5.

  Faelwen

  Six days had passed, and once again, we were bound to the road, our silhouettes stretching long in the golden haze of late summer. The forest at the mountain’s base had begun to transform, its once-green cloak tinged with the soft rustle of change. Leaves turned amber and ochre, casting a gilded light that shimmered like a golden ray through the branches. The path ahead wound through the wilds toward the Ralnor Hills, three and half days’ ride on horseback, if the terrain was kind and the weather kinder.

  Elora spoke as we rode, her voice clear in the hush between hoofbeats. She told us the hills were home to nomadic centaur clans and the shy Whimpsprites, fey creatures no taller than a child, all sinew and whimsy, with sorrowful, oversized ears and luminous eyes that pulsed with bright colours. The centaurs wandered, never staying long in an one place, and the last murmurs from the city hinted they’d set camp near the road to Lirandell.

  The journey, though free of monsters or misfortune, carried its own weight. Something inside me twisted, raw and unspoken. I was short-tempered, brittle like glass on the edge of shattering, and each night, when the stars blinked into the dark velvet sky, tears found me. I blamed it on the ghosts of near-death, on the ache of missing Gwen and Thalor not knowing if they managed to survive and on the hollow space that still echoed with fear.

  On the third evening, as twilight draped the land in dusky indigo, I felt the storm inside me begin to swell again. I gathered our waterskins under the excuse of refilling them and slipped away from the firelight, hoping to let the storm pass unseen. By the stream’s edge, I crouched low and let my fingers drift through the water, cool and alive beneath the surface. My tears came in silence, trailing down my cheeks to mix with the stream. That’s when I heard him.

  What’s the matter, Wen?

  The voice as familiar as my own, gentle as the first snowfall, warm as firelight in winter. Artemis.

  “I… I don’t know,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath. “I just feel so…” My words caught, and I tucked my face into my knees, hiding from the weight of my own heart.

  It’s okay, Wen. Sometimes we need to let it out.

  “But why do I feel like this and no one else does?”

  You’ve always had a big heart. And with a big heart comes deep sorrow. You’ve endured so much. It’s only human to feel.

  His words brushed against me like feathers. I nodded, wiping my cheeks and trying to find a smile. “Yeah, you’re right, Buddy.”

  He leaned in, nudging my face with his soft muzzle.

  Now fill those waterskins, and let’s go back to the fire. They’ll start to worry.

  I did as he said, returning to camp with the river’s chill still clinging to my skin. Elora stirred the fire with a stick, coaxing flames from glowing embers. Ash and Spook were stringing a tarp against the rising wind, clouds bloomed like bruises across the sky. Rain was coming in.

  “That tarp won’t hold the rain,” I murmured, settling beside Elora.

  “I said the same. But the boys insist on no tents. Don’t want to pack wet canvas in the morning,” she replied, her tone dry. I sighed.

  Elora glanced at me, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve been… off lately. Moody. Distant. What’s eating at you?”

  I shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “Maybe the worry’s getting too loud in my head.”

  She gave a knowing chuckle. “You sound like my mother when she was expecting, teary like a human and just as easily ruffled.”

  I snorted. “I’m not pregnant. I’m half-human remember? We just… feel things more. Artemis says it’s the curse of a big heart.”

  Elora raised a brow. “Are you sure? When was your last period?”

  “I am on my period,” I snapped, then paused. “Well… sort of.”

  Her look sharpened.

  “It’s… not normal. It started a week ago, but it’s been mostly brown. Old blood. Not the usual red.”

  Elora’s expression turned thoughtful. “Sometimes stress can mess with it. But if you want to be sure, I can brew a pregnancy potion. My mother taught me.”

  A spark of dread flared in my chest. My voice trembled. “Alright. But… let’s keep this between us for now, okay?”

  She nodded and began to gather her tools: a pouch of herbs, a small glass flask, and a whisper of elven incantations that danced across my skin like static energy.

  “Take this. Pee into it. If it stays yellow or greenish, you’re fine. If it turns blue or purple… you’re with child.”

  I took the flask with shaking hands and wandered to the water’s edge again, the world suddenly muffled, like snow had fallen between me and reality. I crouched and, after fumbling, filled the vial. I watched the herbs swirl. Yellow. Still yellow.

  A breath of relief escaped me… too soon.

  The colour shifted. Yellow to green. Green to blue.

  No.

  My heartbeat thundered in my ears. My limbs went numb. This had to be wrong. I returned to Elora, flask hidden in my cloak. She met my eyes. “Well?”

  I handed her the flask. Her face fell. “Wen…”

  “I didn’t know,” I whispered, numb. “No one ever told me.”

  “You didn’t take any remedies?”

  “What remedies?” I asked, bewildered. Artemis putting his head in my lap looking worried.

  Elora stared, then groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Your mother never taught you anything?”

  “She died when I was eleven. Then I lived with a male wizard who couldn’t explain a uterus if his life depended on it.”

  She sighed. “Did Ash know?”

  “He should’ve,” I said quietly. “He’s a grown man.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Not all men know this stuff, just like that wizard you just spoke off. And elves… elves rarely get pregnant. He probably thought it nearly impossible.”

  Before I could speak again, Ash’s voice cut through the air.

  “You’re pregnant?”

  I turned slowly. He was already kneeling beside me, reading the storm in my face. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ll figure this out.” His hand found my stomach, warm and protective.

  “It’s not exactly ideal timing,” I snapped, tears rising again.

  “No, it’s not.” He silenced me with a fingertip to my lips. “But you’re not alone. Not now. Not ever.”

  I collapsed into his arms, letting the fear bleed from me. He held me, solid and steady.

  “She’s still bleeding,” Elora said, voice tight with concern.

  “What does that mean?” Ash asked her. Spook, now seated beside her, answered calmly. “Could be a miscarriage… or her womb’s just sensitive.”

  I froze.

  “How do you know that?” Elora asked.

  “I grew up around courtesans and rogues. I’ve heard stories. Seen things,” he replied casually.

  “There’s a camp nearby,” Elora added gently. “We’ll reach it by midday tomorrow. They’ll have a healer.”

  But no words could ease the dread clawing at my chest. I slipped from Ash’s arms and curled beside Artemis, who tucked his head beside mine.

  I feel so stupid, I whispered through the bond.

  You’re not. You didn’t know. No one taught you, he replied gently. If anyone failed you, it’s me. I should have said something.

  I’m scared, Buddy.

  I know. But I’ll never leave you. Neither will Ash. We’re pack. You’re not alone.

  His warmth anchored me, his presence a shield. But as I closed my eyes, Spook’s voice echoed in my mind, a haunting refrain: “Could be a miscarriage… or her womb is just very sensitive.”

  And the darkness pressed in, heavy with what might come.

  ? ? ?

  After a night of broken dreams and fitful sleep, we pressed on beneath the pale blush of dawn. The road twisted through golden plains, and by midday the first hints of the centaur encampment revealed themselves. Smoke spiralled lazily into the sky on the horizon, beckoning us onward. In the distance, silhouettes thundered across the hills, muscle and mane, half-man, half-beast, galloping in fluid, thunderous harmony with the land.

  As we neared, one of the groups peeled away from the herd and galloped toward us, hooves pounding the earth like war drums. Their presence was overwhelming, tall as towers and wild as the wind, each centaur was a vision of strength. Their equine bodies rippled with muscle and power, their human torso tanned bronze by sun and travel. Long hair, golden, chestnut, ink-black, flowed like banners behind them, and across their backs were slung weapons etched with runes: heavy axes, curved swords, and bows that looked capable of shooting stars from the sky.

  My breath caught in my throat. They were magnificent.

  They circled us with cautious eyes until Elora, calm as ever, raised her voice in fluid Elvish. “We are travellers from Eryndalis, bound for Lirandell,” she lied with silken grace. The lead centaur slowed, his piercing gaze fixed on her. For a heartbeat, the air felt taut as a bowstring. Then, he dipped his head in a gesture of wary welcome. “Then we bid you warmth and safety under our sky,” he replied in Elvish, his voice like rolling thunder softened by civility. “I am Ceruleon, Captain of the Guards.”

  He stepped aside with noble poise and beckoned us to follow. “A curious company,” he mused, his eyes flicking over Spook with amused suspicion. “You look more like adventurers than pilgrims.”

  Elora smiled lightly, her voice easy. “We are. Fortune brought us together. That is Spook,” she gestured, “he doesn’t speak Elvish. Ash, Faelwen, and Artemis travel with me as well.”

  Ceruleon nodded, his gaze returning to her. “And you?”

  “Elora Reyzana, daughter of Elandor lord of Caradsher?n,” she answered with quiet pride. The captain halted, surprise flickering across his noble features. He turned fully, then bowed with solemn grace. “I did not realize a lady of high blood rode among us. Forgive my manners. It is an honour.”

  She returned the bow with equal elegance. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  The camp was unlike anything I had imagined. Tents as grand as pavilions formed a sprawling circle, their canvas dyed with intricate symbols and trailing vines. Fires danced between them, some large, some small, where centaurs gathered to cook, share stories, or simply bask in the warmth. The air carried the mingled scent of woodsmoke and wild herbs. Between the towering tents, smaller dwelling of woven grass and packed earth nestled like secrets. From atop my horse, I noticed strange, nimble creatures darting between them; tiny, long-eared beings bearing baskets thrice their size.

  “Whimpsprites,” Ceruleon said, motioning to one that scurried past. “They’re our companions. They forage for us, bring us healing herbs, and ward off darker spirits.”

  “I’ve heard tales of them,” I murmured in awe. Elora cleared her throat gently. “Speaking of healers… where may we find one?”

  Ceruleon blinked scanning our bodies for injuries that weren’t there but nodded and led us toward a grand, circular tent veiled in silken drapes. “Feel free to wander around. I’ll notify everyone who you are,” he said before he departed. Once he was gone, we dismounted and gave the horses leave to graze. Spook and Elora remained behind while Ash, Artemis and I approached the healer’s tent, hearts heavy and uncertain.

  Beside the tent stood a modest burrow-like home, its door flanked by glowing lanterns. A flower wide as my face and shimmering like dew-kissed grass drifted down onto its tiny roof. I smiled despite myself, this place breathed magic. But that fragile wonder crumbled as fear crept in once more, pressing its weight against my chest when we entered the large tent.

  Ash cleared his throat, his voice barely a whisper. “Hello?”

  At first, it seemed no one was there, until a Whimpsprite emerged from shadow, startling in its suddenness. Its ears nearly brushed the floor, and its enormous blue eyes glistened like polished moonstones. Clutching a staff adorned with mushrooms and luminous leaves, it began to chatter in a voice like windchimes in a storm. “Uh… We’re looking for a healer,” I interrupted gently. A soothing voice answered from behind.

  “It won’t understand you, my dear.”

  The flap parted and in stepped a centaur woman, graceful and serene. She wore a soft blouse over her human torso and a pastel blanket draped over her back. Her braided hair shimmered with flowers, and her every movement jingled with delicate jewellery. Her eyes radiated compassion.

  She knelt slightly and gestured silently to the Whimpsprite, her lips moving in silence. The creature responded in kind and disappeared toward the rear.

  “Sign language,” Ash noted, impressed. The healer nodded, her smile warm. “My name is Kova. And you are?”

  “I’m Faelwen. This is Ash, and Artemis. We travel with friends but…” I swallowed. “I recently discovered I’m pregnant. But I’m bleeding.”

  Kova’s smile faded into gently seriousness. “Let’s take a look at that shall we?” She responded gesturing towards a raised bed. She helped me up onto the raised bed, clearly made for centaurs, not our kind. She made a low, melodic sound and the Whimpsprite returned, herbs in hand. Together they worked, brewing a shimmering oil that smelled of lavender and crushed petals. The sprite constructed a tiny stairs beside me and climbed up with solemn care. It rolled up my clothes and rubbed the oil gently into my skin, murmuring in a tongue that felt older than the stars. Magic flowed through me, a warm pulse like a lullaby sung through the bones. I closed my eyes. For a moment, I dared to hope.

  Then I opened them, and Kova’s expression broke me.

  “I’m sorry, my dear,” she said softly. “There is no heartbeat.”

  The world stopped turning. I felt untethered, adrift in a sudden void. Ash gripped my hand, his voice shaking. “W.. What does that mean?”

  “It means she will miscarry,” Kova said with the tenderness of someone who’s shared this grief before. “It is heartbreakingly common. One in four women know this sorrow.”

  “I guess… it’s for the best,” I managed, though the words trembled on my lips. “This wasn’t a good time…”

  “How long?” Ash asked.

  “Three to six weeks. There will be more bleeding… and eventually, pain. But then it will pass. And so will the child.” She said it like a prayer. A farewell.

  Ash helped me down. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  As we left, the Whimpsprite pressed a carved stone into my hand, a four-leaf clover. A silent wish of good fortune. A quiet goodbye.

  Outside, I wandered to a patch of grass and collapsed onto my knees, the world blurred by tears I fought to hold back. My hands rested on my belly. “I’m sorry, little one,” I whispered. “I wish I could’ve met you.”

  Ash sat down beside me, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. Artemis curled up close. “We won’t have to worry anymore… about the pregnancy,” I murmured, but the words felt hollow. Tears spilled down my cheeks. Ash’s voice cracked. “Even though you’re right… I was excited. Just the thought of a child with you…”

  “Me too,” I whispered, leaning into him. “Maybe this wasn’t the right time…”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But I already saw us as parents. I already loved our child.”

  “I know. So did I.” My throat tightened. “There’s a special kind off pain in preparing a place in your heart for a child that never arrives. And now I hope I can be a mom again someday.”

  Ash turned to me, eyes shimmering. “Wen… if you carried a child in your womb, even for a little while, you are a mother. And I’m a father. I can’t imagine anyone more deserving of those names than those who had to give their child back.”

  His words shattered something inside me and let the grief pour out. I clung to him, buried my face in his chest, and let the tears fall freely, each one a tiny, sacred farewell.