The forest was a symphony of shadows and whispers. Rowan trudged forward, his steps unsteady and his breath visible in the cold, damp air. The towering pines loomed above him, their gnarled branches clawing at the fading light. His sweater clung to him, damp with dew and sweat, and his fingers, cold and trembling, gripped the strap of his bag like it was a lifeline.

He hadn’t eaten in what felt like days—unless the bitter berries he’d spat out earlier counted. His stomach growled in protest, a hollow reminder of his growing weakness. Rowan’s thoughts raced, tangled with a mixture of fear and self-blame.

“I should’ve kept up. I shouldn’t have wandered off,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely louder than the wind.

The forest seemed endless, a maze that mocked his every attempt to find a way out. The trees all looked the same, their dark silhouettes offering no hints of direction. Occasionally, he’d hear distant noises—branches cracking, the soft rustle of leaves—but it was impossible to tell if it was an animal, the wind, or his own mind playing tricks on him.

Rowan stumbled over a root, catching himself just before hitting the ground. He stood there for a moment, gripping the rough bark of a tree for support. He closed his eyes, his chest heaving as he fought back tears of frustration.

And then, as if summoned by his despair, a voice called out.

“Hey! Are you okay?”

Rowan’s eyes shot open, his head turning toward the sound. Emerging from the shadows was a woman, her figure backlit by the last rays of sunlight piercing through the trees. She had chestnut-brown hair tied into a loose braid,

and her eyes, though shadowed by the dim light, carried a mixture of concern and surprise. She wore a simple flannel shirt and sturdy boots, her posture relaxed yet cautious as she stepped closer. In her hands, she carried a wicker basket filled with herbs and wildflowers.

Rowan blinked, unsure if she was real or another cruel trick of his exhausted mind. “I... I think I’m lost,” he croaked.