CHAPTER 285: A NEW LEVEL OF LONELINESS

When was the longest Irene had gone without talking to another person?

The thought struck her as she went up the mostly unbeaten mountain trail, the evidence of weathering more than the evidence of travel. Each time she saw the few signs of worn stone or trail, she wondered if it was only her family who had made those signs of life.

Even though she was all alone in this desolate place, it felt so alive because of the signs of living and surviving. Her own family’s perseverance made her smile.

However, after a few days of loneliness and only her horse to talk to, Irene recalled something her father told her. It was advice he got from his mother when the only people she traveled with were children who hung onto her and didn’t offer much in terms of conversation. She was unable to relax for even a moment, worried about monsters that could undoubtedly cause harm to the children she had brought with her.

On her journey, Kara started a journal of sorts. She wrote each entry like a letter to someone in the future or even her future self to see how far she had come or how much she had changed. What she didn’t know was that those short letters would be memories her granddaughter would fondly read whenever she wanted a peek into the past.

Arthur, on the other hand, had a specific purpose for the writings that kept him company as his fire died down each night. By the time he was sixteen, he was fully smitten by a girl a year younger than him. It was the very girl he grew up to marry and have children with.

When he was permitted to go off on his journey and visit his father’s grave, he began his notes to Rochelle. He had bound a notebook before he left and wrote in it every single day until he had to start filling up the backs of the pages.

By the end of his journey, there wasn’t only ink but blood on the pages from a run-in with unexpected monsters. He delivered the book to Rochelle in secret, and he didn’t see her after that for a few more years. After all, he didn’t have her parents’ permission. She was a finely-groomed noble girl while he was a wild animal.

It wasn’t until he was making a name for himself as a knight, directly appointed by the King, that he was able to get Rochelle’s parents’ approval.

The rest was history.

As Irene sat down in her tent after eating a meager meal, she left her tent flap open only to enjoy the fire until she wasn’t able to anymore.

She and Sammy had found another few rocks to hide between so they wouldn’t freeze to death.

The only time Irene took off her gloves was to write.

Before she could begin, she would read one page out of a Sünstoian children’s book to refamiliarize herself with the language. Otherwise, the books she was seeking from the north would be completely and totally pointless for her to even retrieve.

When she was satisfied with her reading, she would then write one sentence in Sünstoian at the top of the entry for that day and then go on about her thoughts or various things she saw. At times, she would dip into her feelings of guilt over leaving behind her family and the knighthood.

The longer she grew into this habit each night, the more she realized just how therapeutic she found it.

However, there were times she had to laugh at herself.

It wasn’t as if she had someone she loved to give it to, like her father did, nor did she have plans for a future family. Perhaps one day her brother would get married, and his children would be interested in learning of his family’s history.

For now, she merely wrote the notes for herself. It was enough for her to clear her head and make sense of her thoughts.

When she was finished, she grabbed the stones she had placed in the fire between two other rocks so she wouldn’t burn herself. She then buried them in the ground underneath her blankets so that the heat would be maintained into the night. It was also important that she keep her water close to her body and keep ice melting in a pot at all times. She had three waterskins with her so that she would never find herself without.

Every decision she made on that trip was entirely based on survival. It was a mindset she had taken on when she realized there was no one else she could rely on but herself.

Whenever Irene went to sleep, she knew that she would wake up before the sun each day. By that point, she would be lucky if the hard wood she used in her fire were still coals that she could relight for a light breakfast. It seemed that she got lucky because they were easy to start back up for a bit of porridge.

She began to melt more water as well.

As Irene sat and waited for her food to cook, she heard shuffling of the stone and snow to her side. At first, she was alarmed, but then she smiled at Sammy’s gentle huff. All she could offer him was oats for now and whatever extra water she had melted.

There would be preserved foods in the last town between the mountains and the village where her grandmother’s items were located. She would also be able to stock up on more fodder so that her horse didn’t starve. There were an entire two pouches full of just food for him to eat, so he would have energy to continue, even though all he was able to carry for the time being were the saddlebags. She wouldn’t need to ride until they got through the frightening terrain.

As the eastern horizon started to turn purple, that was when Irene knew she could truly pack up her camp and set off for the day. She would check her map once before beginning to pull the horse along once more.

That way, she would be able to rely on the rising sun to light her trail and wouldn’t need to waste supplies for torches or anything of that sort.

By the time the sun was fully up and she imagined it was late morning, they made it to the flattest area there was likely going to be on the journey through the mountain pass. By that point, she had been traveling for five days.

That meant that there was less than a week until she would at least make it to the foothills leading her down the other side of the mountains. The northern lands were higher in elevation than Chemois, so the mountain climb downward was far less than what she experienced on the way up.

It gave her relief to know that she survived on her own for so long. It gave her confidence, but even with confidence, she still knew to be cautious. What she had been through had been immensely easy so far.

Everything she had experienced was something she had already been through before. Things would only get precarious once she was in the arctic plains that led further and further north.

She let out a sigh. It wasn’t time to think ahead. She needed to focus on even the smallest detail of her present self and present surroundings. That was how she had survived and would continue to survive.

"Shall we move a bit quicker for a while?" she asked as she mounted Sammy.

The horse seemed eager to be ridden. It caused her to smile.

The winds were picking up on this flat area and she had to tie the hood over her head a bit tighter against her neck so it wouldn’t get blown off of her. Even though she had a scarf that covered everything except for her eyes, her face already felt unbelievably dry. She knew she was drinking less water than she would out of caution for what was ahead and the need to hydrate her horse as well.

As she squeezed her knees and the feeling of a horse taking off overtook her, she found enjoyment in the moment.

However, after Sammy took off on what he deemed to be the safest part of the trail so that he wouldn’t hurt his ankles, he lurched all of a sudden and turned unexpectedly.

"What is it?" she asked, her heart racing at the sudden interruption in her path.

The question was soon answered when she saw one of the white dire wolves just like the one she had seen at her grandmother’s. It blended almost perfectly into the snow until it stood up and its dark nose was no longer buried in the snow.

Since it didn’t seem to have any interest in advancing towards her or her horse just yet, she slowly, carefully pulled her bow off of where it had been attached to the arrow sheath on her back as well as one of the sharpened arrows. She ran her fingers over the feathers to make sure that they were straight and precise as they possibly could be.