The air was pleasantly cold when she snuck out. Her skin prickled in protest at the way it nipped at her for a brief moment as she ensured that her father’s snores still echoed through the house’s empty halls. His breath swept the torn canvas’ melting off the walls. Dust rose in clouds as she balanced on her window sill, tugging at the rope tied around her waist to make sure it would hold true.

 

She closed her eyes. Because of the dust, of course.

 

It wasn’t as if she was leaping out of the third story of her house, trusting and praying on every star and ladybug she had ever laid eyes on that the branch below would catch her.

 

Her heart made several panicked attempts to rip from her chest as she swung. A small yelp escaped her lips as her knee cap contacted the base, peeling skin meeting peeling bark. The pack slung around her shoulder swung her back and forth.

 

The crisp air cleared her mind just enough for her to remember the instructions: leap, then lower down. Through the dark, her fingers managed to clumsily give way for the rope to slip an inch from her grasp. Fighting the inane urge to turn back around, she continued the process until the tree’s nimble branches disappeared and she could see the roots.

 

No sooner had her feet graced the ground that a figure shrouded in darkness grunted.

 

“You’re late.”

 

“I know.” Her voice sounded wrong; too high, too sore from lack of use. She was still fumbling with the rope around her waist as she hurried to add, “I’m sorry. Father wouldn’t fall asleep tonight. I had to give him several rounds of that old tea he likes-”

 

“I didn’t ask why.” The figure reached into its jacket and pulled out a sharpened blade.

 

She winced as it swiftly sliced through the cords. They fell limp in her hands. The ends frayed like an overused paintbrush before her friend yanked it from her and forcefully tossed the tangled parts to the ground.

 

She stood for a moment, wondering if she should clean the jumbled mess up.

 

But her friend gestured for her to follow. It was already ahead on the forest’s path.

 

She tried not to make a fool of herself as she stepped over the remains of the rope and scurried to catch up. The moon and all its stars twinkled in mocking delight while she brought her arms around herself. Each breath caught in the night sky, wisping like clouds.

 

In the daytime, the forest was peaceful. Every so often, a creature of sleek red fur would glide from its shadowy edges, or a bird could be seen making its nest on a faraway branch. When the sun set, its rays coasted along the treetops, brushing the forests’ edges with bright light until it all faded away.

 

Now, all she could do was summon a vision of that golden-gilded forest as the branches around her grew denser. Her friend was unbothered. She slid through the undergrowth with the sleekness of those red creatures, dodging at just the right moments and avoiding the worst of the pricks from the surrounding bushes.

 

And so they went on for several minutes-turned-hours. One stumbling under the weight of a package, the other sliding, unburdened. If any forest creature were to wake from sleep, or if any owl lay in watch, they would see the curious sight of a girl in a white dress following a figure silhouetted by the shadows and dwindling moonlight.

 

Finally, they reached a place where the bushes parted. Her friend emerged first, eyes sharp as they surveyed the tower covered by stone-carved leaves. The top was so high it couldn’t be seen, even with all the light of ancient stars and the moon’s reflected sunshine. Her friend took one of the leaves’ vines in her hand, examining it as one might look over a fish at the marketplace. Upon squeezing one of its bulbous growths, a black tar oozed onto her red gloves.

 

She shivered but remained unflinching as her friend passed it to her.

 

“We have to climb these,” her friend said.

 

The casual quality of its voice wasn’t unwelcome as she soaked herself in her own fear. With no more than a nudge from her friend, she reached for a higher vine. Securing her foot upon the tower’s loose stone, she began to climb. She forced her mind to go numb to the fear of her growing altitude so she could focus on not pricking herself on the vine’s brambles.

 

It was only when the clouds began to part that she realized how high she was. A startling thought that would have been far more helpful when she was still grounded rang out, loud and true in her head: Why was she here?

 

She racked her mind for answers as she continued her ascent.

 

She tried to trace what she had done that evening back. Through her own eyes, she could see her hands moving to bring her father a cup of steaming tea leaves and water, but when she looked into the reflection, she could no longer see herself.

 

Startled, she began thinking farther back.

 

A dare, she remembered faintly. Not one her friend had to voice, but one she took upon herself. A line crossed. A cord broken in more senses than one. An urge, a feeling, that she had to keep moving her feet, keep crossing new lines before she was consumed by the darkness that followed her. Her backpack weighed her down, and she grew aware of its presence. It hadn’t seemed like a burden before.

 

She willed her hands to stop grabbing for new vine, and they listened.

 

“Are we at the top?” Her friend’s voice startled her.

 

“No, but perhaps we could take a break,” she said, steeling her voice so all that she thought could be heard was her exhaustion. “Only for a moment. My arms begin to ache.”

 

“Don’t worry,” her friend said, eyes friendly. Her amber irises were deep as the sea and wider than the ever-encompassing sky. “I got you.”

 

She blinked. Everything seemed to pass, as it was mere dust on her windowsill that she could blow away with a breath. “Yes. Yes, of course. It was silly of me - a thought, merely.”

 

“You don’t have to worry about those things,” her friend said reassuringly, and she felt herself smile and nod.

 

She began to climb again. Her mind drifted in and out of itself, only faintly registering the prickling feeling of thorns against her palms and the growing weight on her back.

 

Finally, the stones grew thinner, and the vines grew thicker. Relieved, she started to pull herself onto the top of the tower.

 

“I’ll go first,” her friend said. “It might not be safe.”

 

Why hadn’t she thought of that? Once again, an overwhelming feeling of gratitude was sent over her for having a guide such as this. When her friend climbed over and extended a hand, she was pleasantly surprised, and gratefully lifted the burden from her shoulders. She no longer felt weighed down and let herself revel in the journey she had made.

 

The dawn would not come for many more hours, and by then she would be at home in her bed, awaiting her father’s yawns of awakening and their shared morning tea while their adventure kept her tired eyes open.

 

She was looking down as she thought this. Visions of the future, where she brought back stories of wonder that she disguised as mere dreams to their kitchen, brimmed in her eyes.

 

The visions began to blur.

 

At first, she was scared. Then she felt the hands coming closer, shoving her from the edge, and confusion clouded the image of her kitchen and warm tea and smiling father.

 

The moon flashed above her, no longer mocking; it seemed sober now as her white dress billowed in the fall. The night’s glow lit up one last picture of red hair.

 

As the wind swept away this night, and the last, and all the ones to come, she heard a voice thick as oil. “I got you in the end.”