5 — Highsun 20 / 1 — Ash Moon 12
The passage smelled damp and green, like roots and old rain. Our footsteps echoed softly, one step, then the other. The candle's flame I held out ahead of me quivered with my movements; the dark felt thick enough to press on my shoulders, to sink me if I let it.
I tried not to think about how suffocating it was to be underground, of the earth pressing down over our heads… Or that my entire home—my little wonky house, my herbs, my bed which I missed with a deep ache right now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off as we stepped closer to safety—was now quite far behind.
The angel walked just ahead, apparently not needing the candle since he had passed it to me earlier (exchanging it for the basket and bundle of my clothes which he now carried as if their weight hadn't been enough to make my arms go numb and sore after a few minutes) after the third time I nearly tripped and pulled at his shirt to catch myself from falling. The candlelight caught on his silver hair as he walked a few paces ahead. His steps were as quick as could be with him still bending his head to the side to fit in the low space, and enough for me to keep up without having me out of breath. Still, he moved as if darkness meant nothing to him.
The silence went on so long that I almost started humming to keep myself company. Instead, I said, "You can see in the dark, can't you?"
"Yes. I see differently than humans." His voice didn't echo—it just slipped through the air, steady and calm.
I glanced at the dim outline of his shoulders. "So you've just been… walking around here perfectly fine while I'm tripping over rocks?"
"I would have warned you before you fell."
I chuckled softly. "Would you, though?"
He turned his head a little, and I caught the faintest curve of his mouth. "I might have waited to see if you learned anything from it first."
That earned him a small glare from me. I tightened my grip on the candle and he turned forward again.
I thought of how he had also heard the hunters from significant distances, meaning he had super-hearing also… But, when I thought of a silly thing: "Can you see… like, through things?"
His sigh rolled through the tunnel. "No. I cannot see through clothing. Nor would I want to."
Heat rushed up my neck. "I wasn't going to ask that."
"Of course you weren't," he replied. His tone carried the faintest hint of amusement.
I tried to glare at his back but ended up laughing instead. "Fine. Though, you wouldn't let me walk into a spider web, right?"
He snorted and answered lowly. "I suppose not."
"Good. Because I keep imagining they're everywhere just waiting to attack…" I say cringing at the thought.
The silence between us felt a little lighter after that. I shouldn't be so needy for words; most of my life I lived it alone these days and in silence, but there was just something about him… being forced to stick with me no matter what silly things I say that made me feel chatty.
"So," I started after a minute, "I suppose I don't know your name yet—if you have one that is."
He glanced back, just enough for the candlelight to touch his face. "Rowan."
I lift a brow. "Rowan? Like the tree?"
He made a low sound—somewhere between agreement and resignation.
"It… also means 'little redhead,' no?" I tilted my head, looking up at his pale hair.
He sighed again. "I didn't choose it. Perhaps I was red-haired once, when I was human."
That caught me off guard. "You were human?"
He hesitated. "I don't remember. Angels don't… recall their beginnings clearly. We simply are. Like waking up mid-thought."
"That sounds confusing."
"It is." His tone softened slightly. "It's as if every life before this one sank into a deep river, leaving only what was worth carrying — a sense of justice, fragments of understanding, and a few… rules to give us purpose."
I frown. "Hmm… being an angel sounds quite… intense… Well, honestly, more like tiresome… Though I suppose humans are also born with all kinds of weaknesses and restrictions and uncertainties. At least you seem to know what you need to do…" After a while more of silence, I asked, "So were you assigned to me? Like—'Congratulations, Rowan, here's your new human disaster to fix'?"
He turned back to me once more and shook his head as if scolding me for my blasphemous thoughts. "No. One moment I was elsewhere, simply existing. The next, I was standing at your door. And then you were groping at my face."
I laughed at the memory, "I thought you were a tree when I crashed into you—which is quite a fitting impression for someone named Rowan."
"And I thought you were a giant toad when I saw you there on the ground suddenly…"
Eventually, the air began to change, fresher, cleaner, warmer.
The angel—well, Rowan—hummed lowly. "We're nearly there."
When we reached the hidden door, he pressed against the wood to lift it. It gave way easily enough and as his head poked out into the forest above, now able to stand well since we went down into the cellar.
The light hit my eyes like water after thirst; I blinked hard and moved closer, putting out the candle, left it on the steps in the wall and followed him up. The forest stretched before us—dewy, quiet, and green in a way that made me ache a little. We climbed out and the door sealed behind us without a sound.
When we stepped out, the forest greeted us with cool air and birdsong. I stretched out my limbs and breathed deeply. The air tasted like pine and sunshine.
He scanned the clearing and I smiled as I looked at him now carrying my things in his hands with easy. "No danger nearby," he said.
"Good," I nodded and sighed tiredly. "Then we can… maybe rest? Or have breakfast? Or both?"
He raised an eyebrow and I… pouted.
"I haven't slept in… a day and a half?" I said lowly.
He nodded toward a patch of grass by the stream. "Fine. Rest."
I followed him and spread the blanket at the bottom of the basket out, for us to sit. When he stayed standing, I looked up and he was looking at me. My brows rose in question.
"I'll go search for firewood." There was something in the way he said it… He didn't explain more, but I blushed as I realized and appreciated it. Angels apparently had a sense of courtesy for human needs.
When he returned with the wood, I was sitting comfortably, cross-legged, pulling bread and cheese from the basket. He also took a seat, and then stuck out a small cloth bundle which opened as he put it down, revealing a handsome amount of dark berries.
I smiled widely. "You found these?"
"They were close."
"How fortunate." I tore the loaf in half and held one piece toward him. "You should eat. You've been carrying most of the things and—well, you look like you haven't eaten since the dawn of creation."
My laugh came out breathy and tired.
His gaze lowered to the bread, then back to me. "I do not hunger as you do."
I tilted my head, "Angels can't eat?"
He hesitated. "I can. But…" he trailed off, frowning slightly at the loaf, "it is... not the same."
I waited, but when he didn't take it, I set it down and spread a bit of cheese over my half and pressed a few berries on top. The taste hit me like a blessing. I almost sobbed.
When I reached for another piece, he was still staring at his. "It's all right," I said softly. "You don't have to. Wouldn't want lightning to strike you down for gluttony—" That sounded awfully judgmental of me… I shook my head and winced, "Or for your stomach to end up hurting."
The expression that passed over his face was quiet and unreadable. "I can," he said finally,
"Well," I said, spreading cheese across my half, "it's worth it just for the taste. Look—bread, cheese, and berries? That's nearly a feast."
He watched me as I broke the berries apart and took a bite.
A faint crease appeared between his brows. Then, slowly, he tore off the smallest piece and ate it.
His expression didn't change—except for that tiny furrow, like someone trying to remember the shape of something they'd forgotten.
I smiled. "See? Not so bad."
He didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched again, almost invisible.
After some water, I leaned back on my makeshift pillow of folded clothes.
The stream murmured nearby. The grass was warm beneath me. The forest hummed gently. I rested my head against the bundled fabric of my cloak, eyelids heavy.
Rowan settled against the nearby tree.
"Are you going to sleep?" I murmured.
"I do not need to."
"Of course you don't," I whispered.
The words tangled into a yawn. The world dimmed softly once more.
And just before sleep claimed me, I thought I saw a faint glow near his shoulder—like a silver feather catching the light.