The wind whistled over the red cliffs above Stoor-Vales, tousling Will's hair. He sat at the edge in stunned silence, his feet dangling, unconcerned about the height. A single shift could send him tumbling to his death, but he didn't look down. His eyes were fixed on a spot in the distant horizon until they became watery.
He could hardly believe he had traveled so far away from home to find nothing but the shells of a few new houses and a dozen strangers. The friendly faces he had met before, the ones who had invited him back to the settlement and had been so grateful for his help, had not been seen for some time according to the farmhands. Even worse, there was no clue as to where they had gone, no indication of the circumstances leading up to their departure, and no word on when or if they would return. Will felt hopelessness creeping into his mind. It was a feeling he was not familiar with.
He and Lane had sat around the campfire earlier that evening in disbelief that their long journey had ended this way. They expected to be able to exchange letters or news, or both. Will still had the parcel and letters in his pack, with no one to give them to. He had a choice to make and he didn't want to make it. He thought he had left that uncertainty behind when he left Bree, but perhaps he did not know the true meaning of the word and this was fate's way of instructing him.
Lane had fulfilled her part of the journey and delivered Miss Jocelynn's windows, carrying him along with her, only he was now not able to complete his part of the journey. He struggled to determine what that would mean for him and had nothing to indicate the answer. He could stay and assist the farmhands they had found there, hoping to be reunited with the group. What they represented to him was the entire reason he was here, or so he thought. He tried desperately to remember that reasoning now, as he was so close to relenting, turning his tail, and returning home with Lane's caravan.
Should he abandon his plan to stay in the settlement for the foreseeable future, he would be going back on a promise he made to himself years ago; no matter what happens, always look forward. What's done is done. Now he needed to make his next decision. Was that promise worth his life? To him, that seemed to be the stakes for continuing on the path he had started down.
One of the farmhands had told him that the supposed path of the would-be refugees was into Rohan, in search of Emmawynn's family. Lane had assured him she could find a caravan for him to travel with to take him most of the way, but he was relying on faith and luck that he would be both in the right place and at the right time. It was a long, dangerous path for him to take.
And then there was Emma. He felt drawn to her the moment he met her, but a pretty smile and laugh would do that to any man. He may have cared for her then, but he knew he did not love her, and he knew that she thought only a small portion of the meager affection he had for her. While he was very eager to discover where she was and see her safe, there was no sense in pursuing a rumor of her, or indeed the others.
With a deep sigh, he felt the heavy burden of the decision weighing down on him. While the notion of freedom was undeniably alluring, it was the purpose behind it that left him uncertain. The thought of embarking on a journey spanning countless miles filled him with apprehension, knowing full well the risks he would face should he encounter any trouble along the way.
But then he imagined returning to Combe, seeing his father's sneering disgust that he had failed, his mother's happy acceptance that he was safe, but disappointment that he was no greater than when he had left, and the constant reminders of his past in the faces of those he met. This had been his chance to escape that. He could either embrace that or reject it.
As the night started to darken the far hills, Will blinked his eyes and looked around. The sunset was different here, set in brilliant raspberry hues set off by the ruddy color of the high cliffs. He knew he would not forgive himself if he allowed himself to give up.
He knew now what he wanted to do, and just needed to forage the courage to do it. Carefully, he pushed himself up from a stand. His leg had gone numb as he sat there pondering, and when he went to stand on it, it did not hold his weight. He felt himself falling backward, with nothing to reach for, and nothing to grab onto.
He flailed his arms wildly, and in a mere instant saw what he thought was the whole of his life play before him in the blink of an eye. Good and bad moments passed his vision, emotions welled up and faded in his chest, friends he had forgotten about, lovers he never could, the fights, the victories, trauma, toil, and happiness of his life all displayed for him in the span of half a breath as he felt the world slip away and his stomach lurch with the fall that would, surely, kill him. He knew that now.
There was so much left to do, to say. Where would he go now? What was next? His mother would never know what happened to him. Everyone he had known would forget him. He would never find out what his life's purpose was. It had been so short and meaningless.
There was so much left to do, to say.
As he caught sight of the cliff, in his flailing, he swung his arm out and to his utter shock, his hand took purchase on the very edge of the rocky cliff. It took all of his might to hold fast, his feet dangling hundreds of feet above the river below. At once, he felt a great strength arise in him, and with a cry, he threw his other hand up, both pulling with the might he had in his fingers, hands, arms, and shoulders until he could swing a leg up, then the other, then pull his body up onto the flat of the rock and roll onto it.
Sheer exhaustion set in almost immediately. He laid there staring at the sky, his breath ragged and broken and his gaze fixed, until his heart no longer felt like it would pound from his chest. That is when he noticed it. The Hunter, a constellation that had made itself known throughout the whole of his life, always pointing a way or punctuating some moment he would have surely forgotten otherwise, was staring back at him.
Overcome with emotion, he laughed aloud as tears pricked at his eyes and rolled back into his hair. They were tears of relief for what he had come close to losing and for what still lay ahead.
He would go. Move forward. Each day, each step, and each breath at a time.
