The light was fading into a soft, hazy gloom when Morwenna stepped onto the porch.
The sun had already sunk behind the rolling hills, leaving the edges of the sky a deep, bruised purple where the horizon met the land.
The field had turned gray, its long grass swaying in the slow evening breeze that carried the scent of cooling earth. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called once. The sharp, lonely sound faded into the silence almost as soon as it came.
She settled into the wooden chair, running her small fingers over the rough, splintered grain of the weathered timber.
Cinder curled up in her lap, a warm, comforting weight against her stomach. His ears turned at every little sound, from the creaking of the house as it settled for the night to the dry rustle of leaves skittering across the dirt. Even the distant lowing of Bess in the far field caught his attention.
Morwenna tilted her head back and looked up at the vast sky. The first stars had begun to appear, faint and scattered like grains of salt across a dark tablecloth. She started counting them.
Seven.
Then nine.
Then she lost her place and had to start again, her green eyes following the growing points of silver as they grew brighter against the deepening darkness.
The door opened behind her, spilling a rectangle of golden light across the porch boards.
"Morwenna."
She turned at the sound of her father's voice. Jack stood in the doorway, his tall frame nearly filling it. His silhouette stood out against the warm kitchen light behind him, which caught the distinct white streak in his black hair.
"Come help me pack."
She frowned. "Pack what?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he grinned, and she could still make out the expression despite the shadows around him.
Morwenna gave a small huff. Cinder's ears twitched at the sudden movement beneath him. She lifted the fox from her lap, carefully placed him on the chair, and padded inside barefoot.
The bedroom was small and smelled of lavender and old wood. The bed was still unmade from her afternoon nap. Jack had opened the wardrobe and taken out a canvas bag, the same forest-green one she had used on the journey from London. It lay open on the mattress, empty and waiting.
Morwenna stopped in the doorway and folded her arms across her chest.
"What are we packing, Papa?"
Jack reached up and pulled a thick wool blanket from the top shelf.
"Things."
"What things?"
He folded the blanket with practiced ease, his large hands moving quickly before he placed it at the bottom of the bag.
"Things we need."
Morwenna huffed again, louder this time so he would be sure to hear her.
Jack glanced at her, his grin growing wider. "Patience, little one."
"I have patience."
"You are huffing."
"Because you aren't answering me."
He reached into the wardrobe again and brought out a rolled bundle of dark green canvas, tightly secured with thick leather straps. She had never seen it before.
"What is that?"
He placed it beside the bag. "A tarp."
"What is a tarp?"
"Something you spread on the ground so you don't get wet."
She studied the rolled canvas. It looked much heavier than it appeared. She thought about the forest and the damp earth beneath the trees. In the early morning, dew always clung to the grass, making it cold and wet.
"Why would we need to stay dry?"
Jack didn't answer. He had already turned back to the wardrobe and was searching through the lower shelves.
Morwenna stepped farther into the room, the cool floorboards smooth beneath her feet. She watched as he took out a small metal pot, just big enough to hold in one hand. A thin wire handle clinked against its rim.
"What is that for?"
"A pot."
"For what?"
"Cooking."
"We are going to cook in the forest?"
Jack's shoulders shifted. He was laughing, though the sound was quiet, a low rumble in his chest.
Morwenna huffed again.
A few minutes later, Saoirse appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame as she watched them. Her black hair, marked by the same stark white streak, was pulled back from her face.
Morwenna was now kneeling on the floor, trying to fold a smaller blanket the way Jack had shown her. The edges refused to line up, and the thick wool kept slipping through her small fingers.
"You two are a mess," Saoirse remarked, clearly amused.
"We are packing," Morwenna insisted, keeping her eyes on the blanket.
"I can see that." Saoirse stepped inside and looked over the growing pile. Her brown eyes moved from the bag to the tarp and then to the pot. Her eyebrows rose. "You are really doing it, then."
Jack shrugged. "She wants to see the forest."
Saoirse crouched beside Morwenna and took the blanket from her hands. With three quick movements, she folded it neatly until all the edges lined up, then placed it inside the bag.
"What else do you need?"
"Rope," Jack replied. "The waterproof matches. The small axe."
Saoirse nodded and disappeared into the hallway, her footsteps light against the wooden floor.
Morwenna sat back on her heels, her eyes widening.
"An axe?"
"For firewood."
She looked down at her hands. They were still faintly scratched from the brambles she had encountered that afternoon. Now they were going to chop wood, too?
Jack took a coil of rope from the wardrobe. It was thin and brown, stiff beneath his fingers and slightly rough to the touch. He placed it in the bag.
"What is that for?"
"Tying things."
"What things?"
"Things that need tying, Morwenna."
She stared at him, but he only grinned again, his eyes bright with a secret.
Saoirse returned with a small wooden box and a leather sheath, placing both on the bed.
"The matches are in the box. The axe is in the sheath. Don't let her touch it, Jack."
"I'm not going to touch it," Morwenna said defensively, lifting her chin.
"Good." Saoirse glanced at the bag. "What about food?"
Jack nodded toward the kitchen. "Jane is handling that."
Morwenna looked over everything they had packed so far: the blanket, tarp, pot, rope, matches, and axe. The bag was already nearly full. She thought about the forest, the deep shadows beneath the trees, and the stream she wanted to find. They would be cooking out there, staying dry, and tying all sorts of things that needed tying.
She said nothing more, but her attention remained fixed on the preparations.
It took another twenty minutes to finish. Jack added a small saw, a canteen, and a bundle wrapped in wax paper, which he explained was for starting fires. Saoirse brought in two more blankets and a folded groundsheet.
Morwenna helped wherever she could. She carried the rope from the bed to the bag, held the canteen while Jack rearranged the tarp to make more room, and handed him the matches when he asked for them.
By the time they finished, her arms were tired and her knees ached from kneeling on the hard floor. The bag sat on the bed, bulging at the sides, its leather straps stretched tight around the heavy contents.
"We are going to need a bigger bag," Saoirse observed.
"We will manage." Jack pulled the straps tight and buckled them shut. "It's only for one or two nights."
Morwenna stared at the bag.
One or two nights in the forest.
She still said nothing, but her mind was already racing with all the possibilities waiting beyond the tree line.
The sitting room was warm and inviting when they entered. The fire had been lit, its flames dancing behind the iron grate and casting flickering orange light across the walls.
Jane sat on the sofa with an open book resting in her lap, her green eyes reflecting the firelight. On the low table in front of her stood a teapot and three delicate cups, alongside a large, green object.
Morwenna stopped in the doorway. The object was round and striped, dark green with pale lines running from top to bottom. It rested on a thick wooden board, looking heavy and entirely out of place among the delicate porcelain cups.
"What is that, Maman?"
Jane set her book aside. "A watermelon."
Morwenna walked closer and touched its rind. It was cool and smooth, much harder than she had expected.
"What is a watermelon?"
"A fruit," Jane explained, her French accent softening the vowels. "It grows on vines. It's mostly water, which is why it's called a watermelon."
Morwenna studied it curiously. She had seen pictures of all sorts of fruit, including apples, oranges, and bananas. She had eaten those before, but she had never seen anything quite like this.
"How do you eat it?"
Jane picked up a sharp knife from the table and cut into the melon. The rind split with a sharp crack, revealing brilliant red flesh dotted with small black seeds. Sweet juice ran down the blade and pooled on the wooden board.
Morwenna's eyes widened at the bright color.
"You eat the red part," Jane explained, cutting a thick slice and placing it on a small plate. "Not the rind. And try not to eat the seeds."
She handed the plate to Morwenna. The slice was curved, thick along the green edge and narrowing to a red point. Its flesh glistened in the firelight. Morwenna picked it up, feeling the sticky juice run down her fingers.
She took a bite.
It was incredibly sweet and cold, with a refreshing crunch that filled her mouth with juice. It tasted like summer, like something she had never tried before but somehow recognized deep down. She took another bite, and a drop of juice ran down her chin.
"Good?" Jane asked.
Morwenna nodded enthusiastically, her mouth too full to answer.
Saoirse dropped onto the sofa beside Jane and reached for a slice of her own. "I haven't had watermelon in years."
"It isn't common in England," Jane said. "Margaret brought it over earlier. She said her son grew it in a greenhouse."
Jack took a slice and settled into the armchair. His boots were off, and his feet rested comfortably on the rug.
For a while, they ate without much conversation. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and sweet juice ran down their fingers. Morwenna finished two slices, then a third, until her stomach felt pleasantly full and cold.
Saoirse leaned back against the sofa cushions. "We are going to be sore tomorrow, carrying all that gear up."
"We will manage," Jack replied, his voice steady.
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
Morwenna licked the juice from her fingers and glanced at the bag beside the door. The forest was waiting. The stream was waiting. And somewhere beyond the trees, the source was waiting, too. She still had no idea what they might find, and her father wasn't telling her.
But that was the point of going out to look, after all.
She reached for one last slice.
. . .
Morwenna woke to pale gray light and a restlessness she couldn't quite name.
For a moment, she lay still, staring up at the dark wooden ceiling. The room was quiet, and Cinder remained curled into a warm ball of fur at her feet, his breathing slow and steady.
Yet something felt different. The air seemed heavier, as though the world were holding its breath before a storm, even though the sky outside the window was pale and still.
She sat up. Cinder lifted his head, his ears turning toward her as he woke. His tail thumped once against the blanket in greeting.
Morwenna dressed quickly, pulling on her blue shorts and the white shirt with the little fox on it. She slipped on her trainers, and the laces stayed tied on the first try. That felt like a good omen.
When she entered the sitting room, the bags were already waiting on the floor. There were two of them: the forest-green canvas bag from the night before, bulging at the sides, and a smaller leather one she hadn't seen before. They sat beside the door like animals waiting to be let outside.
Jane was at the table, with Saoirse beside her holding a steaming cup of tea. Both looked up when Morwenna came in.
"Morning, chérie," Jane greeted her. Her voice was soft, but there was a quiet sense of readiness beneath it.
Morwenna glanced at the bags again. "We are going."
"We are going." Jane gestured toward the chair. "Sit. Eat."
The plate waiting for her held more than the usual toast or porridge. There were eggs fried until their yolks were orange and runny, bacon crisp and dark around the edges, and a thick slice of bread covered in butter. It was a proper breakfast, the sort of meal meant to keep someone going through a long journey.
Morwenna picked up her fork and began eating. The savory smell of bacon made her stomach rumble.
The front door opened, and Jack came in from outside. His boots were dusty, and his hair was damp around the temples from the morning mist. He nodded toward Jane.
"Margaret knows. I told her we would be gone for a day or two. She said we could help ourselves to the apples when we get back."
Saoirse snorted into her tea. "She isn't worried about us stealing apples."
"She isn't worried about anything." Jack sat down and reached for a piece of buttered bread. "She has been here for fifty years. She has seen everything."
They ate with a quiet sense of purpose. The eggs were still hot, and the bacon was perfectly crisp. Morwenna finished everything on her plate and drank the milk Jane poured for her. Her stomach was full, but the strange restlessness hadn't gone away.
She pushed back from the table, and the chair legs scraped against the floor.
"I need my bag."
Jane nodded. "Go on, then."
Morwenna hurried to her room, her steps light and springy. The floorboards barely creaked beneath her feet. She pulled her green canvas bag from the wardrobe. It was already packed with her clothes, toothbrush, and book. She hadn't unpacked much since they left London.
She slung the strap over her shoulder. The bag was heavy, and the strap pressed into her collarbone, but she hardly noticed.
The path to the forest began at the far edge of the field, where the neatly cut grass gave way to wild weeds. Jack led the way, carrying the large green bag over his shoulder. Jane followed with the smaller leather one in her hand, while Saoirse carried a woven basket filled with food, with a spare blanket tucked under her arm.
Morwenna walked between them, her own bag bumping against her hip with every step.
The grass had grown tall here, brushing against her knees and leaving specks of pollen on her shorts. The sun was higher now, its light shifting from soft gold to a brilliant white. The air smelled of drying hay and warm earth, with a fresher, greener scent growing stronger as they approached the trees.
Saoirse began humming a wordless tune, a melody Morwenna had never heard before. It rose and fell gently, weaving through the steady sounds of insects in the field. Morwenna didn't ask what it was. She simply listened to the tune and the rhythm of their footsteps.
The trees stood ahead, dark and close together. The first were beeches, with thick gray trunks and branches reaching high towards the blue sky. As they stepped beneath the canopy, the light changed. It became softer and greener, falling in shimmering patches across the forest floor.
The ground was different here, softer beneath their feet and covered with last year's leaves. They crackled like dry parchment as Morwenna's trainers sank into the thick layer.
Jack stopped in a small clearing. It wasn't deep in the forest, and if she turned around, she could still see the bright field through the trees. Even so, it felt completely separate from the rest of the world. The trees formed a rough circle around it, their branches meeting overhead like the vaulted ceiling of a cathedral. Emerald moss and short grass covered the flat ground.
"This is the spot," Jack said, lowering his bag with a heavy, muffled thud. "Saoirse and I found it yesterday."
Saoirse set down the basket and stretched both arms above her head. "There's a lot of forest out here."
Morwenna looked around, her eyes wide with curiosity. The clearing was quiet except for a bird calling somewhere high above. Its cry was sharp and brief before fading away. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves, filling the air with a soft, steady rustling.
She liked it here.
"Tent first," Jack said.
He took the canvas out of his bag. It was folded into a complicated bundle, with the wooden poles strapped to the outside. He laid it on the moss and began unfolding it.
Morwenna watched as the canvas spread across the ground. It was a faded, pale green and much larger than she had expected. Jack removed the poles and began fitting them together. One after another, they clicked into place until he had assembled two long metal rods.
"Help me. Hold this end, Morwenna."
Morwenna took hold of the canvas. It was much heavier and more stubborn than she had imagined. Jack threaded the first pole through a sleeve in the fabric, followed by the second. Slowly, the tent began to take shape, rising from the ground as though waking from a long sleep.
On the other side, Saoirse knelt and hammered wooden pegs into the earth with a heavy, flat rock. Each strike made a dull, solid sound against the forest floor.
Morwenna held the canvas steady. Her arms began to ache, and her fingers grew cold from the damp material, but soon the tent was standing. Its walls were pulled tight, and the entrance gaped open. She stepped back to inspect their work. It was small, but perhaps big enough for all of them, provided nobody minded sleeping close together.
"Good," Jack said, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Now for the groundsheet."
He spread a thick canvas sheet across the floor of the tent. Morwenna helped smooth it out, pressing her knees into the cool, damp earth as she worked. The material felt rough beneath her palms. Saoirse brought over the blankets and arranged them in a neat pile at the back of the tent, then carried in the bags and food basket.
Once everything was safely inside, Morwenna sat at the entrance and looked out across the clearing. The trees stood quietly around them, their leaves glowing in the green-tinted light. A small bird landed on a low branch and watched her for a moment with one shiny, black eye before flying away.
"We need wood," Jack said. "For the fire."
Morwenna immediately got to her feet, eager to help.
They searched along the edge of the clearing for fallen branches. Jack showed her how to choose dead, dry ones, the kind that snapped with a satisfying crack when bent. Morwenna gathered as many as she could carry, holding the bundle against her chest. The rough bark caught against her white shirt as she walked.
Jack collected stones from the forest floor and arranged them into a fire ring. He chose a mixture of gray and white stones, some flat and others round, placing them carefully in a circle before stacking the wood inside. Saoirse took out the box of waterproof matches.
The fire caught on the third attempt. At first, there was only a tiny orange flicker, but it soon spread, growing brighter as the flames reached the dry branches. A thin column of gray smoke rose into the canopy before disappearing among the leaves.
Morwenna settled on a fallen log near the fire. Its warmth reached her face, and the restlessness in her chest finally began to fade. In its place came a quieter, steadier feeling.
She looked at the tent, the fire, her father crouching beside the flames, her aunt unpacking the basket, and her mother sitting on the ground with her back against a sturdy tree.
The forest surrounded them now.
They were finally here.
Morwenna drew her knees up to her chest and watched the fire grow.
= = =
There's images below
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I have just uploaded a new "Pictures" chapter in the Aux Volume on Webnovel and in Volume 0 on AO3. If you are curious about how I picture the characters, you can check it out there.
Also, a quick note. The Evans family ages very slowly, even compared to the Keith line or most Olde Ones families. So Great-Grandma Roxane appears to be in her forties, even though she's actually over 280 years old.
The image I used for her is from when she's around 40s? 50s? 60s? Though honestly, she looks more like she's in her twenties. At least… that's how it feels to me.