The air inside the tent had sharpened, biting at Nimue's cheeks by the time she woke. She stayed beneath the heavy wool for a moment, her small body curled into a tight ball, watching the dawn light wash across the canvas walls in a pale, ghostly grey.
The fire had settled into nothing more than a memory of heat, its absence leaving the morning damp and still. Cinder remained tucked against her side, his fur soft against her arm and his ribs rising and falling with a slow, rhythmic ease.
The transition from the bright, piercing stars of the night before to this cold reality was a blur. She remembered the songs, the crackle of burning logs, and the heavy weight of the blanket, but the rest had slipped away into the deep pull of sleep. Now, the hard ground made her back feel stiff. Her legs were a mess of tangled fabric, and the tip of her nose felt cold as ice.
She pushed herself upright, her joints popping in the silence. The tent felt cavernous with only her and the fox inside. Jack's sleeping bag sat rolled tight and tucked against the canvas wall, his boots missing from their spot. Saoirse's blanket was rolled neatly, and the leather bag she usually kept in the corner had vanished.
Nimue crawled to the entrance, her knees pressing into the groundsheet, and pulled the zipper down with a sharp, metallic scuff.
The clearing was a study in grey. The fire pit was cold, the wood having long since collapsed into a mound of white ash that looked like spilled flour. A single, lonely curl of smoke drifted from a blackened log before it vanished into the morning mist.
Jane sat on a log near the remains of the fire, her fingers wrapped around a steaming ceramic mug. Her red hair hung loose and windswept over her shoulders; her bare feet pressed into the cold, damp earth of the summer. She looked up as Nimue emerged, a small smile touching her lips.
"Bonjour, Mimi," Jane said, her voice soft in the morning quiet.
Nimue took a seat beside her, her movements slow and heavy with lingering sleep. The wood felt freezing through her thin shorts, the dampness of the log seeping into the fabric. Cinder followed her out, padding across the grass to settle at her feet, his nose pointed toward the dead embers.
"Where is Papa?" Nimue asked, her voice a tiny rasp.
"He went to find some breakfast. Saoirse went with him."
Nimue looked at the pit. The ash was a dull charcoal, the stones stained with soot. A hidden log at the edge still held a faint, pulsing red glow, a single spark refusing to die.
"Did they leave a long time ago?"
"Before the sun was up." Jane handed over the cup. The tea was warm, though the brew was weak and heavily sugared, just the way Nimue liked it. "They will be back soon."
Nimue held the mug in both hands, letting the warmth seep through the ceramic into her skin. Gold light began to spear through the trees at the edge of the clearing, cutting through the shadows and turning the mist into shimmering dust.
"Do they know where to go?"
"Saoirse found a stream yesterday while she and Jack were scouting the site. She thought there might be fish."
Nimue pictured the fish. She thought of silver scales and the clear, frozen eyes she had seen at the fishmonger's stall back in London, where the ice always glittered under the bright fluorescent lights.
"Fish live in streams?"
"In the clean ones. The cold ones."
The tea was almost finished when the silence of the woods broke.
Branches snapped in the distance. Voices drifted through the thick brush, growing louder with every second. Saoirse's laugh sounded bright and sharp, followed by the lower, steady rumble of Jack's reply.
They stepped into the clearing together, their boots caked with dark mud. Jack had his shirt sleeves pushed up past his elbows, his hands still glistening with water. Saoirse carried a woven bag over her shoulder, the bottom dark with moisture.
"Right then, you are finally awake," Jack said with a grin, his black hair messy from the morning air.
Saoirse set the bag on the log beside Jane. "Llook. We found breakfast."
Nimue stood on her tiptoes to peer inside. There were three small, tart red apples and a handful of dark purple berries that looked like bruised jewels. At the bottom lay two fish, their scales shining, polished silver in the light.
"There's a stream about ten minutes that way," Saoirse said, pointing through the thicket with a muddy finger. "It's very cold. The fish were just waiting there."
"Were they sleeping?" Nimue asked.
"Just waiting for us to come along," Jack said. He knelt by the pit and began arranging the dry sticks he had gathered.
The fire returned quickly under his care. Jack fed the small twigs first, watching the orange tongues catch, then the larger branches, until the flames licked high enough for cooking. Saoirse worked with a knife, her movements quick and sure as she cleaned the catch. She rinsed the fish in a bowl of water from the bottle, then wrapped them in foil with a heavy pat of butter and a dash of salt.
Nimue watched from the log, her stomach feeling tight and empty. Jane handed her an apple, and she bit into it. The skin was tough and the flesh tart, the juice stinging a small cut on her lip, but she ate it until only the brown core remained.
Jack slid the foil packets onto the glowing coals. The butter hissed almost immediately, a sound like falling rain, and the scent of cooked fish began to fill the morning air.
Saoirse sat next to Nimue, holding a dusty potato. "Do you want to cook yours?"
Nimue took the small, vegetable, feeling the grit on her palms. Saoirse handed her a square of foil. "Wrap it tight, just like we do for dinner."
Nimue pressed the foil around the potato, her fingers making lumpy, wrinkled folds in the silver metal. She took great care to ensure no brown skin peaked through the cracks.
"It's good," Saoirse said. She took the packet and tucked it deep into the coals next to the fish.
They waited while the fire crackled and smoke drifted into the canopy above, lost in the green leaves. Nimue watched the foil darken and soot-stain. Jack turned the fish with a sturdy stick, the steam rising in white, fragrant clouds.
Nimue ate another apple and moved on to the berries. They were sweet at first, then sour, the skins bursting against her teeth to leave dark, ink-like stains on her tongue.
The fish came off the heat first. Jack slid the packets onto a flat rock. Jane opened one, releasing a cloud of buttery, salty steam that made Nimue's mouth water. The white flesh flaked apart easily under the fork. She placed a portion on a plate and handed it to Nimue.
It was scorching. The meat was soft, melting away as soon as it touched her tongue. She ate with her fingers, mimicking Saoirse's movements and licking the salt from her knuckles. The salt was sharp, the butter rich and heavy.
The potato followed. Nimue opened her own lumpy packet to find the skin blackened and the inside white and steaming. She broke it open, the heat stinging her fingertips, but she didn't stop eating until every starchy bit was gone.
When the plates were empty, Saoirse leaned back against the log with a satisfied sigh. "That was a proper breakfast."
Nimue looked at the dying flames. Her stomach felt full and heavy; her hands were sticky with grease and berry juice.
Jane stood up, brushing the dirt from her trousers. "You can go for a walk with Saoirse now."
. . .
The path to the water was narrow, the ground softened by a thick carpet of old, decaying leaves. Saoirse led the way, her boots finding purchase on the uneven terrain with practiced ease. Jane followed behind, her hand resting occasionally on Nimue's back whenever the path sloped downward to keep the girl from tripping over a hidden root.
"Look," Saoirse said, pointing to a massive fallen log covered in a thick layer of emerald moss. "That's been there for years."
Nimue touched the moss. It felt damp and soft, like the velvet on Jane's good cloak. She pressed her palm into the green surface, leaving a visible print behind as the water squeezed out.
"Feel the bark under the moss," Saoirse encouraged.
Nimue pushed her fingers deeper, past the soft green layer. The wood underneath felt rough and splintered, the ancient skin of the tree falling away in damp chunks. She pulled her hand back quickly.
"Dead things feed the living," Jane said. "The log feeds the moss. The moss feeds the insects. The insects feed the birds. C'est le cycle (it's the cycle)."
Nimue looked at the log. It was more than just wood; it was a feast for the forest.
They continued until Saoirse stopped at a tree with low, sturdy branches. The bark was a smooth, pale grey, and the leaves fluttered in the light breeze like tiny green flags.
"This one is perfect for climbing. Look at the branches; they are just like stairs."
Nimue looked up. The first branch sat nearly at her shoulder. The others rose in a steady, inviting line toward the sky.
"I will help you," Saoirse said, crouching down. "Step on my leg. Reach for the wood."
Nimue placed her foot on Saoirse's thigh. It felt solid as a rock. She reached up, her fingers brushing the cool bark before her hand finally closed around the lowest branch.
"Pull," Saoirse said. "I have got you."
Nimue strained, her face turning red with the effort. Her arms felt weak, but the branch was low enough that she managed to hook one knee over it, then the other. The bark felt rough against her palms, catching on her skin.
Saoirse stood, her hands steadying Nimue's waist. "Now the next one. Do you see it?"
Nimue looked up. The next branch was thicker and slightly further away. She reached, but her fingers slipped on a patch of smooth bark.
"Try again."
She reached once more, gritting her teeth. This time, her grip held. Saoirse lifted her from below, pushing her upward until Nimue's knee found the wood. She sat there, straddling the trunk, her knuckles white as she gripped the bark.
She looked down. Jane was watching from below, her face tilted toward the sun, her red hair glowing. Saoirse was grinning, standing just a step below her.
"I did it," Nimue said, her heart thumping.
"You did." Saoirse climbed up beside her with an easy, fluid grace. "Now, look."
She pointed through the canopy. The clearing was visible from here, the tent nothing more than a small green speck in the distance. The fire pit was a dark bruise on the earth. Beyond the trees, the fields stretched out toward the distant hills, vast and open.
The world looked wider from the branches.
"Tomorrow," Saoirse promised, "you will go even higher."
Nimue gripped the branch tighter. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and for a moment, she didn't want to go back down to the ground.
. . .
The stream felt quieter in the heat of the afternoon. Gold light filtered through the leaves, and the water ran clear over smooth, speckled stones. Nimue sat on the bank with her legs drawn up, watching the dark shadows of fish darting beneath the surface.
Jack sat down beside her. He had removed his boots and rolled his trousers up to his knees, his pale skin stark against the dark earth. "Ready?"
The water looked freezing. She had touched it earlier and knew the sharp bite of it. "Ready."
He stood and offered his hand. She took it, her small hand disappearing in his. The stones on the bank were sun-warmed, but the water felt like a shock when she stepped in, making her gasp and catch her breath. The bottom was slick, the stones shifting under her weight. She gripped Jack's hand as hard as she could, her toes curling against the slime-coated rocks.
"Slowly," he cautioned, his voice steady. "Feel the bottom before you put your weight down."
She stood still, her breath coming in short bursts. The water was shallow, barely reaching her ankles. The initial sting of the cold began to fade, replaced by a sharp, humming aliveness that made her skin tingle.
"There." Jack pointed to a flat stone near the bank. "Stand there. It's solid."
She moved toward it, the water swirling around her shins in little eddies. Once she was steady, she let go of his hand.
"Now what?"
He crouched in the water, his hands resting on his knees. "Now we watch."
She waited, mimicking his posture. The water moved in a constant, murmuring rush over the riverbed. The stones below were shades of grey and brown, worn down and rounded by time. The fish stayed in the shadows of the overhanging bank, their tails flicking.
"You must stay perfectly still," Jack whispered. "Fish feel the movement. They can feel the water shift when you stir."
She held her breath, her chest tight. Her legs and arms remained motionless. The water flowed around her, but she didn't move with it, becoming a part of the stream.
A fish darted out from under a mossy rock. It was a small, silver thing, no larger than her hand. It hovered in the middle of the stream, its fins working to hold its position against the steady current.
"There," Jack breathed.
Nimue saw it. The fish faced upstream, its body curved. Its dark, glassy eye seemed to be watching the world with ancient curiosity.
"Now what?" she whispered back.
"Now you try."
She looked at him. He was smiling, his dark eyes bright.
"Catch it?"
"Catch it. Use your hands."
She looked at the creature. It was fast and small, but her hands were small too. She lowered them into the water, her fingers spread wide.
"Slowly," Jack said. "Move like the water does."
She drifted her hands toward the fish. The surface rippled, the light distorting. The fish vanished like a shadow chased by a candle.
She pulled back, her shoulders slumping.
"Again," Jack encouraged.
She waited until the fish returned to the same stone. She lowered her hands again, slower this time, her movements fluid. Her fingers were open, allowing the stream to pass through them without resistance.
The fish stayed.
She moved closer, her hands inching through the cold. She could see the individual scales now, catching the light in flashes of silver and green.
She snapped her hands shut.
Water splashed everywhere, soaking her front. Her fingers closed on empty space. The fish was gone.
She stared at her palms, water dripping from her fingertips back into the stream.
"Again," Jack said.
She tried four more times. Each time, the fish was too fast, a silver streak that defied her. Once, she felt the slick, powerful thrash of its tail against her palm, a jolt of muscle and life, but it was gone before she could grip it. On the fifth try, she missed completely and sat back on a submerged stone with a splash.
"I can't do it."
Jack didn't argue. He reached into the water, his hands moving with a slow, hypnotic rhythm. His fingers were open and relaxed. As the fish darted past, his hand moved with a sudden, blur-like speed that Nimue's eyes could barely follow.
He held it up. The fish was a brilliant silver, its gills pulsing, its body shimmering as it struggled.
He turned to her, the water dripping from his wrist. "Do you want to hold it?"
She looked at the dark, watching eye. The tail flicked, spraying her face with cold droplets.
She held out her hands, forming a small cup.
He placed the fish into her palms. It felt cold and incredibly slippery, like a piece of wet soap with a mind of its own. It was a strange, delicate weight.
She held it for a heartbeat. Then, she opened her fingers.
The fish slid back into the stream and vanished instantly into the dark shadows.
She looked at her empty, wet hands. They were trembling slightly from the cold and the excitement.
She looked at Jack. He was still smiling.
"I let it go."
"I know you did."
She looked at the water. The fish was gone, and the stream looked exactly as it had before. She put her hands back into the water, letting the current wash over them. The cold felt good now. It felt like something she understood.
They walked back to the camp as the sun began to dip behind the trees. The light was a deep, burning orange, casting long, spindly shadows across the path. Nimue's feet were soaked and her shorts were damp, but she didn't mind the chill.
Saoirse was already at the pit, feeding dry sticks to the fire. Jane was laying out food on the flat rock.
"Did you catch a fish?" Saoirse asked, looking up from the flames.
"No," Nimue said. "I let it go."
Saoirse looked at Jack. He gave a small shrug, but his smile remained.
Dinner was a quick affair. The fire was hot enough to toast the last of the bread on the end of a sharpened stick. Nimue ate two pieces, the crust charred and crunchy, then shared the remaining apples. They threw the cores into the trees for the forest animals to find.
When the plates were clean, they began to pack.
Jack showed her how to scatter the ashes from the pit, spreading them thin so no heat remained trapped beneath the grey surface. Nimue knelt beside him, using her hands to push the dust across the stones.
"Why do we do this?"
"So nothing burns by accident. So the forest stays the way it is."
She pushed more ash. It felt fine and soft, staining her skin a dull grey.
Saoirse struck the tent, folding the canvas and rolling the groundsheet into a tight cylinder. Jane packed away the remaining food and the heavy wool blankets, her movements methodical.
Nimue helped where she could, carrying the folded tent to the bag and collecting the empty water bottles. She found the scraps of foil from the morning's fish and tucked them into the rubbish pack.
Once the bags were full, Jack stood and surveyed the clearing. The pit was cold. The stones were scattered. The grass where the tent had sat was pressed flat in a perfect circle, the only sign they had ever been there.
"Right," he said. "That's us."
They hiked back through the forest as the light failed. The path was harder to navigate now, the trees becoming dark silhouettes against a deepening purple sky. Jack led the way with the large pack on his shoulder. Jane walked behind Nimue, her hand steady on the girl's shoulder to guide her around the thickest roots.
Saoirse brought up the rear, humming a low, steady tune that kept time with their footsteps. Nimue didn't know the words, but the melody was comforting, a tether in the growing dark.
The field opened up ahead, a wide expanse of grey. The cottage sat against the hills, its windows dark and silent until they approached.
Nimue's legs felt like lead. Her feet ached, and her hands were still stained with the ash from the fire.
The door opened. Cinder dashed ahead, his tail wagging as he vanished into the house.
Jane took Nimue's bag. "A bath first. Then bed."
Nimue nodded, her head feeling too heavy to hold up.
The bath was hot, the steam rising in thick clouds that smelled of lavender soap. Jane washed the ash from her hands and the mud from her knees. Nimue sat in the water, too exhausted to splash or talk, letting the warmth soak into her tired muscles.
Once she was clean, Jane wrapped her in a thick, fluffy towel and led her to the bedroom. The sheets felt cool and the blankets were soft against her skin. Cinder had already claimed his spot at the foot of the bed, a warm weight over her feet.
Nimue lay down, her eyes already fluttering shut as her head hit the pillow.
Jane tucked the covers around her chin, smoothing the fabric. "C'était une bonne journée (was it a good day)?"
Nimue's mouth curved into a small, tired smile.
"Yes."
Jane kissed her forehead, her lips soft. "Dors bien (sleep well)."
Nimue closed her eyes. The room was dark and the bed was soft. She could hear Cinder's slow breathing near her feet.
She smiled as she drifted off.