In which Gran and Alvar have a picnic in a dark wood.

The journey was not one easily made. There were no carriages to board as almost everyone in Eastmoor had either died or moved away in haste, scrambling for their lives before the plague caught up with them.

So Luna had no choice but to walk. And for that, she needed to prepare.

She weaved a large wicker basket, set with thick, sturdy ropes that went over both shoulders. Alvar watched curiously as she worked.

"It's huge!" he said. "We can take loads of food."

"It's not for food," Luna said, grinning. "It's for you. You get to ride in this basket."

"For me?" He examined the tall basket closely, and even climbed inside to see if he'd fit. He did so perfectly, as he was rather small for his age. He grasped its edges and peered up at her. "Why, Gran?"

"It's for when your legs get tired. It's a pretty long journey," she said to him. "And we have to go fast. Very fast. Let's see, now."

She slipped the ropes over her shoulders and picked him up. She would have to manage it somehow, because she did not have much time. She needed to make it to Greenwater fast, before all her strength gave out. She was afraid to rest along the way.

What if I never wake up?

The lad would be all alone then, with no one to look out for him.

Before she set out, she gathered the things absolutely necessary. All else lay left behind; her lovely garden, the cosy armchair before the hearth, her much treasured books and sweet little trinkets Oliver bought her in the many Spring Fairs where they had danced together. The beautiful mirror lined with seashells that Elena brought for her sat collecting dust on the mantelpiece.

Upstairs, in Linnea and Hazel's room, their clothes and toys lay strewn about. She picked the little dresses, folded them up, and placed them neatly in wardrobes. The toys went in their boxes. Even though none may use them ever again, leaving things in a mess only reminded her more of how hopelessly chaotic the past few weeks had been, one tragedy after another. She hung Oliver's hat on the hook by the door, rested Filip's fishing rod in the corner, and Amelia's sewing kit on the table, over which she spread the red tablecloth, embroidered with a pattern of rowans--unfinished but beautiful.

She left everything where it ought to be, and packed only the most vital things in an old leather knapsack--money, clothes, bedrolls, a lamp, oil, a big loaf of rye bread, a stick of butter, a block of cheese, biscuits, dried herbs, a frying pan, a pot and a tea set that she could not bear to leave behind.

Then, after a long consideration, she put the red journal, the one with all the remedies, in the bag as well.

A long, arduous road lay ahead of her, a ruined home at her back, and a toddler's small hand clutching her cloak. A cold wind blew down the path.

She wrapped a woolly scarf around him, put up her hood and clasped his hand tightly. "Are you ready, dear?"

Alvar smiled. Luna kept her eyes on the road, mood far too sombre for a picnic.

The narrow lane winded through the deserted neighbourhood, passing by empty porches and garden gates swinging sadly on creaky hinges, until the path widened and joined the main road in the village square.

Alvar skipped ahead in clumsy yet lively steps, kicking stones and chasing dragonflies with wings like glass.

Luna set a slower pace, for there were miles to go and little chance of finding respite before they reached Greenwater. The road climbed high, passing out of Eastmoor and through a wooded hill, on the other of which lay Greenwater. At the edge of the village, she paused to catch her breath, looking up at the hillside. Swirls of mist hovered high about, milky white against the dark green of the tall trees swaying in the breeze. A few paces ahead, beyond the wooden sign etched with the village's name, the road turned rough, cobblestones giving way to dirt and rocks. Deep furrows had formed in the soil, from the many hurried carriages that had thundered through, these past few weeks.

For the sick and weary, it was a daunting path to take. Her fever was still burning, a low fire beneath the ashes. Her legs shook a little.

She looked ahead, then glanced back at the little boy, and begged all the divine powers of the world.

"Please," whispered Luna, "grant me the strength to keep him safe."

She did not ask for much. All she wished for was to reach Greenwater and put him in Ruth's care.

Alvar hopped around, blissfully clueless of the silent war she fought within herself. He went about picking flowers from people's gardens. Other times, Luna would forbid it, but the people in question were not home, and may never be.

He came running back and handed her a bunch of dandelions. "This is for you," he said proudly.

"Very thoughtful, dear," she said, and, leaning forward, tucked one behind his ear. Alvar giggled and as he hopped about, the golden flower springing with his soft brown curls. The rest of the dandelions, she put in the knapsack slung on her shoulder.

She knew not what hidden powers lay in a bunch of common flowers picked from the roadside, or in the sweet laughter of a child, but a strange sort of determination stole over her--perhaps a renewed resolve to protect that innocent smile against all odds.

She picked up a dry branch for a staff and hobbled on ahead, defying the tall hills before her as if they held no more challenge than skipping over a puddle.

The dirt road sloped upwards gently, traversing through bracken and through heather that rustled in the wind. Behind them, Eastmoor faded behind a pale mist.

By the time Luna reached the hills and the path climbed steeply, the westering sun had dipped low over the trees. A red dusk descended upon the wooded hillside. Luna trudged on, not daring to rest.

Her legs ached, and her shoulders were stiff from carrying Alvar in the basket for the last few hours, for the boy grew drowsy after the evening meal. She stopped once to wrap him in her cloak, when the night grew colder.

She lit the lamp and kept her eyes on the road. She cast a shadow long and dark. The trees whispered around her. Somewhere a stream flowed softly. The stars were hidden behind clouds tonight.

"Hoot hoot," said an owl.

"Hoot hoot!" Alvar cooed from the basket.

"Are we there yet?" he then asked. "The picnic?"

"No," said Luna.

"I want mum. Where's she now? In these woods?"

Luna sighed. "She's gone very far away, dear, with the others. That's why we have to go very fast. We'll catch up with them soon."

Alvar yawned, nestled in the folds of the cloak. "Aren't you sleepy, Gran?"

"A little," she admitted. "But if we stop to sleep now, we're going to be late for the picnic."

"Picnic..." he mumbled, and she heard him shift in the basket. He did not say much after that for a long while. She turned around and found him fast asleep with a thumb in his mouth. He'd grown past that habit, but now he seemed to revert back to the old ways again.

She went on in silence for a while, but how far she'd travelled, she could not tell. She'd passed the last signpost at the foot of the hills. There was hardly any fear of losing one's way in these parts, for there was only one path. Smaller trails branched off from it, frequented by woodcutters and hunters from both Eastmoor and Greenwater, but she stayed upon the main road. She would eventually get there, she told herself, if she just kept walking.

A gentle night wind rose, lifting the mist and brushing the clouds from the sky. A sprinkle of stars glimmered above. The little golden flame in her lamp shivered.

Eyes on the road, Luna.

Just keep going.

One foot before the other. One tired step after another. She had but the stars to keep her company.

Despite her determination to get to Greenwater without stopping by to rest--sleep came invading her senses at last. Her vision blurred, steps becoming clumsy. She nodded off as she walked, only to jolt awake as her boot got caught in a jutting rock, barely a few paces away from a sheer drop off the side of the road.

She steadied the swinging lamp, heaving a sigh. That was close.

She decided to stop and rest a bit, because falling down a cliff seemed much worse than the fear of never waking up.

"Wake up, Gran," whispered Alvar. "We're getting late for the picnic! The picnic!"

Luna squinted her eyes against the pale rays of light streaming through the gaps in the roof. When she found this wooden shed not too far off the main road last night, she decided to stop here. It did not seem anyone had set foot here recently. The great piles of firewood gathered beneath the shed was covered in moss. A rusty axe stood leaning against a stump nearby. It was a bright morning outside, the sky a deep blue. Soft clouds sailed by overhead. A frosty chill lingered in the air.

She sat up in her bedroll and stretched. The ache in her limbs was almost gone. She felt much lighter.

Alvar was sitting on a pile of logs, swinging his tiny legs, a small branch in his hand. "I was keeping watch," he said. "When you were sleeping."

"What a brave little boy you are!" She stood up and ruffled his hair. "See anyone on the road?"

"No sir," he announced. "Just us."

"Just us, huh...?" She trailed off, looking up at the many miles they'd have to cross. "This is going to be a lonesome walk indeed."

They met no one else on the road that day. It seemed everyone had already left Eastmoor, and no one was too keen on heading this way from the other side of the hills either. The further north she travelled, the winds blew colder, the path covered in patches of snow in places.

Luna wrapped a thick yellow scarf around Alvar despite his protests. It was too big for him, as was the sweater which actually belonged to his father, but she was not taking any chances.

The day went by, and there came another night. The path climbed steadily higher, and after an untimely snowstorm that came out of nowhere, the road was lost from sight beneath a layer of snow.

This time, she stopped by at a run-down abandoned cottage, daring to venture a bit off the road--not that she could see much of it. The roof had caved in long ago, and not much was left of the house. They slept on the porch and embarked on their journey the next morning.

So far their travel remained fairly uneventful, and Alvar grew restless, asking her again and again when they were going to find all the others--but Luna noticed something rather extraordinary that left her baffled.

She was beginning to recover from her disease.

The brown marks were fading. Each morning, she woke up feeling better than before, her old strength steadily returning to her body.

It was as if the cold drove away the strange affliction. The icy winds of the mountain was indeed a welcome change from the sweltering heat of Eastmoor last summer.

"Gran, over here!" Alvar beckoned from where the path took a sharp turn and sloped upwards. He climbed atop a small rock with nimble moves and pointed below. "Gran, look!"

She looked.

She paused there awhile, quite unable to take her eyes off.

Down in the vale, soaked in a purple dusk, lay Eastmoor. The river flowed by, a thin silver ribbon. Not a single light shone out in the deepening gloom.

With the coming of winter, she prayed, Eastmoor would once again come alive, people returning to their homes and the old ways of life. The stagnant, diseased air would be swept away by the cold winds-- the same sweet, fair winds of the hillside that had healed her.

But that life was no longer meant for her.

"Which one's our house?" asked Alvar. "Can you find it?"

Luna didn't think she could ever find that house, even if she went back all the way and searched all over the village with the brightest torch.

"No," she said. "It's too far away. Come, let's go." She helped him down from the rock.

Luna took his hand and turned around. She never looked back.

The way down proved much easier. It was mid-morning when they came upon the edge of the woods. The road descended smoothly through the trees. Beyond the woods, at the foot of the hills was the town where they were headed.

"Almost there," she said to Alvar. "We just gotta make it through these woods now."

Alvar still kept the stick he'd found in the wooden shed in the hills. He swung it around like a sword and kicked up dust and dry leaves from the ground.

"I'll fight the wolves!" he said. "I'll protect you. Don't worry."

Luna knelt before him and placed a little peck on his forehead. "That's so brave of you, dear. I'm sure you'll scare them right off. But there are no wolves in these parts."

Alvar crossed his arms and sighed like a grown-up. "That's disappointing."

"But there are other things that you'll find interesting. Let me show you."

There was the sweet chill of autumn in the air, settling in slowly, the glimmer of red and gold just beginning to shine among the leaves.

Luna showed him the many kinds of mushrooms growing out of the forest floor, clinging to rocks and hanging from boughs--boletes, milk caps, witch's butter, chanterelles, oyster mushrooms, parasol mushrooms, fly amanita, deathcaps, blue roundheads and many more. Back at home, she often went mushroom hunting and knew these by heart. She taught Alvar which ones to pick and which ones to stay away from.

By the time they were finished, the basket on her back was full of all kinds of mushrooms--but mostly the wrong kinds picked by Alvar.

"But they're so pretty!" he said as she sorted them out and left them on the roadside.

"It won't be a pretty sight if you eat them," she said.

At noon, Luna set camp under a tree and got a fire going. A small green stream flowed nearby, making its noisy way through the undergrowth and out of sight, carrying boats of dry leaves upon its current. The water was fresh and cool to drink. Dusty sunrays peeked through the leaves and dappled the forest floor where dark shadows lay.

She found a flat rock to sit on and dragged it before the fire. Then she produced her most treasured item from the knapsack--her frying pan.

It was going to be useful at last.

She took out some thyme and garlic from the bundle of herbs.

Alvar watched from over her shoulder, all wide eyed. "Are we having a picnic?"

"Of course we are," she said, "I promised you, didn't I?"

He giggled and danced about, hunting leaves with his stick-sword and singing gibberish that only made sense to him.

She roasted the mushrooms over the pan till they were all golden, and then she seasoned them with butter and thyme and rosemary. A delightful aroma rose around the fire.

It was a hearty meal for two, along with bread and cheese, some biscuits and wild berries she chanced upon. Luna spared no expense in making this the best meal they'd had in days, for they were almost at the end of their journey. Greenwater awaited just beyond the corner, where she would be able to replenish the stocks of food.

After lunch, Alvar became sleepy, blissfully tired from all the hopping around he'd done before. She doused the fire, leaned back against the tree and took his head into her lap. She ran her gentle fingers through his hair.

"This is the best picnic ever, Gran," he said softly. Sunrays and shadows played on his cheeks as clouds drifted by overhead, obscuring the sun every now and then.

"Get some sleep, dear," she told him. "There's still a little more to go. We'll get there by dusk."

"Okay," he said. "I'm gonna show mum this!" He waved his stick-sword around lazily.

She sighed, regretting the lies she'd told him. She'd never thought she'd have to live with the consequences, for she was not sure she would live.

She would have to tell him the truth soon. But not yet.

When she looked down, he'd already fallen asleep, the stick tossed aside.

The sun had gone below the horizon long before they came upon the road sign--though she hardly needed it anymore, for a few hundred paces before her, down in the darkening valley, she saw the lights coming to life, hundreds of fireflies chasing out the deep blue gloom of dusk. Smoke coiled from chimney stacks. The little green stream from the woods widened here, and rushed down the rocky slopes to flow through the town.

"There!" Alvar pointed. "I see it!"

"I see it too," said Luna, and there was a dull ache in the back of her throat and the lights blurred in her eyes.

Luna walked through the town streets as though in a trance, hardly believing the people passing her by were not illusions, shadows left behind in a ghost town taken by plague. The outbreak had not made it this far. Everywhere she looked, Greenwater bustled with life--lively homes, gardens in bloom, golden light and loud music spilling from tavern doors, voices laughing, complaining, yelling, grumbling, bragging. So much light and life here on the other side of the hills, whereas her sweet Eastmoor was now a graveyard. Alvar asked her something, pulling against her arm urgently, but she couldn't hear him.

Then she ran into someone, colliding hard. The weight of the knapsack tossed her backwards.

But before she could fall, firm hands caught hold of her arms and a much-familiar voice filled her ears--a warm, sweet voice she'd come to associate with long walks under stars and deep talks that healed one's soul. But that voice was not so gentle now, rather agitated and concerned, and presently it said:

"Luna! Do you hear me? You alright? I came as fast as I could and then I--"

She looked up and found herself staring into the face of her dearest friend. The blonde curls framing her face were mostly silver now but her eyes held the same fiery temperament. It was as though her vision refocused, the strange trance lifting like fog.

"Ruth." Luna smiled, tears welling in her eyes and spilling over. "You haven't aged a day."