Loosely scattered notes [3]

Rosalyn’s mind was consumed with memories of her sister as she walked down the winding forest path, weaving between tangled and ancient trees on her way through the verdant wood. She could practically hear Alma’s voice; it echoed in her mind and caused the woman to oftentimes glance over her shoulder cautiously, thinking she had heard her sibling speaking right behind her. The light piercing through the forest canopy speckled the ground with rays of gold, thickets brimming with vivid assortments of flowers, but Rosalyn remained the only living thing in sight asides from the colourful undergrowth. Another of Alma’s memorised speeches came to Rosalyn as she marched on, finding scrapes in the earth and broken branches which lead her on.

“Come on, is this really all my sister is capable of? Don’t you share my blood? Show me, prove to me that you do!” Rosalyn grit her teeth, the weight on her shoulders getting heavier and heavier with every step she took. Now she could almost even see her sister, just out of sight in the distance among the trees. Rosalyn tried to focus each time she thought she saw her, only to realise she had spied a twisted tree branch, a rock jutting up from the ground, or merely a shadow which had momentarily looked to have those familiar, shining blue eyes. “You jump at every shadow, every monster under your bed. The real threat isn’t going to hide from you, it will reach out and rip out your throat if you don’t stop your pathetic little whines.”

Rosalyn’s breath became more laboured as she pushed on, now physically twisting herself to fit through the knotted trees around her. The sword at her side hindered her, catching on the trees and holding her back. “A warrior’s sword is a part of them. You lose your sword, you die an idiot. You leave it behind, you die a coward.”

Rosalyn almost responded to the voices in her head, opening her mouth to retort before sheepishly remaining quiet. The forest had no voice, no birdsong, no wind rustling the canopy of the trees above her. The tight tangle of trees finally gave way as Rosalyn continued on, finding a giant slash in a thick oak which had grown up in the middle of the earthen path. It had nearly sundered the entire tree, the deep cut almost halfway through the entire width and almost big enough for Rosalyn to lay down inside of. The woman caught her breath, walking past the damaged tree and pressing on. It was a reminder of what she had to do: it renewed her purpose. Eventually, the trail brought Rosalyn to a small river, water running in vibrant shades of blue that only solidified the spectres of Alma that were constantly pursuing Rosalyn.

Rosalyn felt an eerie silence. Despite the water rushing before her, the forest remained as silent as a graveyard. Unsettled, the woman walked along the bank; that which she was pursuing had been able to clear the water in one jump, it was clear from the deep ruts in the mud on the opposite side from Rosalyn. She found a pair of rocks, points sticking up from the water and giving her a way across. Taking a deep breath and gripping the hilt of her sword. She jumped onto the first rock, wobbling slightly before catching herself. She then remembered the lessons even more clearly than before, the way her sister had often brutally instructed her on how a huntress was meant to move.

“Move like wind through the trees, and water among the reeds. Don’t hinder yourself by thinking you can’t. Thoughts like that are suited for idiots and weaklings, not for someone I have to share a family name with.” Spurred on, Rosalyn took the leap onto the next rock. She landed perfectly still, like a bird upon its perch, and bit her tongue to stave back her nerves. The water was deep, and rushed quickly in spite of the preternatural silence. One bad jump would likely send her down the current, and far off of her track. That couldn’t happen, and Rosalyn reminded herself that today would be her only chance. It was her first and last opportunity to scorn Alma and her teachings. With a final jump, Rosalyn landed firmly on the ground on the riverbank, her feet sinking slightly into muddy puddles as she walked on her way. The woman inspected the deep holes in the ground created by the heavy impact of her prey hitting the earth; as expected, her quarry was growing more dangerous with every moment it was permitted to live. Even still, Rosalyn had to remind herself that the creature, indeed, was no longer human.

“Demons are demons. When someone dies, and a demonic spirit gets into their body, that’s that. Then it becomes just another thing to kill.” With Alma’s most valuable reminder ringing in her ears, Rosalyn moved on, finding more and more heavy footprints and claw marks in the landscape and the trees.