Fernrose - Chapter 5

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Chapter 5: The Journey

The many days of the journey have blurred into one long memory. Some days were unpleasantly hot, some soaked with rain, and some frosted with stinging snow. We were exhausted.

Once we met a dragon. Once a witch. Once a gaggle of goblins.

You can imagine those encounters for yourself. They weren’t pleasant. All you need to know is that Lily’s hair was scorched, Sara was nearly dropped into a pot of boiling water, and I received a bad bite on the arm.

We had no idea where Old Mother Well could be. We were scouring the land for signs of her, all the traces we could find. Once or twice, in the deserted areas, we uncovered a cracked cooking pot or a scrap of fabric. Something that could - just possibly - give us a clue.

But none of us knew. That was the worst part.

Each day, I scratched a tick mark onto a worn slab of stone that I found. Soon, we were up to fifteen. Twenty. Fifty. One hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred. One day, three hundred and sixty five.

What were we getting done?

We were feeding on the meager rations we managed to scrounge from our unwelcoming surroundings. We slept on the cold, wet, hard ground with little to no protection. None of the traces we found were leading us anywhere.

What were we supposed to do?

No one knew.

On our one-year mark, we were camping in a snowy wood. We couldn’t light a fire, so we had to chew up some bitter evergreen herbs that we’d stripped from a pine tree. We huddled in the wet slush, shivering. Why were we doing this? What good could it do?

Wearily, I began to wonder what would happen if I simply stayed in the Wellwood. I would have friends. A mother. A home. Why did I need to leave, anyway? Why should I go home? It wasn’t fair. I loved the Wellwood. I wanted to stay. Maybe I could.

Suddenly Sara, who’d been scouring the land for some more substantial nourishment, raced back to our camp. “I found it! I found what we need!”

I jumped up and ran to her. “What is it?”

Breathless, she handed me a scroll of parchment paper. With shaking hands, I unrolled it.

I will arrive when you need me most.

Old Mother Well.

To be continued