Start of Part 2

  A weak candle flickered in the bedroom of a Chestnut Town house. A young Yig wriggled out from beneath his bedsheet and dropped to the floor. His little legs didn’t carry him far, but they let him waddle to the window, where he could stare up and admire the stars.

  Suddenly, he heard light footsteps pacing down the hallway toward his room. After stealing one last glance at the sky, the boy spun around and leapt toward his bed. He missed the first time, but on his second try—kicking his legs and pulling himself up by the edge of the mattress—he managed to climb back in. He threw the blanket over himself and turned toward the door, expecting to see his mother walk in.

  But to his dismay, she was already there, leaning against the doorframe with a warm glow, a book in one hand and a smug expression on her face. Yig hated that smug look.

  “I just wanted to see the stars!” Yig pleaded.

  “You’ve seen plenty already tonight. Come on—you said if I read this, you’d fall asleep.”

  She walked over to his bed, her voice soft despite the scolding tone. Yig heard every word but chose to ignore them. He was just happy he’d get to hear the story again.

  His mother sat by his side while he propped up a pillow to sit against. The book she held was bound in thick, intricately detailed leather, with a tree sewn into the cover and golden depictions of mythical beasts shimmering along its spine in the candlelight. She opened it, flipping carefully through the fragile pages. Yig’s eyes grew wide with excitement—he felt like he could burst.

  His breath caught in his throat as he jolted awake. His red cloak had been covering him like a blanket in the mouth of a small cave. His lamb friend had served as a pillow, its woolly coat soft and warm. The grass around him held the faint remains of last night’s campfire.

  In the stillness of the night, he could have sworn he saw her face. But a few blinks made it vanish. He looked up at the sky—the same tapestry of stars. Back in Chestnut, he’d camped before, but he could always return to a warm bed. He hadn’t thought it would hurt to be away. But of course, he never expected to be out here alone.

  He reached into his bag and pulled out the same, detailed book from his dream. Loosening his bandage, he focused his energy into his right arm. It glowed softly, casting enough light for him to read as he flipped through the pages. After a few minutes, he found his favorite chapter—the one that spoke of paradise—and a quiet warmth spread through him, offering calm.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  The tall grass brushed against Yig’s legs the next morning as he wandered through the forest, reaching as high as his knees. The trees towered above him, nearly three times his height, splitting and bending into elegant shapes. Though the trunks were slender, they stood firm, and their leaves glowed a soft green in the shafts of light breaking through the canopy.

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  He kept looking around, half expecting someone to talk to. But of course, he only had the lamb for company. Sweet as she was, she didn’t hold conversations—though it was amusing to pretend.

  His eyes stung as the cold wind brushed against his face—or so he told himself. Her face lingered in his mind. It was hard to think about the journey ahead without imagining what could have been.

  No. He wouldn’t let it get to him. If she saw him moping like this, she’d whack him and tell him to snap out of it.

  So, he did it for her.

  He slapped his hands to his cheeks, and birds scattered at the sound. With a deep breath, he let go of the feeling, choosing instead to smile. That’s what they did when they were sad—they smiled. And so he smiled, pushing the memories back, leaving the grief behind. From now on, no matter the weather or the crowd, he’d be smiling.

  Yig’s lamb bounced gleefully across the ground, hopping from lump to lump. Every so often, Yig glanced at her, and she’d just look back at him and smile. He’d worried about feeding her, but so far, she’d seemed able to take care of herself—drinking from puddles, munching on grass, and so on.

  It crossed his mind now and then that she had left her family to join him. But that thought always led to the fact that he had done something similar—and maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t feel guilty for taking her. After all, he wouldn’t want people judging him for leaving his home.

  A distant roar sent more birds flapping wildly from the trees. Yig stopped and looked up as his lamb scrambled onto his shoulder. They both stared toward the sound, wary of what it could be.

  A gust of wind lifted Yig’s hair as a deer-like creature shot past him and vanished into the trees as quickly as it had come. He flinched but stayed quiet. The lamb pressed tighter against his cheek. They could hear the cracking of trees and a wet, heavy growl. Yig raised his hands defensively.

  Silence hung for a few more seconds—until he spotted a grotesque, glowing purple eye watching him from behind a bush. Before he could react, a bear emerged from the forest brush, rising tall in an attempt to intimidate. Its eyes were bloodshot, and its mouth dripped a purple foam that sizzled where it hit the earth. Yig hesitated.

  Then all at once, Yig leapt back, clutching his pet as they tumbled away from the charging bear. It roared, purple slime trailing from its mouth like rabid drool. Yig planted his feet and swept Icarus in a nimble arc. But to his dismay, the bear rose on its hind legs, inadvertently dodging the brunt of the strike—the blade only grazing its skin and drawing a thin line of blood. It lashed out with a claw, which Yig barely blocked with his lone shoulder guard. The blow knocked him back into a roll. When he looked up, the bear was already above him, spitting its toxic saliva.

  As the drops hit his skin, pain exploded like a heated poker stabbing deeper and deeper.

  “What’re you doing out here?” a voice shouted as bandages whipped through the air and wrapped tightly around the bear’s neck—almost as if alive.

  Three figures in all black appeared, stepping between Yig and the beast. One of them held firm control of the bandages, lassoing the creature, while the others shoved it to the ground. A hunting knife flashed—and with sharp, clinical precision, they put the bear down.

  Yig rolled back with his weapon drawn, bracing for another threat. But the figures simply withdrew their weapons and unwrapped the cloth from their heads, revealing ordinary faces.

  “Any reason you were trying to fight a bear?” one of them asked.