The labored breathing of the mount cut through the songs of the night, louder than the whistling wind dancing between the trees, abruptly halting their exchange. Miguel gazed upon the noble deer beneath him, its majestic head bowed under the weight of exhaustion. Realizing the strain the journey had placed on his weary mount, the young man gently tugged on the reins, urging the mighty beast to a halt.
The noble deer, a creature of impressive stature more befitting the formidable druids than an ordinary man, stood there panting. Its flanks heaved, and its breaths released misty plumes into the cool air, each exhale serving as a testament to the vast distances they had covered under the cover of night.
Miguel, unaccustomed to such a towering mount, lost his balance as he dismounted, tumbling to the ground with a graceless thud. The dust of the path rose to greet him, clinging to his clothes as he scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off with a mix of irritation and bewilderment.
Once steady, Miguel extended his hands to assist Rigel and Daniel down from the great beast. The children, less encumbered by the height from which they descended, landed with youthful ease.
Miguel cast his gaze about the forked path that lay before them, illuminated dimly by the moon's silver light. They stood at a crossroads with three divergent paths cutting through the small forests that hugged the road like wary sentinels. Two of these paths were well-trodden by the feet of those traveling to and from the small neighboring settlements—paths that Miguel and his father, Carlos, had traversed many times in simpler days. These routes were like old friends, their curves and bends as familiar as the lines on Miguel's palm. The third path, the one they were aiming for, however, veered off towards the nearest city, a route less frequented and marked by the unkempt wilds that crept close to its edges.
Miguel’s hand hovered over the rough bark of an oak, his instincts encouraging him to secure the noble deer. Yet Daniel, with a voice both earnest and confident, intervened. “No need! He listens well and is very clever!” the boy asserted, his confidence belying his tender years. Placing his palm on the noble deer's bowed head, he caressed it softly. "Please, do not wander off."
The deer responded with a movement akin to a nod before settling onto a nearby patch of grass, its large eyes surrendering to rest. "Thank you," Miguel whispered, his voice a soft tribute to the steadfast animal that had carried them through the darkness. The rhythm of the deer's breathing, deep and regular, melded with the tranquil whispers of the night.
Miguel's gaze shifted from the weary beast to the serene tableau nearby, illuminated by the silver kiss of the moon. Rigel and Daniel, nestled against the trunk of a roadside tree, had found a makeshift sanctuary. The soft grass beneath them offered meager solace for their exhausted bodies, while the night light, casting its gentle glow, revealed the persistent shadows of fatigue that lingered on their young features.
Miguel settled himself apart, taking his place upon the hardened path, his gaze softened as he watched over the children.
"I miss mama and abba," Daniel's voice broke through the stillness, small yet heavy with yearning.
Rigel reached out, her hand gentle upon Daniel's head. "Your parents will be alright—they're the strongest," she soothed, her words intended as a balm for the stirrings of fear and doubt.
"But why did we leave then?" Daniel's inquiry, laden with a child's unfiltered logic, hung in the air, heavy and palpable.
Overhearing the exchange, Miguel interjected. "We would only get in the way," he stated, his voice carrying a weight meant to quell further questions. Yet, deep in his heart, the same questions echoed, unanswered.
Daniel, barely able to resist the lulling calls of the night, let out a wide yawn. "When I grow up, I'll be strong and protect mama and abba," he declared, his voice a determined whisper that gradually faded into the gravity of sleep.
Rigel chuckled softly, the sound a tender note in the cool air, and drew him closer into an embrace. Daniel’s words, though slurred by the onset of sleep, continued for a time, a litany of future heroics that grew ever quieter until only the gentle rhythm of his breathing remained.
Rigel, her eyes full of self-proclaimed maturity, turned to Miguel and remarked softly, "When I was little, I could fall asleep just as easily."
Miguel nodded, his smile spreading warmly across his face. This serene tableau seemed to hold the power to banish all lingering shadows of distress, a momentary charm against the tumult of the world beyond. Yet the call of nature brooked no delay. Rising with an effort that belied his weariness—as though he were the one who had borne the weight of the deer and the children through the night—Miguel cast a lingering look at the peaceful scene behind him. "I'll be back soon," he promised, his voice barely louder than the rustling leaves, and strode towards the solitude of the grove, seeking relief.
As soon as his body expelled the remnants of the alcohol consumed during the celebration, his eyes, previously rolled upward in satisfaction, sharply sank back to the ground, following the source of the sudden rustle nearby.
His gaze landed on a peculiar sight—a creature sluggish and ungainly, ambling through the underbrush with an awkward grace. It was a glimmerfoot, a small, stout creature native to the region, known for its shimmery, dusky fur that seemed to catch even the dimmest light, making it slightly luminous in the moonlit night. Its wide, flat feet made soft thuds on the forest floor, and its round, gleaming eyes scanned cautiously around, aware of its vulnerability.
Motivated by hunger and hunting instincts, Miguel carefully pulled his pants back on and stealthily approached the animal, hoping to secure a meal. Yet, the thick survivor, sensing the young man’s intentions, shuffled with surprising agility. Miguel gave chase, his steps quiet on the leaf-strewn ground, trying to match the creature’s unpredictable movements. The glimmerfoot darted with a clumsy swiftness that belied its stout form.
The chase wound through the thickets, the pray barely maintaining a lead. As Miguel pressed closer, the creature made a sudden dash towards the path where they had camped, seeking refuge in the only place it felt safe. To Miguel’s chagrin and secret relief, the glimmerfoot found sanctuary by scampering behind the still-sleeping Daniel, curling up in the protective shadow the boy cast under the moonlight. There, behind the small druid, it lay still, hoping to blend into the night undetected.
"Seems like I've lost," he murmured, a wry smile easing the hard lines of worry etched into his face from the night's ordeals. His gaze lingered upon Rigel, her youthful innocence draped in the serenity of sleep. Her occasional snuffles pierced the stillness, lending an endearing vulnerability to her slumbering form. "¿Adulto, huh?" he mused softly, the irony not lost on him as he observed her childlike peace. Nearby, the deer lay sprawled, each breath a gentle swell in the moonlit quiet, its presence a reassuring constant in the transient calm that had enveloped them.
Encircled by the cool embrace of the night air and the gentle whispering of the trees, Miguel settled onto a familiar spot along the path. The ground beneath was hard, the scattered stones a reminder of the relentless path they trod. As he settled there, the whispers of the night wove a tapestry of hushed serenity, infusing his beleaguered spirit with an unexpected tranquility. The stillness of the night wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, gently easing the frayed edges of his worries.
His eyelids grew heavy, the lure of sleep beckoning like a siren's song, yet the mantle of responsibility held him vigilant, a steadfast sentinel against the enticements of dreams. Hours slipped by as Miguel resisted the pull of slumber, periodically rising to stretch his limbs—a silent revolt against the night's oppressive stillness. Each minute stretched into an eternity, the symphony of snoring around him fueling both envy and irritation. Amidst these prolonged hours, a cascade of thoughts about past, present, and future sliced through the thinning veil of wakefulness.
As the inexorable passage of time began to paint the sky with barely noticeable strokes of blue, Miguel, now twenty-three, pondered the tumultuous changes that had recently shaped his life. His father had coerced him into marriage, a decision that initially seeded resentment within him. Yet, the woman he was to wed, once merely a specter in his reluctant future, had kindled a spark within him tonight through her portrayal of Aelithra. María’s grace and resolve had etched a lasting impression, awakening emotions he had scarcely anticipated. Her simple culinary creations, like the pumpkin soup, warmed his thoughts like a cherished melody. 'Maybe,' he mused, ‘sometimes the old fool isn’t that wrong after all.’
Yet, as his gaze drifted once more to the slumbering Rigel, he discerned echoes of her mother in the girl's delicate features, and darker memories surged anew. Yet, as his gaze drifted once more to the slumbering Rigel, he discerned echoes of her mother in the girl's delicate features, and darker memories surged anew. Raquel's distorted visage and her twisted lifeless body haunted him, a stark reminder of past nightmares. The horrors of this night had dredged up childhood memories of the countless graves once visited, specters once buried deep within, now clawing at his consciousness with renewed intensity.
"Everything will be fine… They will be fine," he whispered into the embracing darkness, a mantra to anchor his faltering spirit. "This time, with Tabitha and Baruch with us… It won’t happen again." His words, laden with a mere human’s faith in druidic power, resonated in the still air as he steeled himself against the shadows of the past.
His heavy breath, imbued with hope, mingled with the first orange-yellow threads of dawn stretching across the sky, heralding a day he dreaded to meet. At that moment, the nearby forest's stillness was suddenly pierced by a rustle among the leaves, a subtle movement that sent chills through every corner of his body and soul. Each soft snap of a twig and the gentle brush of leaves against each other conjured vivid images of the four-winged beast that had once terrorized the skies, its eyes shimmering through the darkness, now indelibly etched into his memory like a dark stain.
Miguel's heart skipped as a figure, tall and horned, materialized against the dawning light filtering through the leaves. Hardly recognizing Tabitha in this fragile form—a being once deemed invincible—his eyes widened. Her mantle, which once gleamed with the splendor of Heaven's chosen one, was now tarnished with streaks of dirt and blood. Her hair, previously rich and brown, had turned sparse and stark gray, and her slightly greenish face, once embodying the essence of nature's majesty, was now utterly pale. With slow, laborious steps, she approached the half-awake Rigel and Daniel, her bony arms trembling as they encircled the children in a protective embrace.
Soon, other figures emerged from the shadows of the underbrush, their faces marked by the horrors of the night. Trailing behind Tabitha like specters, they shuffled onto the path one by one. Miguel stood frozen, a sentinel of anticipation, his gaze desperately scanning the procession for any sign of his father or his betrothed.
As the count concluded—a grim tally revealing that no more than thirty souls had endured the ordeal—a chilling realization washed over Miguel: his father and María were not among the survivors. His throat tightened, the fragile spark of hope within him extinguished as swiftly as it had ignited.
His eyes swept over those who remained: their bodies, scarred by the ordeal, silently testified to their harrowing escape from death's grasp, each visage reflecting profound loss.
In the quiet that followed their ragged assembly, a heavy silence hung between the survivors, the unsaid filling the space like a thick fog. Miguel's gaze shifted to Tabitha, his heart swelling with a furious heat. "¿Cómo pudo pasar esto!? How!? You promised to protect them!" His voice trembling with grief tore through the cool morning air.
The weight of his words hung heavily between them. The weight of his words hung heavily between them. Tabitha, her once robust and healthy cheekbones now gaunt and shadowed, met his glare with eyes brimming with regret for a fleeting second before they sank down. Her downcast gaze, shadowed by the guilt of her perceived failure, was more than Miguel could bear. In a flash, the grief that gnawed at his insides morphed into a fierce rage, every fiber of his being screaming silent blame at her. For him, in that moment, there was no question—it was her fault.
But before his anger could spill over into further accusations, Miguel was abruptly brought back to reality by a punch that landed squarely on his face. The blow, delivered by one of the surviving men, a burly fellow with sorrow etched deep into his features, was a cold splash of sobriety. The physical shock jolted Miguel from his spiraling wrath, and as he steadied himself, his eyes were drawn to Rigel and Daniel. The children, ensconced in Tabitha’s arms, were crying, their small bodies racked with sobs that cut through the morning stillness.
His heart wrenched as he scanned the faces around him—wounded, filthy, exhausted. A profound shame replaced the hot fury that had consumed him: they all had suffered, they all had lost.
The air filled with the sounds of mourning; cries of anguish and loss mingled with the gentle rustling of leaves, composing a mournful symphony.
And so, as the sun fully ascended, its light filled the space with a futile brightness that could not dispel the lingering shadows of true darkness, the Noche de las Almas Pasadas—the night of the departed souls—drew to a close.
ns 15.158.61.5da2
