Leaving Appledale

The sunlight trickled through the leaves, spotting the trail ahead with light and shadow. Each step sent puffs of dry earth swirling behind him as Estaria put Appledale further away. The ledger felt heavy against his chest, a steady reminder of the truths that had made him leave.

He ran his fingers over the worn leather through his coat. His father’s detailed notes told a grim story: years of careful deals with the Creshers, exchanges that involved more than goods and coin. The entries mentioned people—desperate souls who had “volunteered” for some unknown task. But the detached manner in which he’d noted their departures suggested their volunteering had been forced.

The busy sounds of town life gradually faded behind him. The clang of the blacksmith’s hammer grew distant, then disappeared entirely. The chatter of townspeople, the squeaking of cart wheels, the barking of dogs—all melted away into the afternoon stillness. Soon, only his footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze broke the silence.

His mind wandered back to young Tolomy, who had vanished three months ago. The official story claimed he’d left to seek his fortune in Convergence. But the ledger told a different tale—a simple notation of his “departure” with the Creshers, alongside a substantial payment to his debt-ridden family. How many others had met similar fates?

The quiet grew deeper as he walked, almost oppressive in its totality. Even the birds seemed subdued, their usual songs absent from the branches overhead. The solitude left too much room for his thoughts to circle, examining and re-examining every detail he’d uncovered.

Something nagged at him—a persistent feeling that he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. He paused, pulling out the ledger again. The afternoon light caught the faded ink of his mother’s precise handwriting. That word again: Streacresh. It appeared throughout the records, always in connection with the Creshers, but never with any explanation of its meaning. And written in his mother’s hand, not his father’s.

Estaria snapped the ledger shut with a sigh. No, the unease crawling up his spine had nothing to do with its contents. He tucked it away, the leather warm against his chest beneath his coat.

The road stretched before him, bordered by old oaks whose branches reached across like gnarled fingers. Afternoon light painted their leaves gold and amber. He scanned the treeline, searching for whatever had set his instincts humming. A squirrel chittered overhead, and fallen leaves crunched beneath his boots as he turned in a slow circle.

Nothing seemed amiss. The forest looked exactly as it always had on his countless trips to and from town. The familiar scent of sun-warmed earth and dry grass filled his nose. Even the breeze felt ordinary, carrying the distant smell of wood smoke from Appledale’s chimneys.

He shook his head and resumed walking. The sooner he put distance between himself and home, the better. His boots kicked up little puffs of dust with each step, and sweat trickled down his back despite the mild temperature. The rhythm of his footfalls settled into a steady pattern that matched his heartbeat.

The crack of a branch in the distance made him pause. Footsteps crunched against the packed earth of the road ahead, growing closer with each passing moment. The sound echoed off the trees, making it impossible to judge exactly how far away they were.

Estaria’s heart leaped into his throat, hammering against his ribs. His parents. How could he have forgotten? They’d gone to the Tidalrest. They always took this road, and they’d be returning any moment now.

His hands trembled as he looked frantically around. The footsteps drew nearer. If they caught him, they’d demand answers about who sent the letter that had drawn them to Tidalrest. They’d drag him back to face whatever punishment they deemed appropriate for stealing the ledger. More importantly, they’d know he’d discovered their secret dealings with the Creshers.

The ditch beside the road offered no cover – just sparse grass and exposed dirt. The forest on either side was too open, the underbrush too thin to hide effectively. Panic clawed at his chest as the footsteps grew louder. He could almost hear voices now, though the words were still indistinct.

His mother’s voice rang in his memory, sharp with disappointment: “You never think things through, Estaria.” Well, she’d been right about that. He should have planned this better, should have remembered their schedule, should have taken the longer route through the back meadows instead of the main road.

Estaria’s pulse thundered in his ears as he frantically scanned the treeline. The footsteps grew closer, echoing off the ancient oaks that lined the road. His fingers clutched the leather-bound ledger through his coat, as if holding it tighter might somehow make him invisible.

The crunch of boots on packed earth drew nearer. Sweat trickled down his spine despite the mild temperature. He had seconds to decide – dive into the inadequate cover of the sparse woods or try to brazen it out on the road. His legs tensed, ready to spring toward the treeline.

A figure appeared around the bend ahead. Estaria’s breath caught in his throat – then released in a rush of relief that left him light-headed. The weathered, familiar face of Mr. Miller came into view, the old farmer’s usual basket of dried herbs hanging from one arm.

The pounding of Estaria’s heart was so fierce, so loud in his own ears, he was certain the older man must hear it as they drew near each other on the dusty road. But Mr. Miller’s expression remained placid, showing no sign he noticed anything amiss.

They exchanged civil nods as they passed, the way they had a hundred times before when meeting on this road. The scent of dried rosemary and thyme wafted from Miller’s basket, so ordinary and mundane it made Estaria’s previous panic seem almost ridiculous.

Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight between them as Miller continued on his way, his footsteps growing fainter with each step. The sound of his passing faded into the ambient whisper of wind through leaves, leaving Estaria alone once more on the sun-dappled road.

Once Mr. Miller’s footsteps faded completely, Estaria plunged into the forest beside the road. The familiar earthy scent of decomposing leaves filled his nostrils as he pushed through the undergrowth. Branches snagged at his coat, and he had to duck under a low-hanging oak limb.

His boots found the barely visible deer trail that he’d followed countless times in his youth. The path wound between ancient tree trunks, their bark rough and deeply furrowed. Dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy overhead, creating shifting patterns on the forest floor.

The ledger bounced against his chest as he moved, each impact a reminder of why he fled. He pressed one hand against it through his coat, steadying it while he navigated the uneven ground. A jay screamed somewhere overhead, making him jump. His nerves were still raw from the near encounter on the road.

The sweet, musty smell of wild mushrooms caught his attention as he passed a fallen log. In better times, he might have stopped to gather them – they’d fetch a good price at market. But now wasn’t the time for foraging. He needed to reach Harvest Road before his parents passed this way.

Sweat trickled down his back as he picked up his pace. The forest floor here was thick with last autumn’s leaves, cushioning his footsteps. He recognized landmarks from his childhood adventures: the lightning-split oak, the boulder shaped like a sleeping bear, the cluster of three birch trees growing from a single stump.

A branch cracked somewhere behind him. Estaria’s heart leaped into his throat. He forced himself to breathe slowly, listening intently. Another snap, closer this time. Could his parents have spotted him entering the woods? No – the sounds were too small, probably just a deer.

Estaria pressed his back against a gnarled oak, its rough bark catching at his coat. His lungs burned as he gulped in air, legs trembling from the frantic pace he’d set. Nothing moved in the forest behind him except dancing shadows cast by the afternoon sun through the leaves.

He slid down the trunk until he sat on the damp earth, the musty scent of decomposing leaves filling his nostrils. His hands shook as he fumbled with his water skin, nearly dropping it before managing to take a long drink. The cool liquid soothed his parched throat.

As his heartbeat steadied, a horrifying thought crystallized in his mind. He closed his eyes, mentally walking through what would happen next. His parents would return home, probably within the hour. They’d find him missing – unusual, but not immediately alarming. Then they’d discover someone had been through their private papers, had found their carefully hidden ledger.

His mother was nothing if not methodical. She’d piece it together quickly: his absence, the missing ledger, his recent questions about the Creshers. His father would rage, but Mother – she’d think it through, consider her options.

Estaria’s blood ran cold. Of course. She’d go straight to the inn where Sara, Clara and Beth had been staying while they were in town.

“No,” he whispered, the word catching in his suddenly dry throat. His mother knew exactly how to hurt him, how to force his hand. Would she stoop to targeting young girls to get at him? He knew the answer, and it terrified him.

The water skin slipped from his numb fingers, forgotten. His hands clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms. How could he have been so stupid? He’d been so focused on getting away, on protecting himself, he’d forgotten to protect those he loved most. The very people his mother would target first.

Estaria forced himself to slow his breathing, counting each inhale and exhale as he picked his way through the undergrowth. His earlier panic had nearly cost him twice now – first on the main road, and then again with his rushed flight into the forest. The ledger pressed against his chest with each measured breath, a constant reminder of what was at stake.

Sunlight filtered through the canopy as he navigated around a cluster of young saplings. The familiar scent of moss and damp earth helped ground him. He’d played in these woods countless times as a child; he knew every hollow and rise between here and Harvest Road.

“Think it through,” he muttered, ducking under a low-hanging branch. Sara and his sisters had left Appledale early that morning, heading toward Convergence. They’d be well along Harvest Road by now, probably past the old mill ruins. His parents, coming from Tidalrest, wouldn’t reach the Appledale turnoff for at least another hour.

The realization eased some of the tension in his shoulders. He’d been running in the wrong direction, heading northeast toward Tidalrest while Sara and the girls traveled northwest. The distance between them had been growing with every step he’d taken.

A jay called overhead, making him pause to scan his surroundings. The forest floor stretched out before him, carpeted with last autumn’s leaves. No sign of pursuit. No sound of horses or voices. Just the ordinary bustle of woodland creatures going about their day.

Estaria picked up his pace, but kept it measured. The ground sloped gently upward here, leading toward the ridge that overlooked Harvest Road. His boots found purchase on exposed tree roots as he climbed. Sweat dampened his shirt despite the cool shade, but he resisted the urge to rush.

The ridge came into view through the trees. Estaria paused at its base, listening intently. The afternoon breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a woodpecker drummed against a tree. But no sounds of travelers reached his ears from the road beyond.

He crept up the final rise, staying low and using the trees for cover. At the top, he pressed himself against an old oak and peered down at Harvest Road. The packed dirt stretched out below him, empty in both directions. Late afternoon sun cast long shadows across its surface.

From this vantage point, he could see where the road branched. One fork led southwest toward Appledale, while the main route continued northeast toward Tidalrest. Sara and his sisters would be well past that intersection by now, probably making good time on the even ground.

His parents wouldn’t have reached it yet, coming from Tidalrest. Even if they hurried straight home after discovering his ruse, they’d have hours of riding ahead of them before they could begin any pursuit toward Convergence.

Estaria settled back against the oak’s rough bark, letting out a long breath. His earlier panic had nearly sent him running blindly toward Tidalrest – directly into his parents’ path. Instead, he needed to follow Sara and the girls toward Convergence. He could catch up to them before his parents even realized what had happened.

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he studied the road below. He’d been letting fear drive his decisions, just as his mother had always accused him of doing. But now he had a clear path forward. He just needed to maintain this calmer, more measured approach.

Estaria settled deeper into his hiding spot, drawing his knees up to his chest. The rough bark of the oak pressed against his back through his coat, and fallen leaves crackled softly beneath him. From his perch on the ridge, he had a clear view of both roads stretching out below. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the packed earth, and a light breeze carried the scent of late summer wildflowers up from the meadow beyond.

A chickadee landed on a nearby branch, tilting its head to study him before flitting away.

The sound of hoofbeats drew his attention back to the road. Estaria pressed himself closer to the tree trunk, though he was well-hidden in the thick undergrowth. His parents’ horses came into view, their steady clip-clop echoing off the ridge face.

His mother sat rigidly in her saddle, her spine straight as an arrow. Even from this distance, Estaria could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she held her head too still. Her legs moved in that familiar, agitated rhythm he’d seen countless times when she paced the kitchen floor. The motion was subtle but unmistakable – a quick, sharp movement followed by a pause, then another jerky step. It was the same pattern she fell into whenever her careful plans went awry.

His father rode beside her, one hand loose on the reins while the other gestured as he spoke. Estaria couldn’t make out the words, but he recognized the sharp, clipped cadence of his father’s angry voice carrying on the breeze. His mother’s responses were too quiet to hear, but Estaria saw her head snap toward his father several times as they passed below his hiding spot.

Dust kicked up by their horses’ hooves drifted lazily in the afternoon light. The familiar scent of horse and leather rose up the ridge, mixed with the subtle hint of his mother’s lavender soap – the same soap she’d used for as long as he could remember. The ordinary, domestic smell made his chest ache with an unexpected pang of homesickness.

He watched as they reached the fork in the road. His mother’s horse danced sideways a few steps, picking up on her rider’s tension. She brought it back under control with practiced ease, though her movements remained sharp and precise. They turned onto the Appledale road without hesitation, the horses’ hoofbeats growing fainter as they disappeared around the bend.

Estaria forced himself to remain still, counting his breaths as the sounds of their passage faded completely. The forest slowly came back to life around him – a squirrel chattered overhead, and birds resumed their afternoon songs. Still, he waited, watching the empty road below while shadows lengthened across its surface.

The quarter hour seemed to stretch endlessly. He occupied himself by studying the way sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead, creating shifting patterns on the forest floor. A beetle crawled across his boot, its shell gleaming iridescent green in a stray shaft of light. The ledger rested heavy in his lap, its presence a constant reminder of why he couldn’t rush this part of his journey.

When he judged enough time had passed, Estaria carefully rose from his hiding spot. His legs had grown stiff from sitting so long, and pins and needles prickled through his feet as he stretched. Leaves and bits of bark clung to his coat; he brushed them away methodically, using the simple task to ground himself in the moment.

The ridge path down to Harvest Road was steep but familiar. He picked his way down carefully, using tree trunks for balance when needed. The packed earth of the road felt solid beneath his boots after the soft forest floor, and dust puffed up around his feet as he stepped onto it.

Estaria turned west, squinting against the late afternoon sun. Harvest Road stretched before him, winding through rolling farmland toward Convergence. Somewhere ahead, Sara and his sisters traveled that same path, but they were far beyond his sight now.

He lifted his gaze to the sky, measuring the sun’s position. The light had taken on that golden quality that preceded sunset, and long shadows stretched across the packed earth of the road. A few hours of daylight remained at most. His legs already felt heavy from his earlier flight through the forest, and his shoulders ached from tension.

“I could push through,” he muttered, adjusting the ledger against his chest. The thought of catching up to them tonight held strong appeal – the sooner he reached them, the safer they’d all be. But exhaustion pulled at him, making his thoughts sluggish. His earlier panic had nearly led him straight into his parents’ path. He couldn’t risk making another mistake like that, not with so much at stake.

The past few days replayed in his mind: sleepless nights spent learning of his parent’s manipulations, his visit to the cabin had been quite draining, and the constant strain of maintaining a normal facade while in town all took a toll. His body felt heavy with accumulated fatigue.

A cool breeze stirred the leaves overhead, carrying the sweet scent of early autumn wildflowers. Estaria took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “One hour,” he decided. “Just get a bit closer, then rest.”

He set out at a steady pace, the familiar countryside rolled past – orderly fields of wheat ready for harvest, apple orchards heavy with ripening fruit, the occasional farmhouse set back from the road. The normalcy of it all felt strange against the turmoil of his thoughts.

As he walked, weariness settled deeper into his bones. His feet grew heavier with each step, and more than once he caught himself stumbling over nothing.

When the sun touched the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, Estaria veered off the road into a small copse of trees. The spot was far enough from the road to avoid casual discovery, but close enough that he could hear approaching travelers. Thick undergrowth provided natural cover, and a fallen log would serve as a backrest.

He cleared a small space of leaves and twigs, working methodically despite his exhaustion. No fire tonight – the risk of being spotted was too great. Instead, he settled against the log and pulled out the heel of bread and cheese he’d grabbed before fleeing home. The simple food tasted better than any feast, his hunger sharpened by the day’s events.

As darkness settled around him, the familiar night sounds of the forest emerged – crickets chirping, the distant call of an owl, small creatures rustling through the undergrowth. Estaria wrapped his coat tighter around himself and closed his eyes, the ledger secure against his chest. Despite his worries about Sara and his sisters, despite the knowledge that his parents were surely pursuing him by now, sleep pulled him under almost immediately.