CHAPTER 39: FRAGMENTS OF THE PAST

Moa pushed forward through the storm, her body trembling from cold and fear. The wind's howls seemed almost like whispers now, cruel voices teasing her, planting dark thoughts in her mind. What if she's gone? What if I'm too late? Her lantern flickered again, the light barely illuminating the path ahead. She stumbled, catching herself on a low branch. As she steadied herself, her mind betrayed her, pulling her into a memory.

It was one of their early days together. Lauren, still wary and quiet, had sat by the fire in silence, her gaze fixed on the flames. Moa remembered the moment vividly—the way the flicker of the firelight had softened Lauren's guarded expression.

"You're stronger than you think," Moa had said, breaking the silence.

Lauren had looked up, her eyes uncertain but searching, as if she wanted to believe it. Moa had placed a hand on her shoulder then, a rare moment of physical comfort. "You'll see. One day, you'll know it too."

That night, Lauren had opened up, sharing a piece of her past—a small glimpse into the pain and rejection she had faced. From that moment, something had shifted. Moa had felt it—a bond forming, fragile but undeniable.

The memory jolted Moa back to the present as a gust of wind nearly knocked her over. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus. "I won't lose you," she muttered under her breath, pushing forward.

The forest grew eerily quiet as she moved deeper. Even the storm seemed muted here, the trees blocking much of the rain and wind. Moa's sharp eyes caught movement—a disturbance in the mud ahead. She crouched low, her lantern illuminating the scene.

There it was. A trail of drag marks in the dirt, leading away from where Lauren's footprints had ended. Moa's heart pounded. Nearby, something glinted faintly under the lantern's light. She reached for it and froze.

It was Lauren's bracelet. A simple leather band Moa had given her weeks ago. The sight of it sent a wave of nausea through her. She clutched it tightly, her knuckles white.

"They took her," she whispered, her voice trembling with both rage and fear.

As Moa stood there, clutching the bracelet, another memory surfaced. She tried to shove it away, but it came unbidden.

It was years ago, back in the village, when she had lost her younger brother. He had wandered too far into the woods, chasing after a wild hare. Moa had searched for hours, calling his name, her voice raw and her legs burning. By the time she found him, it was too late. The wolves had already claimed him.

The image of his torn body flashed in her mind, and Moa gasped, the pain of that day cutting through her like a blade.

Not again. Not this time.

Her grip on the lantern tightened as she stood. Her fear was now mixed with a burning determination. "I won't let it end like this," she said through gritted teeth.

The drag marks led to a cluster of trees, where the shadows seemed thicker, more menacing. Moa pressed on, the storm picking up again as if the forest itself were trying to stop her. Then she saw it—more signs of a struggle. Broken branches, a few scattered belongings. Her stomach twisted as she spotted what could only be a boot print—too large to be Lauren's. Someone had taken her.

Moa dropped to her knees, gripping the knife at her side so tightly that her hand ached. She let out a low, guttural scream of frustration and despair, the sound swallowed by the storm.

Her mind raced. Why her? Who would do this?

The rage inside her flared, burning away the helplessness. She slammed the knife into the ground, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. They don't know who they've taken. They don't know what they've done.

The memory faded, pulling Moa back to the present. She was still standing in the cave, staring into the dying embers of the fire. Her hands clenched at her sides, the rage and fear from that night as fresh as ever. Lauren wasn't just a companion—she was Moa's second chance, her redemption. Losing her wasn't an option.

As the rain outside finally began to calm, Moa's resolve hardened. She turned toward the cave entrance, gripping the same knife she had carried that stormy night.

"They'll pay," she said softly, her voice like steel. "Whoever took her... they'll pay."