BRAVING THE UNKNOWN

**ALIVIA POV**
The journey to Silver Oak was long and treacherous. Bertha and I pushed ourselves, and our horses, to the extreme as we galloped up the winding mountain road that seemed to never end. Every curve took us higher, deeper into the clouds that seemed to be a part of the looming cliffs around us. The rains came heavy, thick like fog, blurring our vision and nearly making the horses slip back down the slope, while the fierce winds pushed against us with a vengeance. Our horses laboured up each steep incline, their legs quivering with exhaustion, and we gave them frequent breaks for rest before continuing onward.

We rode cautiously, expecting danger around every corner. Suddenly, out of the shadows, a group of bandits materialized with swords drawn and eyes full of menace. The carriage driver slapped the reins of the horses and spurred them forward, hoping to outrun the attackers. We looked back over our shoulders as we rode away and saw the bandits reach for the reins of our horses. Bertha and I frantically reached for the few weapons we had, time ticking away as we readied ourselves for battle. The carriage stops and Bertha and I jump off.

I unsheathed my sword, my sword ringing out with a shrill cry against the rain.

“Do not fear! I am with you!” Bertha yanked a knife off her belt and her hand trembled around the hilt of the curved blade as she stood by my side, steeling her resolve to face these bandits.

With a loud battle cry, they charged forward, their weapons swinging wildly in the air. I moved first, dodging their blows and thrusting forward, my sword clanging against metal and clattering against bone. Bertha moved like a dancer, gracefully evading their strikes while deftly slicing and stabbing with her knife. The odds were against us, their blades coming dangerously close to puncturing our flesh.

“Stand your ground!” I shouted, gripping my sword tightly. Bertha and I blocked and parried, dodging, and striking with precise movements. We fought like warriors of old, our skill and strength slowly pushing back the group.

“Come on, let’s finish this!” Bertha yelled, her eyes still blazing with determination. I lunged forward and delivered a deathblow to one of the bandits as Bertha swiftly dispatched another. The remaining bandits looked at us fearfully before they turned around and ran away into the night.

“We did it!” Bertha said, her hand still gripping the hilt of her knife tightly as we watched them flee. “We won!”

“Yes, but there will be more obstacles ahead that we’ll have to face,” I replied, my heart still pounding from the fight. “But we can do it. We must be brave and push forward.”

We continued down the road towards Silver Oak, our resolve never wavering. I could feel the weight of my father’s journal in my bag, a constant reminder of my purpose and my passion for art. Despite feeling scared by what lay ahead of us, I was excited for this new journey; the unknown was full of possibilities.

I find solace in the journal, reading my father’s experiences and reflections. It gives me a sense of connection to him, and I am reminded of his unwavering spirit and determination. I am grateful for his guidance and inspiration, but at the same time, I can’t help but feel a sense of pressure to make him proud.

As we approached Silver Oak, I could feel my excitement growing, Lara dancing around in my mind . But at the same time, I am aware that this is where the real challenges will begin. “Prove yourself as an artist, find your own voice and discover who you are,” my father’s words echoed in my mind. Fear began to creep in, but I pushed it down and took a deep breath. I recognize that my journey was not just about pursuing my passion for art, but it was also about finding my own voice and discovering who I truly was. But I am determined, knowing that my passion will drive me to succeed.
I looked out at the sprawling city in awe as we drove closer. “It’s so beautiful,” Bertha gasped beside me. The bustling streets were lined with shops, cafes, and galleries, while buildings of all sizes towered above us. I was filled with a sense of anticipation. “This is just the beginning,” I whispered to myself with my father’s journal in hand.

Bertha grabbed my arm, her warm grip and her motherly voice full of concern. “Don’t you need supplies, you’re going to art school, you’re not planning on just going with that journal are you?” she asked.

I glanced down at the tattered book in my hands, the pages full of smudged charcoal drawings, and let out a quiet sigh. “Uhm... well... I still have to pay for school ...I will get a job soon, then I can think about buying stuff,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Bertha smiled brightly and let out a playful laugh. “Oh, nonsense it’s on me,” she scolded. “You really think I am going to let you go to school with nothing?”

I was too stunned to argue and silently nodded my head in agreement. Bertha yelled at the horse-drawn carriage, commanding the driver to pull over, and we soon arrived at a bustling market full of shops and vendors selling wares of all descriptions. We roamed around looking for supplies, Bertha occasionally pointing out items that she thought were appropriate or necessary for me.

Eventually, we stumbled upon a small shop tucked away in the corner of the market that sold art supplies. The door dinged as we stepped inside, and I was overwhelmed by the sight that greeted us. Shelves stacked with vibrant paints of every colour imaginable lined the walls; stacks of canvases and easels filled the centre of the store; and in the back corner, raw unprimed canvases called out to me from their racks.

Bertha and I split up, each taking whatever we needed for my classes. I grabbed a set of new sketchbooks, charcoals, and a selection of paintbrushes while Bertha picked out a new easel and canvas.

As we continue to explore the store, I share with Bertha my father’s journal and the details of my father’s legacy. She listened with great interest, and I could see in her eyes that she understood the depth of my passion for art.

As we made our way to check out, the cashier started a conversation with us, What brings you two to Silver Oak?’ the cashier asked as we unloaded our items onto the counter.

“I’m an artist, I am a student here at Silver Academy” I replied eagerly.

Bertha chimed in, “And I’m here to assist her.”

The cashier smiled, his eyes lighting up, “Oh, that’s wonderful. There are some wonderful places in Silver Oak that can help inspire your work. You must visit my favourite art galleries here. The locals will always point you in the right direction.” He continued to talk with us as we made our purchases, stocking up on paint, canvases, and other supplies for my journey ahead.