(6 — Goldfield 1 / 1 — Ash Moon 13)
When I woke, the world was calm as it seemed to wake with the sun's rising along with me.
Dew clung to the blades of grass, a soft shimmer that caught the first hints of sunlight as the forest stretched and stirred around us. The campfire had burned itself down to a nest of pale ash, smoke curling faintly in the cool air. I stretched out as somewhere nearby, a bird tested its morning voice, tentative and sweet.
As soon as I opened my eyes, I saw him.
For a moment, I just lay there — unsure about what to say. I wasn't used to this. I used to wake beneath the ceiling of my cottage, not an open sky, and certainly not in the company of something, especially not a celestial man.
Rowan was sitting a few paces away, exactly where I remembered him last night, his back straight against the tree, his hand hanging loosely over one knee as his fingers moved a blade of grass back and forth. He looked like he'd been carved from the light itself; the early sun had found him, spilling over his shoulders and catching in his hair. For a heartbeat, I thought he was glowing. Then I realized — he actually was. Not bright, not like fire, but soft and lovely.
It was terribly unfair to look that composed in the morning.
I sat up slowly, brushing my fingers through my hair, hoping I didn't look as tangled and sleep-drunk as I felt. My arms ached from sleeping on the ground, and my braid had half unraveled in the night. I tried to tame it, pretending it was a perfectly normal morning and not one spent near an angel who didn't even sleep.
He turned slightly. "You're awake."
"Yes," I said, then added quickly, "I mean—yes. I think so." Smooth.
He didn't smile, exactly, but there was something in his expression that might have been the ghost of one. I cleared my throat, trying to think of anything clever to say, and failed spectacularly.
Instead, I blurted, "You… don't sleep, do you?"
"No."
"Right…" I twisted a lock of hair. "You just… sit there as I sleep. Glowing."
"Glowing?"
I hummed softly, feeling odd, like I was complimenting him, yet… not? "Yes… You didn't know you glow?"
That earned me a glance — one that said I was being annoying, but also that he wasn't about to argue. Which only made me more flustered.
I tried to busy myself with my dress, pulling it down to my ankles and brushing at the wrinkles. My mind kept circling back to the fragments of the night before — the soft laughter like wind-chimes, the faint shimmer beyond the trees, and then… the sound.
A low, thrumming growl that had stirred me awake for half a second. Protective, warning, not human.
I reached for the basket near my side, pretending to be deeply interested in the stale bread inside. As I chewed the dry edge of a crust, a hazy memory from the night before slipped in—half dream, half real. "Last night," I began hesitantly, "I thought I heard… laughing? Like wind chimes. And then something else—like thunder, but… closer."
Rowan's gaze flicked to me. "You dreamt."
"No, I'm sure I woke up for a second. It sounded like—well, like you."
He blinked, once. "Me?"
"Not talking. More like… growling."
His head turned sharply. "I do not growl."
"Oh, I… think you do."
His jaw flexed. "That was not—"
"If it helps," I say, smiling, teasing him at the fact that he was growling at little forest beings, "it was a very dignified, celestial growl."
His expression didn't change, but the faintest flicker of discomfort crossed his eyes — the angelic equivalent of blushing, I decided triumphantly.
"You were in danger," he said finally. "It was a warning."
"Of course." I smiled faintly. "Well, thank you for scaring off the little, laughing, forest sprites. I feel terribly safe now."
"You're welcome."
That startled a laugh out of me, small and bright.
---
Later, when he handed me a flask of water, I murmured, "You didn't have to do that."
"It's nothing."
"It's something," I said quietly. "I'm not used to… anyone being around. The last person who ever fetched water for me was my mother." The words slipped out softer than I meant them to, leaving the air oddly heavy. "Anyway. Thank you."
He inclined his head but said nothing more, and I was grateful for that silence.
We packed the rest of our things in silence until I said, "If there's a stream nearby, there could be a river, no?"
"Yes. The stream widens to the east."
I hesitated, then blurted out before I could stop myself, "Would it be… safe? If I went alone?"
He turned slightly, as if gauging what I really meant. "There are no spirits nearby. But if you notice anything frightening—call out. I'll be there."
I nodded, clutching my lump of clothes, and awkwardly smiled. "Ah. Very well."
---
The stream opened into a quiet river, wide enough to catch the sunlight and scatter it over the water like spilled gold. Rowan left me there with the basket and turned back into the trees without a word.
He didn't look at me as he left — deliberately so, I thought. For some reason, that made me smile and my chest feel warm. I had always been discouraged from getting close to men in general by my mother and grandmother, and it was a relief he seemed to make the fact that he was a male… easy.
I waited until his footsteps faded, then waded into the cool water. It bit at my skin at first, but the chill was sharp enough to wake every sense in a way that wasn't so bad. I swam in deep until I touched the rocks at the bottom and smeared clay on myself in lieu of soap, leaving me smooth and smelling earthy.
By the time I'd washed and laid my clothes across the rocks to dry, the air had grown warmer as the sun rose over the farther trees now.
"Rowan!" I called, half-wondering if he'd actually hear.
He appeared through the trees so silently that I jumped.
"You walk like fog," I said, hand on my chest.
"You called," he said simply, holding out the basket.
I took it, trying not to smile too widely.
---
We sat near the water, and I covered my bread with the last of the cheese while he watched the river's slow current. "Are we going to just… staying in the woods forever?" I asked, half teasing, half serious.
His eyes flicked toward me. "You could head to the next town. It would be safer to blend in there."
I frowned. "I've never gone further than the village."
He didn't answer. His silence made the forest feel too big.
"Safety can become a kind of prison, too," he said at last.
I sighed. "Hmm. Truthfully, I liked my prison, though. It had tea and books… and a closed bathroom."
That earned me a small huff of amusement — which I counted as a victory. Still, I felt the ache behind my words. "Maybe I was afraid that if I left the cottage, I'd feel as though I've abandoned everything the women before me worked their whole lives to create… which is kind of how I feel right now, to be honest."
He studied me quietly for a long moment. "Leaving what you love doesn't erase it. It only lets it change shape."
Of course an angel wouldn't bother with such heavy yet intangible attachments. I toyed with a piece of bread. "That sounds very poetic for someone who doesn't even eat." I teased to ease the tension; I don't feel like arguing right now…
He gave me that look again —half patient, half exasperated— and it made my stomach flutter.
---
When breakfast was over, I pulled out my grandmother's spellbook. "I'd like to try the appearance-altering spell now…," I said, flipping through the worn pages. "If I can master it, I can deliver the counter-potion myself without anyone recognizing me."
Rowan's gaze slid toward me. "You're not ready."
I frowned. "You said that about the frog spell too…"
"And then you made it expel glitter."
"Glitter is harmless!" I say, though I feel bad, and hope the poor frog only sneezed the stuff once before returning to normal…
He didn't answer, which I took as silent agreement.
I traced the curling ink on the page. "My grandmother never got to teach me the word-magic properly. I learned how to brew and mix, but not how to speak things into being. But if I never learn, I'll just keep messing things up…"
His voice dropped low. "Words are dangerous. They call what listens. You must learn to make them obey you, or they'll obey something else."
I nod, trying to let his words sink in as a lesson… And then I grinned faintly. "See? You'll make a good teacher."
"I'm not your teacher."
"Then why are you here?"
His eyes shifted toward the trees, expression clouding. "That is still unclear."
The words hung between us like mist. I wanted to ask more, but the quiet that followed didn't feel like something to disturb.
Finally, he said, "Power attracts power. Even the wrong kind. That's why you must guard it. Those who sense your growing strength will try to claim it. That is why you must follow rules. Especially those of decency—and reject corruption."
I nodded slowly, pretending to understand. "I'll keep that in mind."
But part of me wasn't listening anymore. I'd begun to picture something entirely different—a life I wanted, a gentler kind of power. Comfort. Beauty. Someone who might look at me and see something worth saving. Maybe…
A handsome, fancy, red-headed prince suddenly came to mind… The one I saw at the Duke's home arriving in a comfortable carriage…
"What thought brings color to your face?" Rowan asked suddenly. My eyes went wide with embarrassment.
"Nothing!" I said far too quickly.
He studied me a moment longer, clearly unconvinced, before turning his gaze back to the trees.
I bit into a berry, pretending to be very busy chewing.
After a while, I closed the book and said, more firmly this time, "I'll learn it. And I'll make sure that when I walk into that town, no one will ever know it's me."
He regarded me quietly. "Intent, then. Let's hope it's pure."
I met his gaze. "It is."
The sunlight broke through the trees then, scattering across the river and catching in his hair again, making him glow all over. It was unfair how calm he looked — and how certain I suddenly felt beside him.
Maybe I should be frightened, or at least sad because of all the abrupt changes I've suffered lately. But… the idea of learning to use my natural powers, of having an angel be who teaches, guides, and protects me didn't seem so bad.
Perhaps his companionship was a gift I received after all the suffering I've been through…
The morning breathed around us, bright and warm and waiting — as if the forest itself was holding its breath to see what we'd become.