I'LL READ IT TOMORROW

Chapter 7

Nyx POV

Maybe it was just adrenaline and desperation making me more aware of everything, or maybe it was something else that I didn't want to think about too much.

The way my ears picked up sounds I'd never noticed before, like the difference between a squirrel's footsteps and a bird's, or how I could smell water from further away than seemed normal.

I caught another rabbit that day and cooked it the same way, and I found more berry bushes and even some nuts that squirrels had been hoarding.

The rabbit came easier this time, like my hands knew what to do without my brain having to figure it out first. When I skinned it I didn't feel sick like I had with the first one, and when I ate it I felt stronger than I had since leaving home.

I was getting better at reading the forest and understanding what it could give me, like there was a part of my brain that had been sleeping my whole life and was finally waking up.

I could tell which berries were ripe just by looking at them and I knew without checking that the nuts I found were good.

Something in me recognized edible plants and safe places to drink water and which direction would keep me moving away from home.

That night I slept in another tree and dreamed about running through the woods on four legs instead of two, which was crazy because people don't run on four legs.

But in the dream it felt natural and right and I could smell things I'd never smelled before and hear things that were too far away for human ears. When I woke up I almost expected to look down and see paws instead of hands.

I stared at my hands in the early morning light and flexed my fingers and told myself it was just a weird dream brought on by being alone in the woods for too long.

But my fingernails looked different somehow, stronger and more pointed than they used to be, and when I ran my tongue over my teeth they felt sharper too.

"You're imagining things," I said out loud, and my voice sounded strange in the quiet forest.

But I wasn't imagining the way food tasted better than it ever had before or the way I could see clearly even when the sun went down or the way my feet barely hurt anymore even though I'd been walking on rocks and roots for days.

The fourth day started with me feeling stronger and more confident than I had since leaving home, like I was finally starting to figure out how to survive in this new world.

I washed my face in the stream and looked at my reflection in the water and barely recognized myself. My hair was tangled and dirty and there were scratches on my face from branches, but my eyes looked brighter somehow and my skin had a healthy glow despite everything I'd been through.

I followed the stream deeper into the forest and tried not to think about how far I'd come from everything I'd ever known.

The water bubbled over rocks and made sounds that almost seemed like words if I listened carefully enough, but I shook my head and told myself streams don't talk to people.

My feet were getting tougher and walking barefoot didn't hurt as much anymore, and my clothes were dirty and torn but they were holding up better than I'd expected.

The fabric seemed to mend itself in small ways when I wasn't looking, or maybe I was just getting better at avoiding the worst of the thorns and sharp branches.

I was starting to feel like maybe I could actually do this, maybe I could survive in the woods until I figured out what the diary said and what I was supposed to do next.

The forest felt less foreign now and more like a place where I could belong, even if I didn't understand how or why.

But I still felt like I was being watched sometimes, like there were eyes in the shadows that followed me as I walked.

Not threatening exactly, just curious, like the forest was trying to figure out what I was and whether I belonged here.

Sometimes I caught glimpses of movement in my peripheral vision but when I turned to look there was never anything there.

"I don't know either," I said to whatever was watching me. "But I'm trying to figure it out."

The words felt right as soon as I said them, like I was having a conversation with an old friend instead of talking to empty air.

The feeling of being watched didn't go away but it felt less unsettling and more like I was being guided or protected by something that understood me better than I understood myself.

I walked for hours following the stream and picking berries and nuts when I found them, and the sun moved across the sky in a way that felt both faster and slower than it should have.

Time seemed different in the forest, like minutes could stretch into hours when I was sitting quietly but whole afternoons could pass in what felt like moments when I was walking.

The sun was getting low when I finally saw it through the trees ahead of me, a small cabin sitting in a clearing like something out of a fairy tale.

It looked old but solid with smoke coming from the chimney and warm light glowing in the windows, which meant someone was home.

My first instinct was to run because people meant danger and questions I couldn't answer, but I was so tired and hungry for real food and desperate for shelter that I couldn't make myself turn away.

The smell of cooking food drifted toward me on the evening breeze and made my mouth water despite the berries I'd eaten an hour before.

"Maybe they'll help," I whispered to myself. "Maybe they're the kind of people who help lost girls."

Or maybe they were the kind of people who would turn me in to whoever was looking for me, but I was too exhausted to care about that possibility anymore.

Four days in the wilderness had taught me that sometimes you have to take risks if you want to survive, and right now the risk of approaching the cabin seemed smaller than the risk of spending another night sleeping in a tree.

I walked to the edge of the clearing and stood there staring at the cabin, trying to decide what to do.

The clearing was perfectly round like someone had drawn it with a compass, and the grass was greener than it should have been this late in the season.

Flowers grew in neat rows along the cabin's walls despite the fact that it was nearly winter, and the whole place had an otherworldly quality that made my skin prickle with awareness.

The smart thing would be to keep walking and find somewhere else to rest, but the smell of cooking food was drifting from the chimney and my stomach was cramping with hunger again.

I'd eaten plenty of berries and nuts but my body seemed to crave meat and cooked vegetables and bread in a way that felt almost desperate.

"Just for one night," I decided. "I'll ask if I can sleep in their barn or something and then I'll keep going."

I walked up to the front door and knocked, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

But no one answered and when I knocked again the cabin stayed silent. I pressed my ear to the door and listened but couldn't hear any movement inside, even though I could still see light in the windows and smell food cooking.

I tried the door handle and it turned easily in my hand, which should have been a warning sign but I was too desperate to pay attention to warning signs.

The metal felt warm under my palm like it had been sitting in sunlight all day, even though the porch was already in shadow.

The door swung open and I stepped inside, calling out softly.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

My voice echoed strangely in the small space, like the walls were further away than they appeared to be. The cabin was empty but it looked like someone had just left because there was a fire burning in the fireplace and food on the table and everything was clean and neat.

I should have left right then but the warmth of the fire and the smell of food were too tempting to resist after four days of berries and roasted rabbit.

The interior of the cabin was larger than it should have been based on what I'd seen from outside, with rooms that seemed to extend further back than was possible.

I closed the door behind me and looked around, trying to decide what to do.

Herbs hung in bundles from the rafters and filled the air with scents I couldn't identify but that made me feel calm and alert at the same time.

The food on the table looked fresh and there was bread and cheese and what looked like stew still warm in a pot over the fire.

My stomach cramped with hunger and I stared at it like it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"I'll just take a little," I whispered to the empty room. "Just enough to keep going."

But as soon as I tasted the bread I couldn't stop myself and I ate like I was starving, which I guess I was.

The food was better than anything I'd ever tasted and it made me feel human again for the first time in four days.

The stew was rich and hearty with vegetables I didn't recognize but that tasted like they'd been grown in the most fertile soil imaginable.

When I was done eating I sat down on the comfortable-looking couch by the fireplace and pulled the diary out from where I'd been carrying it pressed against my chest.

The leather cover was warm from my body heat and seemed to pulse gently like it had a heartbeat of its own.

I turned it over in my hands like I had a hundred times already and wondered if I was finally far enough away to risk opening it.

Four days in the wilderness with nothing but my wits and whatever the forest could give me, that had to count as far enough away from home.

But I was also exhausted and my eyes were heavy and the couch was so comfortable that I could barely keep them open.

The fire crackled in the hearth and cast dancing shadows on the walls, and the whole cabin felt safe and protected in a way that made my muscles relax for the first time since I'd left home.

"I'll read it tomorrow," I promised myself. "When I'm not so tired and when I can think straight."

I curled up on the couch with the diary clutched against my chest and pulled a blanket over myself and closed my eyes.