Chapter Text
(Who will tell the tale of those who sing their stories? They must be told, for those who tell the tales have their own rich lives, and often neglect their own stories.
Oh, but what stories those who travel the world carry:)
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(Here is a story:
Zoey is born watching. On a clear April day, not a cloud in the sky. She is an only child and grows up adored by her parents. The love they have for each other wanes, but never their love for her. She goes out into the world to strike her future. They never see her again.)
(Here is a story:
Zoey is born wailing, on a chilly October night. Her older brother is the second to hold her, her father not yet back from the fields. She grows up loved, even if her father isn't there so often. The stars seem to call to her.)
(Here is a story:
Zoey is born silent, eyes seeing something no one else can. She has no siblings, but countless cousins, younger and older. She grows wise beyond her years but never old beyond her age. Nothing seems to stay secret around her.)
(Here is a story:
Zoey is born, again and again.
Zoey is born knowing.)
(Which story is true?
A story does not give its secrets so easily.
Perhaps they all are, but here is the story that is true now:)
Zoey was born observant. From her first breathe, she was absorbed in the world around her. At first, they thought she hadn't made it, she was so quiet and still, nary a sound out of her mouth. They all breathed a sigh of relief when her eyes blinked open, but worry had lingered in the silence. The midwife had examined her and assured them, “she'll talk when she's good and ready. Just look at those eyes, taking it all in."
And when she was ready, she spoke.
And didn't stop it seemed.
__________________
Zoey woke up with a song in her mind and whispers of the wind.
(She has heard them for as long as she can remember.)
Zoey woke up to yelling from downstairs.
(That, too, is another constant.)
She went about her morning, humming the melody in her mind, fingers tapping out on any surface she could find, grabbing an apple and a slip of paper and yelled, “Going out!” before her parents could stop her.
This was but one of the many normals she had come to grow used to.
(Sometimes her parents hate each other, sometimes they love each other, but in every life, love isn't enough.
Sometimes their fights are hot, sometimes they are cold.
Rarely, occasionally, one of them dies, or they get back together. But for the most part it is the silence, then the yelling, and then they leave.)
In this life, Zoey managed to make it to the age of ten before their fights grew too loud to conceal, and her parents made it all the way to sixteen before they separated.
Part of the reason they lasted this long was because the Wind whispered to her as a child to come out when the voices began to rise so Zoey learned at an early age how to disappear when the shouting started, to play with the Wind in the woods.
She grew to know how to deflect or diffuse arguments once they were unable to be concealed, and seemed to know just what to say, echoing words the Wind ruffled through her hair. This too, did not last.
(It's not enough, it's never enough. All she's doing is fighting the tide of time.)
(In every life, she is too much for them to handle and not enough for them to stay.)
So as inevitable as the changing of the seasons, her parents separated.
Zoey was always a strange child, humming what no one could hear, filled with knowledge no one knew how she knew – but she was polite, friendly, and helped when she could so she would be ignored for the most part.
Except for those her age.
(Some things, no matter the time, no matter the age, never change it seems. Humans are capable of as much cruelty as demons and yet only one is deemed monstrous and locked away forever.)
Sometimes she was bullied as a child, sometimes she was just (if being alone can ever be called just) left alone – the others sensed there was something not quite right with her.
(Children are sensitive like that)
("Oh, little turtle." Her mother swept her up in her arms. She got the nickname from the way she hunched, head tucked into her shoulders, whenever she tried to pretend she was invisible when they all played at the park. "What’s gotten you so sad?"
"I had a dream," she whispered. "The world was ended. A-and I couldn't find you. Everything was burning and I knew it was my fault."
“Don’t worry, love.” Her mother had kissed the top of her head. “We’ll always be here for you. Even if the world burns.”
Two years later and it was just another lie, so Zoey stopped telling her about her dreams.
One day, the wind whispered, you will find them and all will be well.)
__________
Zoey had had many firsts, and each time was always something different. Her first lost tooth – the trepidation and naivete had long since faded into a sort of blase indifference.
Her first bruise and broken bone – long since lost to memory which was actually first, usually an arm, sometimes a leg. Sometimes in the thrill of competition, sometimes in the adrenaline of a chase.
Her first kiss this time was with the wrong boy – not in the sense that it wasn’t who she thought it was, but when she pulled back and opened her eyes there was half a moment when she thought she saw white hair, cut to the shoulders, with eyes that promised the secrets of the world instead of the brown mop and dull mud that greeted her.
(Once upon a time she loved someone and he became a monster. Whether that was because of her love or in spite of it matters not, because a monster is a monster and what does that say about the people who love them?)
(She stopped kissing after that. Not like he wanted to continue anyway, it was a dare for both of them and she liked him well enough, but they all had their growing up to do.)
That night, she dreamed.
“Little star,” he laughed, “why do you look so sad? You look at me like I'm already gone.”
“I didn’t think this was allowed,” she had whispered. “That I could feel so happy, so full, without us even saving the world.”
He smiled. “Every life you brighten is a soul saved, and what a smile you shine.”
“Min-ho,” Zoey whispered when she woke up, tasting the name on her tongue and feeling a hand in hers and eyes that sparkled with knowledge and mischief. “What happened to him?”
He is gone, the wind mourns, to where the light cannot reach.
(Later, she will mark a tally, a song of remembrance although she does not know it. She does not have the tune yet – that is not her gift – but she begins to put the words to a page.)
___________
The wind was her only friend, but in her heart she knew she had more.
“Who are they?” Zoey asked the honmoon and felt the tug of her soul. One day she will leave, but for today she is stuck watching as everyone pairs off and she is left by herself with the knowledge that there should be more. There should be teasing and poking and laughing and jeering and she is supposed to be surrounded with love and warmth and friendship.
(Once upon a time, the wind whispered the moon fell in love with the sun and stars.
Once upon a time, the wind whispered, there was a girl who carried the world on her shoulders and called it love because she did not know any other way to live.)
(Once upon a time, the wind whispered, there was a girl who had believed she was not enough to love.)
________________
(A memory, snatched from time – past, present, future – does it matter? A memory is a memory. Something to treasure and keep close to your chest. To take out and polish as the world grows cold and dim – a shining example of what was, is, or will be:
“A flower crown for a flower princess.” She rested her masterpiece on Rumi’s face as she plopped down next to her in the grass.
Rumi opened her eyes and smiled through the leaves. “Careful, or Mira’s going to get jealous.”
“Too late,” Mira deadpanned next to her. “I’ve been consumed by envy. Nothing will ever be able to mend the rift torn between us.”
“You underestimate my power.” Zoey produced a second flower crown. “Do you really doubt my skill so much that I would only be able to weave one flower crown?” She dropped this one on Mira’s stomach. “A flower crown for the flower queen.”
“Oh so she’s a queen but I’m only a princess?” Rumi sputtered. “Mutiny!”
“We’re not at sea.” Mira said, adjusting the crown on her head. “I rather like this rule of law.”
“Betrayal!” Rumi pointed an accusing finger. “I should have never trusted the flowersmith to weave my crown.”
“Ah, but majesties,” Zoey pitched her voice down and steepled her fingers. “Are not two crowns better than one? Is there not power enough to share?”
“Hm.” Mira stroked her chin, thoughtfully. “She sounds ancient and wise. I say we listen to her.”
It was Zoey’s turn to sputter. “Wha-ancient? I’m younger than you!”
“Indeed.” Rumi relaxed next to Mira. “Ancient wisdom from an ancient crone. I bid you good day, flowersmith.”
“I made you queens, I can unmake you.” Zoey snatched the crowns off their heads. “The Flowersmith demands tribute for the crowns!” And took off running across the meadow.
Laughter followed them all.)
________________
Lonely as she was, she had a friend. His name was Bobby and he visited at least twice a year. He told her stories of the past Hunters – of Mi-yeong and her bow, Celine and her moon bright sickles, of the knives of Ahri the First Hunter.
(She hears them, in the stories the wind shares, and can see them, racing through the breeze in the branches, ever hunting.)
So Zoey grew up, with the Wind as her constant companion and Bobby who popped into her life occasionally. He traveled a lot, and brought news to the adults and stories to the children. The air always seemed lighter when he showed up, as if the world was holding its breath and released it when he came back.
Zoey grew up, chattering at nothing, well past the age when she should've stopped with imaginary friends
Until one day, the story and the season changes.
Bobby visits in the fall, as leaves crunch underfoot and Zoey reprimands a boy for trying to scare the girls with a slug he had hidden beneath some leaves.
“How did you know what to say?” The tone Bobby took told her he was not mad, just curious.
Zoey, world weary in the way only a child who was never believed, examined him.
(“Yeah right,” Benji sneered. “You probably just saw me sneaking out. Go play with your imaginary friends.”
“Only babies still have imaginary friends,” Lee-an taunted her. “Go play with the babies.”
“It's not imaginary!” A younger Zoey had stamped her foot. “The Wind talks to me!”)
Bobby is her friend, and the Wind told her she could trust him.
“I didn’t lie,” Zoey said, lip jutting out. “The Wind told me all about his nasty tricks.”
Bobby regarded her for a moment, and Zoey practically saw the thoughts spinning in his mind.
"You know I travel a lot, Zoey.” He knelt down next to her. “It’s because I’m looking for someone.”
Zoey nodded. “The adults said you lost someone you loved. They don’t think I’m paying attention. But I do. I can listen, even if the Wind doesn’t tell me to.”
“They’re right, in a way,” Bobby said. “I’ve been looking for some people I love very much. I've been looking for someone who can hear the wind." Bobby looked her in the eye and they both had seen something older then time reflected back at them. "And I think that's you."
She became his apprentice that summer and somewhere the rust gears of history – of cycles and circles – began to turn.
________________
Asking questions leads to answers, not always are they good, and there is a cost, but Zoey was born knowing,
“Why does he tease her?” she asked, watching from the roots of the tree as Harlan taunted Lana.
There was a flash, like the world was overlaid in blue behind her eyes and there was a chorus of the world singing and the Wind answered.
He is drawn to her and confused, it said, it is the way of people. One day they may make each other happy.
“Why do they fight?” she whispered at night.
The blue lasted longer and the singing was almost wistful, calling out to her to join them, wouldn't it be so much easier if she was just another voice in the choir-
(They will call to you, said a stern but familiar voice and Mae Kim lectured her from another life, but you are a Hunter. You must rise above them. Your Guardian will help be your anchor but you must learn to manage without them as well.)
There was love once, the wind said, almost mournful, and they do not know where it has gone.
I stole it, Zoey didn’t say, they said I'm everything they could ever love so I stole all their love, even what they had for each other.
I'm too much for them.
______________
Regardless of the intent, kindness or cruelty, the fact remains that Zoey grew up largely alone among her peers, save for Bobby and the Wind.
Zoey grew up, and spent her days in the solitude of the wind.
(She had once, she knows with the marrow in her bones
But then
Well
The story doesn't need to be repeated, and a good storyteller knows when to move on.)
(But we are seeking to understand, aren’t we? So we must peer behind the curtain, peel back the metaphor, and let the ugly truth to light.)
“Tell me about them,” she whispered one night, knees tucked to her chest against her bedroom door as the arguments reached a fever pitch.
The Wind whistled, but did not respond.
“Right. A question.” Zoey tilted her head back so the tears would not land on her clothes. “Who are the other hunters?”
"Once upon a time." The breeze is gentle, like the parent she once knew, tussling her hair. "There was a girl who carried the world in her arms, regardless of the weight, because she believed it to be her duty."
“Once upon a time,” Zoey echoed, “the moon fell in love with the sun and stars.”
_____________
“Why does this keep happening?” she asked Bobby, not taking her eyes off the blade of grass wrapped around her finger. She wondered if the wind called to him, he always seemed to pop into her life when she needed it. She could not ask this of the wind, such a large question that it would sweep away the fragile humanness of her thirteen year old self. “They always fight. I know they do.”
(There are constants in every life, in every story there is the worn tread of habit. She is learning of narrative, of cycle and structure. A trick so a storyteller could memorize many stories while only really knowing a few. Why was there always three siblings, three tests, a wicked ruler? A narrative jigsaw, so slot the pieces in place and come up with the tale that is most needed.
She understands the familiarity – but why did this need to be repeated?)
Bobby hesitated then said, “People only accept the love they feel they deserve.” He hugged her. “Believe me, you deserve so much more than this. And one day you’ll get it.”
______________
Once upon a time, and although that is not how stories here start, it is how I was taught and so how I shall tell.
Once upon a time there was a king more wealthy and more powerful than had ever existed. In his possession was a songbird so lovely it was said that its song could cure even death.
In a golden cage, the songbird sat. It lacked for nothing, having the richest grain and the finest insects. Its nest was woven from the softest silk, yet despite all this it never sang.
The king was puzzled, and summoned all his advisors.
The wisest among them examined the bird for three days and three nights and on the fourth day approached the king.
‘Oh mighty king,’ the elder said, ‘the bird does not sing because it is sad.’
“How dare you?” the king thundered. “Does it not receive the finest grain in the land, better than some of even my own household? Does it not sleep on silken sheets?”
“All this is true, oh great and majestic ruler.” The elder bowed his head. “But what use is rich grain and silk sheets when there is nowhere to go?”
The lesson is thus: Are golden bars not bars still?
___________
Zoey does not dream, because to dream is to imagine things as they could be, and Zoey knows how they were.
Which is to say when she dreams, she knows it to be fact, no matter how fantastical it sounds.
(Can it really be true? To go to the heart of the underworld, to fight monsters made of midnight and machines as large as the sky – but she dreams of them, and so in some way they must have happened.
Perhaps the most fantastical, and thus the most true, is that she does all of this for and with two others.
That the universe would be so kind and generous to allow her not one but two people with whom she would live and die for.)
___________
Bobby taught her how to play the guitar – more like reminded her how because no sooner did he place her fingers on the strings she played. The flute she needed no instruction on but she was overcome with dread every time she took it out.
“Another time, then,” Bobby sighed. “I thought… maybe one day.”
“N-no, I can-” with a trembling hand, Zoey reached for the case, but Bobby stopped her with gentle ease.
“You don’t have to.” He looked into her eyes. “Zoey, you don’t ever have to twist yourself, make yourself someone else. Not for me, not for them.”
“I just- I wanted.” How can she explain the dread? The shame of failure before she even tried, like the universe didn’t even want her to pick it up again.
“One day,” Bobby took her hand into his, “I’ll show you the gift that was left for you.”
“You got me a gift?”
Bobby laughed, “No, not me. I’m just watching over it, until you’re ready.”
Zoey picked the guitar up again. “Well then, just watch me. I’ll blow your mind.”
“Atta girl.” Bobby sat back and took a drink from his canteen.
The wind whistled through the trees as Zoey strummed.
“I lived two lives, tried to play both sides, but I couldn’t find my own place.” She sang, then switched to a lower octave. “Called a problem child, ‘cause I got too wild.”
Bobby sputtered as the water went down the wrong pipe.
“Wh-where did you hear that?” He wheezed.
Zoey tilted her head as she heard the wind whistle in the trees and felt, for a moment, a sense of vertigo, like the world was going to swallow her whole.
“The wind told me.” She whispered.
_____________
Once upon a time, although that is not how stories here start, that is how I was taught and so how I shall tell.
Once upon a time there was a deaf man walking through the village.
He saw many people dancing, and since he could not hear the music, came to the reasonable conclusion they were all insane.
He noticed then, a blind man, whom he knew to be sane, tapping his foot and wondered how even the bedrock of sanity could be eroded.
Who is the madman? The one who does not hear the music or the ones dancing to a tune one cannot hear?
The lesson is thus: Only those who are certain and hear no other are mad.
The lesson is thus: just because you cannot hear the music does not mean it is not playing.
_____________
The first time she tried to summon her weapons was a disaster but she just – she wanted to get it right, to prove that she was ready.
“Zoey, wait!” Bobby called, holding a hand up but Zoey knew and saw the tapestry and his thread was so thin.
Unthinkingly, she reached for the threads by her side and pulled.
The world exploded into noise – a wailing, piercing cry as the full weight of the broken honmoon bent to its Hunter. A sobbing echoing cry at the remnants of those it was supposed to protect.
(“Zoey please!” Rumi begs her but something is wrong, there are knives in her hands and Mira’s gok-do is pointed at her – is her eye glowing?)
There were knives in her hands but she could not throw them, could barely think over the wails and screams as tears streaked down her face.
Distantly she was aware someone was calling her name, shaking her shoulders.
The wails cut off abruptly as the knives vanished.
She stared up at Bobby.
"Don't," he breathed heavily. "Don't do that again, yeah? Not until we've had some practice."
So she learned how to summon her blades, gritting her teeth against the screams until they were almost background noise.
She preferred to talk her way out of a conflict, but it never hurt to be prepared.
(Deep in her heart, she knows it is because she is not enough.)
(Deep in the forest, someone tries to stir, but is called back to dreams.
It is not time.
Not yet.)
_____________
It is hard some days, to remember to be the girl and not the Storyteller. To be Zoey and not the Hunter. The Wind is many things, but human is not one of them.
Often, it pushes without meaning, eager for her to fulfill her role.
One day she will have balance, but until then she takes a deep breath, lets the blue fade from her vision and the echoes from her voice, and picks up her pen again to write down all she learned.
_____________
When she was ready, she asked the Wind, and for the first time in her life, it was silent.
“What happened last time?” She asked on a clear spring night, peering at stars that never changed.
A question, direct. Her focus, lasered in on the wall of her memories, the part that kept herself from knowing everything and always, that let her ground herself in the here and now.
An answer, to shatter it.
Abruptly, she remembered it all. The joy of their meeting, the trembling anxiety of nerves, the grueling training (the light and the love and the home they all forged in and for each other. They were going to change the world – so young and full of fire but fire can burn if you are not careful and they did not see the signs until it was too late and-)
“But that night.” Zoey held her hand out, let the frayed strands of the honmoon run through her fingers like a river. “What happened that night?”
There was silence in the woods.
"What. happened." Zoey asked.
The Wind did not answer.
Her constant companion, her one guide in the dark world – her rock and steady source of answers, fell silent.
"Answer me!" she screamed into the empty night.
The Wind was silent and Zoey wept for all she was not allowed to remember.
__________
Once upon a time and although that is not how stories start here, it is how I was taught and so how I shall tell.
Once upon a time, before all that Was and all that Will Be, there Wasn't, From some point – because there was no time or space – came a note and all that Wasn't echoed with Melody which heralded the Dawn and the Beginning.
For a while this was beautiful.
But it was lonely, until one day there was Rhythm – tapping along to the Melody and from this sprang the mountains and valleys as Rhythm rose and fell, bouncing off the surfaces to accompany Melody.
Lastly came Prose, and colored the valleys with rolling green grass and the mountains with white capped snow. It spoke of the rivers and waterfalls, of the colors of daybreak and dusk and all the creatures that lived between.
There were many adventures to be had and many tales to sing – of how they fought and defeated Shame and Greed, of how they made and shaped mortals, and the sorrow that filled them when they were gone. Of how they met Death and Grief and the bargain that was struck, of the palaces of Melody, the earth of Rhythm and the woods of Prose and the many, many heroes who sought them – tales enough to entertain kings and fill cities.
And so the world was Sung and is still being Sung, although those that can hear it are few and far between.
Thus, it is an ending, but it is not the ending.
__________
Zoey knows she is ready when she kills her first demon.
She knows they are relatively sheltered, a small hamlet too far from the road to be a bother but not far enough to be isolated if something should happen. They are a waypoint, enough to be fortified but not yet large enough for a name.
(But still, her world burns.
Is this another constant? Burning, unable to do anything but watch as it all comes crashing down around her?)
And as she pulls her knife from the last demon, as the last of the screaming fades, as it dissolves into the wind finally free, Zoey knows no one here will ever look at her the same again.
So she leaves.
(Come find me, the wind had whispered.)
She didn't know where to find them, but she knew who would.
(Her mother cries when she leaves, her father just lays a hand on her shoulder. There is still soot on his forehead from the fires.
It is the first time the three of them have been in the same room alone in two years. Somewhere in those two years she has stopped being just their daughter, although part of her would always remain that way, and had become a Hunter and a Storyteller.
Her mother asked if she would ever come back.
Zoey did not know, and did not ask the Wind.)
____________
Once upon a time there was a band of heroes, chosen to fight the forces of darkness.
They rallied, as unstoppable as the sun as relentless as the tide.
Chaos cracked their foundation and secrets shattered their trust.
They failed.
That is an ending but it is not the ending.
___________
So the Wind guides her to Bobby, and Bobby shows her the tree like he promised, the seal that won’t break for him but will for her and tells her who he found.
“Her name is Mira,” Bobby said, “Song Mira. She lives about two or three weeks' travel past the valley.”
Zoey tilted her head back and felt the Wind tussle her hair.
“She’s gonna laugh so hard when she realizes,” Zoey said. “She was always so pushy about legacy.”
(Come find me the wind had whispered, when she was barely old enough to understand it.)
(The knot of a tree, spelled in a way only she could break and all that was in there – this precious treasure Bobby said demons would kill for – was a battered old guitar and a notebook half full of lyrics.)
(Zoey took them both and followed the wind into the night, and set about finding her destiny.)
(The honmoon could have chosen anyone else, but it chose a storyteller.
Remember that.)
__________
(A private mourning, for someone not dead, yet not alive.)
(There are two stories she tells on the road.
Make no mistake, there are many tales she tells – to earn coin, to earn food and a bed, on one memorable occasion a tale of trying to capture the moon in a sieve to escape bandit blade – but there are only two stories she allows herself to tell. To breathe life and bring into being, to join the ever growing chorus of knowledge and memory – to weave into lessons and remembrance.
The first story she tells is that of a hideous monster and the only girl to love him. He twisted himself until he believed it to be true, and she twisted herself to save him. The story never ends the same way.
The second is of a boy with a boundless curiosity and an endless thirst for knowledge and the girl he meets who delights and puzzles him so much, he tries to understand the universe for her.
Here is a storyteller’s secret:
They are about the same person.)
____________
Once upon a time although that is not how stories begin here it was how I was taught and so how I shall tell.
Once upon a time there was a village of fools, who thought they could catch the moon. After all, it bathed in the well every night, any fool could see that. So off to the well they went and sealed it up tight. But when they came the next night to collect their ransom, there was the moon, shining luminously in the sky. For what they had thought to be the moon was just a reflection. So go ahead. Catch the moon in a sieve. See how far it gets you.
The lesson is thus: Beware the folly of men, who try to catch the moon in a sieve. What do they know of the power they seek to contain?
The lesson is thus: If you know the ending and still seek to catch the moon, who is the bigger fool – the one who tries or the one who follows?
________________
Oh, she fucked up.
She was so intent on practicing her pitch, finding the perfect ending, that she didn't realize Mira was right there and now Mira thought she was an idiot.
Ohh, by all the stars and skies, she fucked up.
Her one chance to look cool, to impress Mira and she stumbled over her words as Mira snuck up on her.
Mira was... gods Mira is just how she remembers (knows? Remembered? Eh, future Zoey can debate semantics) so full of fire and willpower, two seconds from snapping her self restraint and taking off, but too scared to be alone.
She doesn't remember what she says to Mira, hopefully it sounds assured and knowing, like Bobby. All she hears is the wind rustling joyfully through the trees (this is her. She will protect you she is here) and all she sees is Mira. Every inch the Noble's daughter, all cutting angles and sharp jawline but Zoey knows she knows what those angles hide and who Mira holds close to her heart and it is not her status as a daughter. (Mira is a protector in every life, and in every life she finds something to protect, even if it will destroy her.)
So Zoey waited until Mira realized she wasn't alone and they ran together.
“What will she be like?” Mira had asked, once they were clear, further than she had ever been in her life, ancestral blade strapped to her back. “How will we find her?”
Zoey had smiled, threaded her fingers through Mira’s and tugged her on the road. “The Wind will tell me,” she said.
And then…
And then
Oh, her wildest dreams couldn't compare. Someone who did not think she was too much, someone who thought she was enough, who would hold her in the dark, cold night.
She will keep you safe, the wind whispered.
Zoey had never felt safer than with Mira.
(The lands they pass tell a different story – somber and gray, she hears the way the world falls silent, as Mira feels the restless dead that linger beneath their feet.
“One day,” Zoey whispered, threading her fingers through Mira’s, watching the way her jaw tightened, the way she swallowed as she tried to blink back her tears. “We will be strong enough to fight all creatures in the dark.”)
(“What do you see?” Mira whispered as they stared up into the stars one night.
“Stories,” Zoey whispered back, “of all that was and all that will be.”
(There is a third voice, an echo in their minds, who would have eagerly pointed out the names and shapes of each of the stars – but it is a ghost for now.)
___________
Bobby had been cagey about the details regarding their third, it seemed even he didn't know exactly where she was.
He told them to follow the trail Celine left, which would have been fine, had Celine left a trail.
But after four months, they finally got a thread which turned to a string which led them to a cabin in Jeju woods and the girl stalking them in the shadows.
“There used to be a woman in the woods," the old lady said as they made their purchases. "But we haven't heard from her in a while. There's something else." She shivered and made a sign to ward off evil. "Something stalks the woods in her stead."
"Well, why don't we take care of it?" Zoey patted her hand. "My friend and I may not look like it but we've handled things like this in the past."
The villager eyed their youthful appearances, but then whether it was because she noticed the blessed blade on Mira's back or the look in Zoey's eyes, something in her smile straightened, as for the first time in a while she was filled with more than the thoughts of getting through the week.
Hope in her eyes, she smiled in gratitude.
(That is what hunters do. Bring hope.)
“Take these for the road then.” And she held out some ornaments, carved with great care despite their simple roots. “I worked on them myself. Guaranteed to keep you safe from whatever lurks in the woods. Tiger or not.”
And Zoey and Mira had bowed and politely accepted before going on their way once more.
Meeting Rumi was the opposite of meeting Mira.
Mira, much as she would deny it, barreled her way into Zoey's life (by interrupting her performance, yes that counts) Rumi was cautious, waiting in the wings, hesitant and examining – but oh so curious.
So Zoey gave her space, avoided direct answers by the fire and drew her out little by little.
Her first impression of Rumi was… skittish.
(Does she notice the way her eye gleams in the firelight? The way she is careful when wrapping her scars? Yes. But it is not her story to tell, the details will come with time, she is sure.)
(If it's anything bad the Wind would warn her, right?)
__________
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She was so used to being a storyteller she forgot that her makeshift role was leader.
A storyteller guides, nudges along until the answer is stumbled across and then they wave their hands and say 'it was in you all along'.
A leader looks you in the eye, clasps your shoulder and says 'it'll be alright'.
A leader doesn't have secrets, a storyteller lives off them.
Here she is, the broken bits of her family again.
Too much and not enough.
(It seems she has found another constant – it always burns down around her.)
Once upon a time, the wind tussled her hair gently, there was a girl who thought she was not enough, until her family loved her just for who she was.
“I hope you’re right.” Zoey looked to where Mira, Rumi and Celine were breaking camp. To the fresh earth beneath the tree and the sharp reminder that the past few days of joy were an anomaly, not the usual. That the road would just get longer and harder from here.
“Because now we’re all we got.”