I must admit: I am far from experienced at gathering moonlight. The only times that I've played the songs were with Mother as she forced me to learn them. And I never imagined needing them. While sunlight amplifies heat, moonlight saps it away. I never had a use for a piece of clothing that makes people colder instead of warmer. Not even the Erdest, desert people, would desire that given the cold nights that settle over their camp.

So sneaking out tonight, I'm rather nervous. The raeriel on my back is the only commonality between my previous quests for light. I don't even know where to look for it, though Mother used to tell me the story of the ancient forest winds. Whenever travelers got lost in the mass of tree trunks, all the same to an unfamiliar eye, the wind would sweep beams of moonlight into their paths to guide the way out.

There's always a debate about whether legends are true. But in this case, it's a starting point for my hunt. If my search returns empty, then I'll go from there.

I trudge through the forest closest to the tribe, the one I'd been in two nights ago with the hooded figure. I feel a strange sense of betrayal traversing these trees I've grown accustomed to. Though they couldn't have stopped the hooded figure, unless one toppled on top of her, their presence facilitated our meeting.

The darkness expands the deeper I go. A few times, I catch a golden sparkle in my peripheral. But I walk past it, forcing myself to focus on moonlight. It's not a bad idea to collect more sunlight for my final quota of water-repellent garments. However, I only have two simmenberry boxes to hold the light in. I'm hoping I can use both on moonlight.

To put the time to good use, I summon melodies in my head, bits and pieces of what I think are moonlight songs. I'm not even sure if I can remember one in its entirety. But after my brain warms up, one trickles back into my head. My fingers tap the air, practicing the notes that I think will match what I hear in my head.

A flash of silver diverts my attention. I whirl to the side, nudging a branch so it cracks. Further sightings evade me, but I know something's there. Normal trees aren't metallic.

I bend down and creep in the direction of the glimmer. Bushes obstruct my path, and I carefully squeeze through and around them, branches crawling at my skin. Then, halfway in a berry bush, I see it. A milky ray of light shines amidst the dark, so blinding, my eyes squint and return to my current predicament. Cold juice touches my skin from bursting berries. I'm too relieved to dwell on it. Quickly, I push the rest of the way through the bush.

Moonlight floats in the air a few measly paces away. I'm unfamiliar with the ways of the moonlight. I believe it prefers more solitude than sunlight, which often clusters together. Still, a flare of hope blooms in my chest that I can collect more than a single strand of moonlight at a time.

I unpack my raeriel, readying myself for the song. My grip tightens around the fingerboard, before from joint stiffness, courtesy of the cooler air, and nerves. I place my bow on the string, taking its weight into my pinky. I play the first line over and over again in my brain, willing myself to start at any moment. Yet I remain there, poised like a statue and unable to begin.

Just start.

Finally, I inhale the crisp air, cleansing myself of my fears and hesitation. My elbow pulls the first, silken note from the raeriel. The bow moves as if on ice, skating through the melody in long strokes. My arm moves in an infinity sign through the air, raising with the up bow, lowering with the down bows to ensure that the notes slur together, more fluid than water.

Music cascades over the forest, rippling outward as the trees repeat the refrains. Silver peeks through the treetops, between leaves and branches, under the shrubs and debris crowding the earth. White streaks the darkened air. Some hair-thin beams emerge from the nearby vegetation, but most glow in the distance, growing stronger the more I play.

My fingers fumble over a trill, landing a shaky, long note. I hold it a beat too long to catch my bearings. In the corner of my eye, I can see the light's hesitation, the slow in their floating travels toward me.

Focus. My fingers fall back into place, finding the next few notes without a second thought from me. I pour all the contradictory emotions I've felt in the past moon cycle into the song — all the hurt, the pain, the terror, the joy. Somehow, when I focus on the song's soul, it makes it easier to find the notes despite the fact that I haven't played it in more than a year.

I stumble a few more times, and the melody stutters in response. But the light remains suspended in the air, doesn't drop despite my mistakes. At last, I reach the final, tapering phrase. Each note grows quieter until the last one fades from existence. My bow slowly runs out, and the stick lifts from the string. Silence resonates through the forest, beats that complete the music despite being unwritten into the official melody. There's no rhythm without pause, no music without silence.

My eyes open — I hadn't even realized they were closed — and scan the clearing. Dismay crashes into me. I don't see the moonlight anywhere. Did I make too many mistakes and destroy them all? Do I have to find a new place to hunt for it?

Not for tonight. Exhaustion settles against my bones, my senses dulled to reality. I'll have to come back tomorrow night, and preferably, after I've had a chance to practice a little more.

It takes a moment for the light casting the forest in a milky glow to register. I took it for granted at first, assuming it was just the moon. But then, my gaze rises to the treetops. A white orb glows amongst the leaves above. My heart leaps in my chest. I set my raeriel on the ground, sling my bag onto my back, and hurry over.

When I scan the tree trunk from where the light rests to the bottom, I realize that the branches are too high for me to grab hold of. That's what I get for not being a guard's height. I glance around, finding a nearby tree with a lower hanging branch. It's too tall for me to grasp, but if I jump, I might make it.

I bend at my knees, then push off the ground. My arms wrap around jagged bark, hoisting me into the air. I climb closer to the tree's center. Branches split in all directions, one leading toward the light beams. On my hands and knees, I crawl along a thick branch. Leaves snag in my hair, but because my hair is short, none are enough to hold back my progress.

The branch ends where another tree begins. This branch is thinner and wobbles when I place my weight on it. I bob up and down, my heart beat rising with the oscillations. But it doesn't break, and I take that as my cue to continue along it. My arms begin to burn from the exertion. My strong focus helps override it. Each limb moves in sync, left hand, left foot, right hand, right foot.

Another bough crosses by, and I grab hold of it with one hand. I place one leg on it, testing my weight. It holds for a moment.

Snap!

The branch plummets to the ground, fragmenting in the process. I fall backward, all my body weight pulling on my left hand. My arm constricts the intact tree branch, and my right arm wraps around it. My fingers lace together, unwilling to let me drop to the forest floor. Dizziness spins in my head, but I haul myself against gravity. I hug the branch once on top of it, trying to steady my breath. Blood pounds in my head. I can barely think.

The moonlight. Remembrance breaks my haze, and my eyes find the distant glow. The orb is just two trees away. I continue switching between boughs, more careful after my near fall. My feet feel raw, my palms sore. Pain sneaks between my fingers, into my knees and elbows. Still, I press onward.

The end is in sight. All I have to do is crawl the length of one branch. Then I will reach the tree containing the moonlight. The thick branch I climb on tapers with distance, setting my nerves on edge. It sways more violently with every step. I slow my pace, providing more time for the wood to absorb my momentum.

The branch sags. I can feel it bending down, down, down toward the forest floor. I back off, and the branch rises an inch. My jaw shifts, and I gauge the final stretch of the branch, so close to the neighboring tree. The bough is too thin to support my weight. It'd be foolish to even try to crawl the remaining distance. Glancing around, I realize that I've climbed my way into empty space, that's to say that there are no other branches to grab hold of to reach the last tree. It's like I'm on a narrow island, suspended high in the air.

I have only two options. The first is to backtrack. My muscles burn at the thought. Fatigue has permeated them, and they have the feeling of stewed meat. I stare at the white orb, so close, yet just a touch too far. With a little bit of momentum, my second option might just work, that is to jump.

My lips set in a grim line. I'm not sure how stable I will be when I catch myself, but the thought of finding a different route to the moonlight seems so tedious, I'm willing to give it a try.

I sit back on my legs in a crouch. Fire builds in my legs, and I focus my energy on the tree branch mere paces away. I breathe for several beats, preparing my body and mind. Then, I pounce. My legs push off the bark, and I spring into the air.

The descent comes in a split second. I reach for the neighboring tree branch with both hands. Only my right arm catches it, halting the drop. I swing my other arm around the branch, pulling myself onto it. Panting, I scamper the rest of the way down the branch, into the main tree.

The hard part is over. Moonlight glows overhead, illuminating all the scratches I accumulated. Red pools here and there, some wounds fresh, others already scabbing over. I reach upward one hand at a time, step one foot at a time, all the way to the narrow branch where the moonlight overlooks the forest.

Careful fingers insert into the drying leaves. A nip chills my hands as I disentangle the delicate moonbeams. For some reason, I never imagined they'd be cold. Perhaps that's why the sun and moon balance each other so well — one is heat while the other is frost.

Tendrils of light loosen from their tight coil. But it doesn't dissolve into a million shimmers. Holding it in my palm, I retrieve the simmenberry box from my bag. The moonlight settles inside, and I ease the lid shut.

Relief slams into me. I descend the tree branch in several quick paces, coming to rest against the trunk. I can only stare at the box. Of all things, moonlight sits inside. It's not enough for the entire cloak, but it will get me started.

I barely get time to bask in my accomplishment. Worries start to close in: finding more moonlight, remembering the right weaving songs, the time it will take to weave the cloak. I push them down, stirring from the crook in the tree. This is enough for tonight. The only concern I should have right now is how I will get down from this awkward perch.

With a sigh, I try to look on the bright side. If I can get up, surely I can get down.