MOONLIT LOVE

Night

The night was relentless, its cold grip tightening around them, punctuated by Isabella’s ragged breathing and the distant, eerie howls of wolves. The fire, though small, kept the shadows at bay, but Alice's heart remained heavy with dread. She glanced at Isabella, who lay on the ground, her skin flushed from fever, her cloak doing little to shield her from the worsening illness. Sweat gleamed on her brow, dampening her hair as she tossed and turned, lost in fever dreams.

Alice bit her lip, wrapping her arms around her legs for warmth, her gaze fixed on Isabella's labored chest, rising and falling unevenly. The fire crackled softly, and the night’s silence seemed deafening in its wake. She wanted to reach out, to help, but she felt powerless. She had heard so many tales of the forest—of sickness and fever, of people who ventured in and were never seen again. Could this be the same illness? The welts on Isabella’s skin, the heat radiating from her body…it all pointed to something terrible.

As the moon climbed higher into the sky, Alice couldn’t ignore the fear gnawing at her insides. Her thoughts were dark, filled with terrible possibilities. She imagined herself alone, wandering the forest with no direction, hiding from predators—both animal and human. Her mind conjured images of being hunted, of being captured by bandits or worse. Her imagination took her to horrifying extremes, where she was nothing more than prey in a forest teeming with unseen enemies.

The fear was suffocating, but she refused to abandon Isabella. Drawing in a shaky breath, Alice slowly rose and moved closer to her companion. She gently placed a hand on Isabella’s forehead once more, feeling the intense heat beneath her fingers. Her temperature hadn’t improved; if anything, it was getting worse.

Isabella muttered something incoherent in her sleep, her face twisted in discomfort. Her voice, once so strong and commanding, now sounded frail and weak. Alice’s heart clenched at the sight of her mistress in such a vulnerable state. For as long as she could remember, Isabella had been a symbol of strength, someone Alice looked up to even if they came from different worlds. But now, that strength was faltering, and Alice wasn’t sure how to handle it.

She leaned over, wiping away some of the sweat from Isabella’s forehead with a cloth she had soaked in the cool water from the stream. Her hands trembled as she worked, fear clawing at her, but she couldn’t stop. Isabella needed her, and this was the least she could do.

The night dragged on. Alice had tried to find comfort in sleep but couldn’t, not with Isabella in this condition. She glanced at the fire, its flames flickering weakly as it burned the last of the kindling. She would need to gather more wood soon, but she didn’t dare leave Isabella’s side.

Then there was a sudden change. Isabella’s breath hitched, and she let out a weak groan. Her body jerked slightly, and Alice was at her side in an instant, her heart pounding with alarm.

“Isabella,” Alice whispered urgently, gently shaking her. “Isabella, wake up.”

Isabella’s eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t fully wake. Instead, her head turned to the side, and she mumbled something, her voice hoarse and barely audible.

Alice leaned in closer, her ear near Isabella’s lips. “What are you saying?” she asked softly.

“...can’t...lose… Ashwood… revenge…” Isabella’s voice was disjointed, fragmented by her fever, but the mention of Ashwood—their home—sent a shiver through Alice. Revenge. Even in her fevered state, Isabella was thinking of their loss, of King Malcolm’s treachery. It was the only thing keeping her going.

“I won’t let you die,” Alice whispered fiercely. “You have to hold on. We’ll find a way out of this.”

Her words were more for herself than for Isabella. The truth was, Alice wasn’t sure how they would survive. The supplies they had salvaged from the chariot wouldn’t last long, and they were deep in the heart of the Dark Forest, a place notorious for being unforgiving to even the most prepared travelers. They had no map, no guide, and no help. It felt like they were on the edge of a precipice, and one wrong step could send them spiraling into darkness.

But even as these dark thoughts filled her mind, Alice refused to give up. She couldn’t. Not while Isabella was still breathing, however labored it was.

Morning couldn’t come fast enough. The night had been an endless cycle of worry and dread, of tending to Isabella and stoking the fire to keep it alive. When the first light of dawn finally began to filter through the trees, Alice breathed a sigh of relief. The day offered a small reprieve, a chance to regroup, though she knew they were still far from safe.

As the sun’s rays touched Isabella’s face, Alice noted that the fever had yet to break. Isabella’s condition remained critical, her skin clammy and her body weak. Alice swallowed hard. They couldn’t afford to stay here much longer. They needed to move.

She carefully propped Isabella up, whispering softly to her in an attempt to wake her. “Isabella, you have to wake up. We need to go. We can’t stay here.”

Isabella groaned, her eyes fluttering open for the briefest of moments. She looked disoriented, her gaze unfocused, but she managed to sit up with Alice’s help.

“The stream,” Isabella muttered weakly. “We need to follow the stream…upstream.”

Alice nodded, though her own doubts gnawed at her. Following the stream seemed like the only option, but would it really lead them to safety? She didn’t know. But she had no other ideas. She glanced at their dwindling supplies and knew they couldn’t last much longer without finding help.

“We’ll follow the stream,” Alice said quietly, more to reassure herself than Isabella. “We’ll find that hill, and we’ll make it through this.”

With one last glance at the small clearing they had called their shelter for the night, Alice helped Isabella to her feet, the older woman leaning heavily on her for support. The journey would be slow and arduous, but it was the only chance they had.