, right?” She paused, digging in her hooves again as the light began to pulse a little more frantically, colors changing erratically.
“Of course. Of course. Just a little closer to her.”
But the damage had been done, the veil ripped as Hawke looked down. Down to the ground that fell away from her hooves and into the cavern below, to the gaping space below the light, to the all of a sudden roaring sound of water. Her face twisted into something hard, something fierce, as she yelled.
“You lied!”
The light blew outward, as fast and dangerous as an explosion. She stumbled backward and turned blindly toward where the path curved upward, scrambling to find the path again. This time, the light did not speak to her, but she still heard it, its screams ringing in her ears, its promises of failure making her heart cold. She did not turn to look at it, did not dare. She felt the tears as they streamed down her cheeks and she raced outward, not stopping until she tripped and fell, rolling hard to a stop.
When she realized she was outside, she finally opened her eyes, ashamed by the way she shook, ashamed of the weakness she had discovered within her, ashamed of the blood that now dripped from the scrapes along her shoulder. She glanced upward at the massive rocks jutting upward and spinning outward in some alien formation. Climbing to her feet, fear clutching in her heart, she whispered softly.
“I will still go.”
And she would.
She had to.
hawke
I’m a princess cut from marble
{ smoother than a storm }
word count: 1,461 (whew)
hawke went through the mountain and encountered a will-o'-the-wisp.