111 | EXPLORING

I’m woken up the next morning by the smell of ginger and Magic. Yesterday, Mom had taken her tea outside by the shore to drink and chat with Paris on her morning rounds. I let out a groan as the scent of the pungent tea fills my nostrils and I have to fight the urge to roll out of bed and jump from the window to get away from the overpowering aroma. Nausea pulls at my empty stomach as I rise, wrapping myself in the woven comforter - partly to keep warm and partly to shield my face - and leave the small room I’ve been using to find Mom.

The little cabin we’re sharing is nothing like my childhood home, a cabin set a little deeper into the wooded area at the outskirts of the territory, but the dark hall brings up old memories. Flickers of those days when I’d walk to and from my bedroom flutter into the forefront of my mind, little snapshots of me as a child roaming the halls to find Mom...only to discover she had left in the middle of the night, called away on a mission as one of Grandmother’s most trusted Trackers.

Empty days and nights when I’d be completely alone.

I shiver as I reach the kitchen and am filled with relief as the warm glow of the rising sun turns the strawberry-blonde nearly golden in Mom’s hair. She’s leaning back in a chair facing the window, a nostalgic smile on her lips as she seems to get lost in the light streaming in. I freeze, watching as she raises a steaming mug to her lips and takes a long sip, the moment so perfect I wish I had a camera to capture it. To remember.

A lump of emotion nearly chokes me as my eyes prickle and nose stings. I sniff on reflex, grimacing as the scent of Magic fills my nostrils. Mom tips her chin to glance at me, her smile widening when she sees me, then wincing as she realizes why I’ve got my blanket shielding my nose and mouth.

“Oh, sorry, honey.” Mom begins to sit up, moving as if to get out of her chair, though her momentum is slow…slower than the typical humans. I rush forward, allowing the blanket to drop as I wave a hand at her.

“It’s fine.” I tell her quickly, forcing myself to take the seat across from her at the small dining table.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. It was just too cold for me outside this morning.” She explains with a sheepish grin, tucking the mug closer to her chest, as if seeking the warmth from the liquid. I feel a frown start to twist at my lips, but then force a chipper smile to my lips. She shouldn’t be *that* cold. It may be the dead of winter, but the cabin is well-insulated and well over fifty degrees at the moment.

“It’s fine, Mom.” I tell her, making sure my reflex to gag is under control and my voice stays warm. I have to breathe through my mouth, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to let on just how much the smell is bugging me. Even if I have to blink rapidly to clear my smarting eyes every few seconds.

“Are you sure?” Mom asks, her crystalline blue eyes searching my face dubiously…still, they’re bright and dancing with humor.

“Positive.” I insist, settling back into the chair as I watch her take another long sip. She’s wrapped in a thick, woolen blanket, the ends tucked into the crooks of her arms. Her face is the same as it was yesterday, no extra lines or wrinkles…just the same hollows in her cheeks and under her eyes. The same worn aura that’s a little fuzzy around the edges. I try not to think about how different it feels now, like a fading light or the embers of a fire. So bright, though you know it’s getting towards the end of it’s rope.

“You know, Wisty,” Mom begins suddenly, disrupting my thoughts and bringing me out of the dark place I was mentally careening towards. “We don’t have to participate in today’s events.” She’s got a mischievously look in her eyes as she says this, the added energy making her seem a little less tired, a little stronger.

“Oh?” I question, the smile on my face coming naturally and easily.

“Let’s explore.” Mom suggests, leaning in and lowering her voice conspiratorially. I laugh at the ridiculous suggestion, but find myself nodding eagerly. We both know these lands better than anywhere else we’ve lived, though it’s been years since we’ve been here. And maybe that’s why she wants to ‘explore’: to relive those fun times.

It was some of the best days I can recall, exploring. Mom would come back from an assignment or some sort of travel and we’d spend the next day in the woods. Even if I had school that day, we’d go. The expeditions were few and far in between, but I loved them, even if I had already seen the woods dozens of times on my own. With Mom by my side, each trip felt new and full of promise. Mom would tell me all about the places she’d been and give me insight on the forest, how her childhood was when her twin was alive.

“I can see if Paris has some bags we could use carry lunch,” I offer, getting to my feet. Mom nods, pulling her mug to her mouth to polish off the rest of her tea.

“Sounds good,” She agrees, slowly creaking to her feet. Her body protests audibly, but Mom stretches her spine into a straight line and shakes out the sleep from her limbs. “I’ll meet you back here when you’ve gotten some provisions.” Mom tells me, setting her mug down and opening her arms for a hug.

I immediately spring into her weak embrace, gingerly wrapping my arms around her less-than-sturdy frame and inhaling her scent. Her usual cinnamon-pine scent is ruined by the scent of Magic…and something darker. I pretend I don’t smell the parts in her scent that aren’t supposed to be there, thinking only of the notes of cinnamon that have accompanied her all my life. There’s a second where we just hold each other, breathing deeply and letting our feral sides settle.

With a heavy sigh, I pull away and smile down at her. Though she’s standing tall, its almost as if her illness has crippled parts of her body, making her spine bow and shoulders haunch inwards. It makes her just a little shorter than me now.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell her and she nods. Without another word, I walk around her and out the front door that connects to this room. The brisk chill of the morning bites at my skin, my breath puffing out in quickly-fading wisps of barely-there vapor. I make the trek to the main cabin where Paris and the guys live, making sure my jogging pace is nearly-silent so I don’t wake up any of the guests in their tents.

I let myself into the house, not wanting to wait outside in the cold. Calling out quietly, it doesn’t take much to rouse my older cousins, and within a couple of minutes, the three are stalking down the stairs with wild bedheads. I grin wildly at the sight of their sleep-stricken pajamas and hair. After explaining what it is I’m here for, Paris agrees that she can spare some provisions for Mom and I.

Craven and Ryker stalk back off to their rooms, realizing they’re not needed, as Paris helps me gather breakfast and lunch items. We pack them into a worn backpack and I thank my cousin before I head back to collect Mom from our cabin. When I get there, Mom’s waiting on the porch with a thick, puffy coat that’s the perfect shade between green and grey to blend into the trees. I duck inside to change before we head out to the woods.

Mom and I are walking on silent feet, our shoes almost as quiet as our bare feet would be. Years of habit and old practices have taken over, and we’re arm-in-arm as we walk. A few yards deeper, and Mom begins to speak, lowering her voice and making the cadence slow so it’s not overly disruptive to the still-sleeping wildlife around us.

She begins regaling me with old memories, a soft smile dancing on her face and slight sheen of glassiness in her eyes. I listen, letting the sounds of the woods and her voice soothe me and burrow deep into my memory. I commit every sound, sight, and smell to memory, praying this one will never fade.