Serena prayed within herself that she wouldn’t fall off another horse again. At this moment in time, she had no clue where she was riding to. She laughed dryly at the absurdity of it all, she had just ridden off into the night as though she knew Ironshade like the back of her hand. This was no Silverstone. She had barely mapped out the castle, let alone the lands that sprawled beyond its gates.
The wind tangled in her hair, whispering secrets she could not understand. The trees on either side of the road looked the same, bare-limbed and silvered under the moonlight. Her breath caught on the cold, and the reins stung her fingers from how tightly she clutched them.
"This is foolish," she muttered aloud.
And yet, she did not stop. Somewhere within her, Feyra stirred.
You’re not lost, came the gentle voice of her wolf-spirit. You are simply waiting to be guided.
Serena didn’t respond immediately. She let the silence between them stretch until her heart calmed just enough to let her feel again.
Why does this place make me feel... calm? she asked, not expecting an answer.
Because something calls you. Something ancient, I can feel it and I recognise it. Something that remembers you, even if you have forgotten it.
She blinked away the sudden sting of tears.
I’m so tired, Feyra. Everyone thinks I’m something important. Something that is nothing short of marvellous. But I feel small. Like a girl playing dress-up in a dead woman’s clothes.
You are not small, Feyra replied, but even wolves must sometimes lie low in the grass before they strike.
Serena exhaled slowly. As the road curved around a rising hill, she felt the shift deep in her chest, a tug, as though the moon itself had caught her heart and was pulling her onward. The path narrowed, trees thickening like watchful sentinels, and then the land opened.
The temple stood silent under the silver sky. It was bathed in moonlight, it looked ethereal, carved of pale stone and vines that shimmered like spider silk. Serena pulled at the reins, bringing the horse to a halt as her breath caught in her throat.
"I know this place," she whispered. Though she had only glimpsed it once, the energy curled around her like a memory It was calm and old and unchanging as always.
A figure stepped from the shadow of one of the temple’s outer columns. The Moonseeker.
She stood tall despite the years, with dark, weathered skin that gleamed under the moon. Her robes, layers of silver and pale blue, rustled gently as if they moved with the breeze. Her eyes were blank, white as bone and yet Serena felt those eyes saw far more than they should have.
Serena blinked slowly and she led the hose to a trot and moved closer to the temple opening.
"Child," the Moonseeker said, her voice soft but rich. "Do not trample the peace you seek. Slow your steps."
Serena scrambled down from the horse and half-ran toward her before catching herself, pausing just before the temple steps.
"I-" she began, breathless. "I’m sorry, I just, I needed to come. I didn’t even know where I was going until-"
The priestess lifted a hand slowly, her movements graceful and ancient. "The moon calls her own. And when the child hears, the path becomes clear, even if the eyes do not see."
Serena swallowed hard. Her throat was tight. "I feel like I am going to fail."
The Moonseeker tilted her head, listening.
"I feel small," Serena continued, her voice cracking. "Everyone looks at me like I’m supposed to be something. Crimsonclaw ambassador. A wolf of the East. They don’t know...what I really am. If they did-" She trailed off, unable to voice it. The words were poisoned daggers too close to the heart.
She was even too afraid to confide with the priestess. The truth was a yoke on her neck and she could not seem to break it. She feared that if she really spoke, truly from the depths of her heart then it would be all over for her. This difficult fairytale would crumbled before her very eyes if she so dare to whisper her true origins. This text is hosted at novel•fire.net
The older woman was quiet for a moment. Then, in that strange timeless tone, she said, "The mountain does not shout of its strength nor does the moon demand the sun to bow. Yet they remain. They do not care if they are seen or unseen."
Serena’s lip trembled. "But I am not a mountain. I am not even a stone. I am..." She touched her throat instinctively, remembering the execution order Charlotte had once made on her. Remembering the suffocating dread of Silverstone. How close she had come to death. How exile had been mercy only because of a dead oath made by her father.
The Moonseeker turned and began walking up the temple steps without looking back. "Come. Let the moonlight kiss your brow and remember you. There is no shame in fear, only in forgetting how to breathe through it."
Serena followed, heart heavy and feet light, drawn into the stillness of the temple.
Within, the air was cooler. Candles flickered in recessed alcoves, and woven rugs muffled their steps. It smelled of lavender, pine, and something older, dust, perhaps, or memory.
The Moonseeker guided her to a low bench near the altar. "Sit and breathe. Let your soul unfurl."
Serena sat. Her chest tightened and loosened periodically. But at the moment it did not feel like she was drowning. And under the watchful eye of the moon, she let herself breathe.
Serena sank to the cool stone floor, folding her legs beneath her and closing her eyes. The silence pressed gently around her. She was acutely aware of the Moonseeker’s gaze. With a trembling breath, she placed her hand on her forehead, an attempt to calm herself. "Just breathe," she whispered, sighing softly as the tightness in her chest eased.