Chapter One #3
A woman claps a hand on my shoulder, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts.
My face must’ve given me away—again. The pain of leaving India empty-handed mixed with the far-off stare of someone seriously contemplating the existence of Yetis, likely left me looking torn between heartbreak and madness.
“Don’t let those guys spook you,” she says with a chuckle, misinterpreting my expression.
“I’ve traveled the world, and every culture has its tales of watchers—be it the waters, forests, or mountains.
Once I was certain I saw the Daughter of the Moon.
Have you heard that legend? But it turned out to be nothing more than a white deer, mixed with jet lag and a heavy dose of imagination. ”
I force a laugh, murmuring in agreement, but I’m already ruminating on where I could have missed both the Yeti and the flowers in the months I’d been here. Searching for logic in lore.
With a huff of frustration at both the situation and my own ridiculous musings, I toss the dregs of my tea into the flames.
Liquid hisses into a faint wisp of steam, and my eyes follow the trail as it dissolves into the cooling night air before glancing back across the river—to the spot where I had seen the mysterious silver orbs.
That was the one area we hadn’t searched.
The place Sita had warned me was too treacherous, even for the locals.
Although I can no longer see them, I still feel their heated stare, a weight pressing against my chest, heavy and unyielding. Whoever—or whatever—those eyes belong to, it’s as if they are still there. Watching. Waiting.
A flush creeps up my neck, and I rise abruptly, murmuring goodnights to the others.
No one seems to notice as I retreat toward the safety of my room, the pull of those shadows pressing at my back, insistent and unshakable.
I tell myself it’s just the night chill, but the feeling lingers, prickling along my skin long after I’ve stepped away from the firelight.
Away from the fire, the mountain air and darkness conspire against me, whispering secrets of danger into my ear to hurry me along.
The uneven stone path forces me to tread carefully, but every scrape of my boots against the rocks seems too loud, too exposed.
I quicken my steps, the memory of those luminous eyes haunting me—piercing and inescapable—more unnerving than the risk of a twisted ankle.
What was it someone had said? “Eyes like stars in the dark?” The image gnaws at me, the description matching exactly. Could there really be Yetis in these mountains—Migoi lurking in the forests beyond the river?
A rustle to my right snaps my nerves taut, every instinct screaming at me to move faster.
The memory of those fierce eyes flickers in my mind, and I realize how foolish I’d been to think I wanted whatever it was to chase me, to claim me.
Out here, alone and vulnerable in the dark, I recognize the absurdity of that reckless fantasy.
Another sharp noise breaks the quiet of the night, but I don’t dare look back. By the time I reach my door, my hands are shaking, the key slipping against the lock. It takes a few fumbled tries before the mechanism clicks, the sound slicing through the stillness like salvation.
I slip inside and press my back into the door, drawing in ragged breaths as my heart pounds.
From the safety of the locked room, a nervous giggle escapes me, and I roll my eyes at my own foolishness.
I’d let myself be consumed by a fireside tale.
But the break in focus was welcome compared to the devastation I now face.
The thick quilt on the bed promises comfort, its weight a soothing barrier against whatever lies outside.
Still, my thoughts swirl like the impending snow, refusing to settle.
The unease clings to me, my mind replaying the sight of those eyes and the dark promise that danced in them.
Could it have been exhaustion playing tricks on me? Or maybe desperation?
Three months of chasing down an elusive plant. Three months away from home and Ben, only to return empty-handed and out of options. No plant means no research, no progress, no doctorate, and little time left to find another solution.
Failure. The word lodges in my throat, thick and viscous. I had failed to save my mom, and now I may very well fail to save myself. But failure isn’t an option.
My hands still shake as I pull the blanket higher, trying to chase away the cold reality of defeat. So much time, so much effort, so many long days. I wonder if Ben will be as upset as I am. Or worse, what if he’s disappointed in me? Or won’t help me after all?
The thought tightens something in my chest, but I reassure myself that he loves me.
The unease must be the lingering thought of those damn eyes.
Silly really, when they were nothing more than a trick of the firelight, a phantom born of fireside chats and exhaustion.
And even if something is out there, it’s not like it can follow me home tomorrow.
And I don’t think I’ll ever be back here.
With my heart ticking like the death knell that awaits me without the damned Silene vitalis, sleep claims me.