It felt as if it was just yesterday that the lost child had been nervously holding his hand as he led her back home. The forested valley, where once a proud village stood, had turned to charred cinders. All was silent as smoke rose in pillars from the desolation. The cruelty of it all was too much to bear: like some wild beast’s prey, twisted into an amalgamation of black and red after heaving its final breath, leaving behind only the remains of its bloody carcass. Slowly he led her away from the ashes, away from all she had known, their feet leaving impressions in the mud — perhaps the only sign that some still lingered within the ruins. Her hand tightened around his and trembled violently. 

Perhaps it was to pierce the veil of the evening dark, or it was his mind searching for something to soothe the terrified child who stood by his side, but suddenly he recalled a lullaby his mother had used to sing to him when he was a child. She wouldn’t recognise the long dead language it was sung in, but all the same it held a certain peace he couldn’t have expressed through empty consolations. It used to be sung to him in a low hum meant to soothe when he couldn’t sleep. As his voice trailed off into the night sky, she seemed to be looking somewhere far away, to the stars illuminating the horizon, stretching endlessly before them, just above the reach of the towering sentinels which stood fast about them. Led by his voice, she seemed to melt into the blinding array of light in the sky, her shaking subsiding if only for just a moment. For giving her a brief moment to forget the desolation she had walked away from, he would eternally be grateful: a silly, pointless song it might have been, but it gave her comfort when everything seemed so dark. 

Days changed into weeks as he began a search for someone to take her in. He wanted someone more capable than he, someone who understood the plights of an orphaned girl; under the guise of doing her a kindness, he was trying to give her away — as if to wipe his hands clean

of the whole situation. It wasn’t his place to raise a child. It was a bud he lacked the care and experience to help grow — much less one in the midst of a storm. Every morning he would wake her, make the poor child walk for hours, only to be met with empty homes, glaring eyes of mistrustful strangers, or more burnt ashes. All the while she sullenly followed behind him, grasping his hand tightly as if afraid of letting go. 

“I’m sorry,” he had said to her one quiet night. He was exhausted and out of options: he spoke sincerely and without a hint of the awkward hesitance that caused so many of his attempted reassurances and condolences to die on his tongue. She had lost her home, there was nowhere left for her anymore, as if she was a single droplet which was whisked into the great expanse of an uncaring ocean. The girl stood, casting her eyes down to the ground, nervously trembling, as she mustered up a response. 

“Could I stay with you?” 

There was a long pause, after which he nodded slightly, his features still chiselled in stone as if he hadn’t considered even the possibility of the question. It had been a few months since they had met, but it was now that he first saw her smile. It was a small, beautiful smile which was distinctly her. He would never forget it. 

The recluse that he was, children were a tall task; so, rather than act as her looming eye over her shoulder, he played the part as a guide, teaching her how to live but not holding the reins. He was more at ease that way, cowardly as it might have been. This deference, though, let him focus on passing on something meaningful once she grew into adulthood: it placed an emphasis on the acquisition of skills necessary to survive — something he knew. Thereafter, he took great care in instructing principles into her, even taking some pride in it. She was a very bright child and latched onto new things instantly, diligently following his word. She appeared to hold a deep love for learning, seemingly enchanted by all the new things he taught her, a childish wonder stirring an endless desire to unfold that which were just beyond her reach. But still he was plagued by apprehension: was that feeling really her own? Was he hemming her into a life she was secretly unhappy with? She was growing up in front of his eyes, and as the years drew on his doubts swelled within his chest, all the while he silently wished for their moment together would last just a bit longer. 

The heavy mahogany sheets covered her frail body as she coughed with sickness. She was burning hot from fever. It was an anxiety he had never felt before, as he fussed over her recovery. Medicinal herbs ground into paste by her bedside, an empty bowl of soup, and a damp cloth surrounded her ensconced body like offerings. An unconscious foot was tapping against the floor as she breathed unevenly beside him. 

As he gently pressed a hand on her forehead to check on her again, she reached for his hand and clasped it in hers. “Stay… please,” she said in a faltering voice. 

He gave her a tender nod in response. 

As she grew into adulthood, she became much more headstrong. One who wanted to spread her wings and fly from the little nest they had built in their short time together. It was a necessary part of growing into oneself, but he let her make that choice. She traced a path which she continually conquered, becoming her own person as she managed her way through the chaotic course of her life. 

As she grew into a fully fledged adult she found someone she loved. He was a similarly bookish boy from a nearby village which had been established recently. He was a little stubby, with a mop of brown hair and eyes which always seemed fixated on some point in the far distance. The two became inseparable after their frequent run-ins growing up, though he could not say he approved of the match. More and more the boy would venture deep into the woods to keep the girl company, and as time passed he felt as if he was getting in their way. “Might I have her?” 

“She isn’t mine to give,” 

Winding their way through life together, they at last became one. She had found a place to be, and so, she left. It was something he ought not to interfere with. He was an outsider, only with her for a brief time. It wasn’t his place. It was at that time he decided to leave too — to dislodge himself from the tangle that was the life of a little human child he briefly knew. Leaving was a prospect he never before considered, but one he felt urged into by the growing pit in his chest. The girl was gone, too far to reach anymore: but the fondness he felt for her didn’t go away. It was something that had been sewn deeply into the fabric of his heart, it was a dazzling, vivid colour given to his life of grayscale. To have it taken was far too cruel. 

***

It was many years of wandering. From town to town like a wandering spectre seeking refuge in the lands of men. He had settled in a town far from his home forest. The people there treated him with hospitality; a menial people, brought up on the scent of spring in their valley hidden deep within the mountains — what they lacked in means they made up for in kindness: they had welcomed him as one of them the moment he had stepped through their gates. 

He was greeted with flowers from his students that morning, a mixture of various species found all throughout the village to create a multicoloured wreath. It was the fashion of the town to award them on great occasions, and in this case it was as thanks for his efforts as a teacher.

They gave their thanks in turn, as today was the day they were to graduate. The children shone so brightly, their smiles as he addressed them in turn, thanking them and wishing them well into the future. This sentimentality was a feeling which he had learned, and it was one he would keep forever in his heart. Each child reminded him of the warmth of the first one he had taken in, though that memory had faded: he could hardly even recall her face. This parting, too, hurt but as long as he had known them they had confided their hopes to him: to become a great adventurer, to sail the seas, to help those in need. All had made a choice, and thus it was inevitable, an intrinsic part of their short human lives that they must at some point part. He had come to realise this difficult part of human relationships very early. During his travels he had been separated from those he held close by death, by distance, and even by time. At each point the ache of their parting never lessened, opening a fresh wound into his exposed, beating chest, but it was something that he nevertheless continued to search for. 

He softly retreated to his home. The evening deadened the town into a hush quiet, as all the colour was drained as the imposing shade embraced the valley. As time faded deeper into dusk, the dim twilight availed a modest reprieve from the otherwise total black of night’s reign. There was a faint knock at the door. Slowly rising from the chair he had sunken into, he ambled towards the sound. As it creaked open, he was met with a woman. Her face creased with the line of age, but its shape was vaguely familiar. 

“Have we met before?” he said, deep in a biting contemplation that had already begun to eat into him. He felt that this stranger was important, somehow, but he could not place where they had met. 

In her eyes there flashed a deep sadness despite her features which seemed imbued with a satisfaction, like she had gotten what she came for. He could not discern what lay beyond them.

He had been moving around for decades, building temples within himself in devotion to the people he met — and yet, he could not place this woman who seemed to be searching for him. He felt the need to apologise, but he knew that wouldn’t make her feel any better. She whispered a brief apology before excusing herself. As she turned to leave he felt a strong desire to say something aloud, but nothing ever reached his lips. He bit his tongue as he stared at her silhouette slowly disappearing into the night. 

***

It was another time. Another place. He had been on the move again, no more sure of his aim than he had decades ago when he started from the forest for the first time. As he passed through the sun bleached streets, he took a moment to pause in the shade of the impressive stone tower which crowned the now desolate town. He was weighed down by a blanket of fatigue. He had come so far, and yet he was no closer to mending the constant ache he felt. The air was stiff and heavy as he started once more, carrying himself onwards to nowhere in particular. The village, far removed from its former splendour, stood on the brink of collapse, and he wasn’t interested in living out its final few years. The phantoms which still remained seemed as ancient as the stones which made the foundations of their homes. 

Clouds of dust clouded the road as his legs bore him from one empty building to another. It was a hollow husk of a settlement, one that gave the impression of once having been a major landmark, a place of commerce and wealth that had since fallen into ruin. It was a wonder that there were still people living among the crumbling stone walls, like little insects slowly eating away at the bones of a wondrous beast centuries after it had died. It was erosion that had caused its collapse: once the river shifted its course and the town was separated from its vital support, it could no longer survive on its own. 

It became dark. As he reached the edge of town, he could see a river in the far distance. The same one that abandoned the decaying town which he left behind. Beside it he saw the light of a city. Finding an empty home that stood overlooking the town, he laid down to rest on the softly packed dirt. As he drifted slowly towards sleep, he thought of his mother. Her arms cradling him as his chest rose and fell in regular intervals. 

“My boy,” she said gently. “I’ll always love you, okay? Don’t forget that, no matter how long I’m gone,” 

He said nothing in response. She played with his hair as he sunk further and further into slumber. She began to hum a song that he had long forgotten. One that she always used to sing to him whenever he was crying, whenever he was having trouble with sleep, whenever he was sick. He had heard it thousands of times: he cherished that song deeply, but he hadn’t thought of it for decades now. Why was that? As he lay still in the arms of the one who he cherished so much, he thought of what he would give to feel her touch again. She had been gone for so long that these last few decades felt like the blink of an eye. As he continued to drift like an ebb and flow, his eyes closed as his mind began to focus on the song she sang. 

It was a song he remembered well. One that reminded him of a girl with a bright smile from long ago. Her long forgotten face flashed in his mind. How long had it been? It had been years since she had come to him in that village in the mountains, where that woman had come to see him. He was now certain that it was her. He had given nothing back to that child. He must have hurt her terribly. Was it too late to see her once more? Was it even right for him to see her? Looking towards the distant horizon, he searched for the forest which was long beyond his sight.

Would she still be there waiting for him? It didn’t matter to him — whether he was too late, or whether she didn’t want to see him — he was going back to see her anyway. He felt it was something like a duty, tinged with a selfish desire to see her face one more time. It was nothing more than selfish ambition, but it set aflame a dormant ash which lay in his chest. 

***

Her home lay close to where she had spent her youth. It was a modest cabin that lay on an open field of blooming flowers. As he stumbled through it, he saw children playing in the yard. A young woman setting laundry out to dry. A young man at work splitting logs. It was a place that teemed with life. A stiff breeze fluttered through the field, blowing the grass toward its side as if in reverence to the home he approached, as he continued his unsteady march towards the home which lay at the centre of it all. Receiving queer looks from the residents — the family — of the girl he once knew, he was called over by the young lady of the home. Before he had the chance to exchange words with her, she dismissed him with a knowing glance, and quietly opened the front door and ushered him inside. Following her through the home, they at last came upon the room. She bowed and took her leave. 

“You remembered,” she spoke in a quavering voice, barely above a whisper. A weary smile on her lips. 

Approaching the bedside of the dying old woman, he responded with his own small, sad smile as he sat beside her. Looking upon the girl for what would be the last time, he watched as her faint breaths made the sheets she rested under rise and fall, slowly. It had been many years. Far too long. A strange feeling welled up in his chest: a swelling of longing tinged with a warm glow which had always burned brightly in the sea of his heart. But she was right in front of him. The girl he had raised. The timid little child who loved when he told her stories of his past. The one who devotedly studied his teachings to the point of exhaustion, and teased him when he overslept for her lessons. He was enveloped by that strange warmth as he reminisced on the child which now lay before him. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, Aria. I-” 

“Don’t apologise,” she spoke softly, her words fading into the faint breeze which blew in from outside. “You came back for me. That’s enough,” 

She extended her hand and clasped it in his. It was the last time he felt her warmth, but still it made him happy to remember it. Silence crept in as her hand faintly trembled in his, so he began to hum the song they shared long ago.