Renwil didn't enjoy walking all day. His only joy came from the glow of the trees in the autumn sunlight; fiery red and incandescent orange and shimmering gold, and he longed to stop and admire them, but Renpfie never allowed him more than a few minutes rest throughout the day, and by dusk, when they stopped for the night, their brilliance was dulled in the low light. Often he awoke to find freshly fallen leaves scattered about them, and he would spend a few moments examining the green and spidery veins that divided it before Renpfie urged him to get up.
Both their feet were covered in blisters, their backs ached and their stomachs rumbled. They had managed to gather enough food to reach Ellbendorr, but barely. They argued often about it. Renwil felt they should eat as much as they needed; they could hunt and forage for food if they ran out. They had already done so for the last few days. Renpfie, ever more practical, argued that Renwil was the worst hunter and she didn't want to waste time and energy on searching for food when it wasn't absolutely necessary.
It was on the fifth day when Renwil woke up to the first rays of dawn, the sun starting to filter through the trunks of the surrounding trees. He blinked his eyes a few times, disoriented and sleepy. He didn't know what had woken him. The air around him was fresh and warm and he pushed his blanket to the side, relieved to be away from the scratchy material. An earthy aroma surrounded him, one he associated with mushrooms. It was so strong he could almost taste it on his tongue.
He looked at his sister. She was still sleeping, her face creased in worry – an expression that graced her face more and more often. With as little sound as possible, he pushed himself off the leaf-covered ground and got to his feet, enjoying stretching his limbs out and getting the blood flowing back around his body.
He didn't intend to go far. Perhaps just get his water skin from his pack, a few berries, and climb up a nearby tree. The forest was alive with the dawn chorus and he longed to be amongst the birds. However, as soon as his mind was rid completely of the cloudiness of sleep, he heard the trees calling to him. Their emotions were mixed, and he could not comprehend what they were trying to tell him, but he understood they meant for him to follow them. With one last look at the sleeping form of Renpfie, he crept away from their camp, further into the forest.
The trees became more insistent the further he travelled, the undergrowth getting thicker, brambles scratching at his legs through his thin trousers.
"Where are you leading me?" He asked. He looked back over his shoulder, wondering how far he'd walked. It seemed like he'd been walking for some minutes, and he hoped that Renpfie didn't wake up. What if she realised he was missing and called for him and he didn't hear her? At this thought, he almost turned back, but the trees heard his thoughts and an insistent wind pushed at him.
"Okay, okay," he grumbled, "I'm going, but I wish you would tell me what for."
He didn't expect a reply; though the trees could always hear him, it took him a lot of effort to hear them back, unless they were truly desperate to tell him something, as they had been that last night in Dillen Wuarf.
After many more minutes of trampling through thick forest, the breeze finally stilled and Renwil came to a stop. He was standing in a small glade, sunlight bearing down upon him and warming his cheeks. Grass was just managing to grow through the rotting leaves that tried to smother it, and for a moment, he wondered whether the trees had simply led him there because it was beautiful. He gazed all around him, taking in the intricate leaves that looked as if they had been painted and splattered with all different colours; taking in the way the sunlight illuminated the tiny insects hovering in the temperate air; taking in the two brown butterflies that flew in circles around each other like some mad dance, until they disappeared into the trees. Then he finally looked down at his feet and saw the real cause for his being there. His heart sank.
An arm's length or so away from him was a large hare, curled up on the ground, clearly injured. What had caused the injury Renwil couldn't tell – this was Renpfie's forte. Immediately he rushed forward, meaning to help it how he could, before a thought entered his mind. It likely came from the trees, because he knew he himself was unlikely to think in such a way.
I'm supposed to kill it, he thought, dropping to his knees next to the creature, which stared at him with wide eyes.
"Is that why you brought me here?" He asked the trees, turning to look at them. His eyes narrowed and he suddenly felt rather angry. "You must know I cannot kill things? I'm lӕmuyl, I cannot bear to."
The trees offered no response. He turned back to the hare, and realised his hand was on his knife in his belt. He had killed animals before – but only under great pressure from Fùtenor or Renpfie, and he had only done it a few times. This was what Renpfie meant when she said he was a terrible hunter: he didn't have any desire to make the kill.
"It's injured," he muttered to himself, "you would be putting it out of its misery." But he found he couldn't get further than simply touching his knife. His hand felt frozen at his belt.
He didn't know how long he knelt on the grass holding his knife, but it was long enough for Renpfie to find him. She came thundering through the trees, already yelling at him.
"What do you think you're doing? I wake up, and find you gone, and I've been searching for ages!"
She stopped short when she saw the hare. For a moment she looked between it and Renwil, and realisation dawned in her eyes.
"How long have you been here?" She sighed.
Renwil shrugged sheepishly, and quickly got to his feet.
"Aren't you going to kill it?" She asked. When he didn't reply, she folded her arms. "You know, I checked our food last night, and at the rate we're currently eating, we won't reach Ellbendorr without having to find more elsewhere. Like I've said before, I don't want to have to hunt too much, so when opportunities such as these present themselves, we have to take them." Renwil had never heard her voice so sharp and cutting.
"I... I can't..." he said quietly, letting his hand fall from his belt to his side. "You do it."
He expected her to do as he asked, rather than spend more time arguing, but she didn't move.
"I will not," she said. "You need to get a grip, Will. This is life or death. If we run out of food, there's no one to help us. You need to learn things like this. For once, stop relying on me to do everything for you."
Renwil looked at her with pleading eyes. "I'm lӕmuyl... you know these things mean more to me than you. You are here... why can't you do it?"
"You're half-lӕmuyl!" She cried in exasperation. "And even the lӕmuyl kill animals sometimes! Especially wounded ones! It would be a mercy. Are you really such a coward?"
At this Renwil threw her one last glare, then he ran away, back toward their camp, as fast as his bony legs would take him. It did not take him nearly as long to reach it as it had taken him to get to the glade earlier, but by the time he had arrived, he was still in such a state that he could feel the trees reaching out to comfort him, even apologise to him for taking him there. Wiping tears angrily from his eyes, he jumped up to grab the branch of the nearest tree and pulled himself up. He nimbly climbed as high as he dared, the branches becoming thinner and thinner, until he settled. From that height, he had a semi-obscured view of the camp below him, but he was mostly enveloped in the forest. Tears still clouded his eyes, but he didn't know why he was crying. Because he was arguing with his sister? He did that all the time. It wasn't because she had called him a coward, either, for many of the children at school had called him that too. It was a word that couldn't affect him much anymore.
"I want to go home," he whispered, curling up tighter in the tree. He felt much younger than he was. The tree began to curl its branches and leaves back around him, and he allowed himself to settle into it. A gentle breeze swirled in the air and he longed for it to take him away, take him back home, where nothing was unexpected, and his family was safe. He wondered not for the first time how Fùtenor was, and whether Celdaryn was alright. Had she already left for Tyraen? Had Fùtenor managed to find the lӕmuyl yet? He became so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not immediately notice Renpfie returning to the camp below him. She had the now dead hare slung over her shoulder and as soon as she set it on the ground, she began to skin it.
For a while, Renwil watched. He felt jealous that she could be so capable, while he could not. But he didn't regret running away. Imagining the blood that would coat his hands like it did his sister's, thinking about seeing the life leave its hazel eyes... it made him feel sick.
"I know you're up there," Renpfie said eventually, "You should come down and get some food. We need to move on soon."
Renwil didn't reply. He didn't want to leave the tree's comfortable embrace, much less face his sister. But after a while he began to feel like his stomach was twisting into knots and knew he really did need to climb down and eat something. He was disappointed to see Renpfie still sitting and eating, eyes boring into him as he reached the ground, for he knew he wouldn't be allowed to simply eat in peace.
He tried to ignore her at first, but as soon as his feet touched the ground, Renpfie began talking again.
"I'm not sorry for what I said," she said, but her voice was soft, more gentle than it had been in many days. "But I forget sometimes, that we are not the same. It's hard for both of us."
Renwil sat slowly on the ground opposite her. "Do you miss home?" He asked.
"All the time," Renpfie said. "I worry about Mother and Father... and you." She chuckled.
Renwil smiled. "I do too. And I worry that you worry too much."
"And I worry that you don't worry enough."
The two laughed for a moment. The leaves danced around them, and they lapsed into silence. Renwil found himself clutching his mother's necklace, and then he realised Renpfie was watching him do so.
"You hope to find her, don't you?" Renpfie asked.
Renwil blinked. "I hadn't thought much about it..." but in his heart he knew that was not true. The feeling of the tiny leaves on the necklace had become so familiar to his fingertips over the last few days, he held it so often. He had never thought so much about her. Then again, he had never had such an opportunity to find her.
"When do you think we'll find the lӕmuyl, Fie?" He said.
She shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. We may never find them. This forest is so big... we cannot search all of it. And they may not even be in this forest."
Renwil looked down. These were his thoughts exactly.
It is such a hopeless task.
"We will keep trying though," Renpfie said, "We will do the best we can."
Renwil nodded and began to eat.