A mother's touch

Over the next several days, I settle into an exhausting rhythm:

**Dawn** begins with that gods-awful porridge—each slimy spoonful gulped down like punishment. But the horrendous feeling in my throat fades the moment Julianne and Aiden cross blades. For two glorious hours each morning, I perch on a crate, mesmerized as their wooden swords carve the misty air—**CRACK! THWACK!**—their footwork churning the dew-laden grass into mud.

*Maybe today*, I think, squeezing my eyes shut between clashes. *Maybe today I'll remember my name.* But nothing comes. Just empty black, like a room with no doors. Julianne said Aiden forgot his name once too—but he got it back. *Why isn't mine coming back?*

By **high sun**, we're back on the road to Galespire, the merchant caravan creaking like an old man's bones. I try to keep my mind busy—watching Julianne's sharp eyes flicker over the tree line, noting how Aiden's fingers twitch toward his sword at every snapped twig. The merchants' wagons roll ahead, their sides painted with swirling symbols that *almost* look familiar.

*Almost.* That word gnaws at me. Everything feels like it's *almost* something—almost remembered, almost mine. But the harder I stare at those symbols, the more they just sit there, silent and smug, like they're laughing at me for forgetting.

When **dusk** bleeds across the sky, Julianne teaches me about their watch routines—how to listen for wolves' false coughs, where bandits might hide in moonlight. I nod along, though my eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

That night, I dream of a voice calling a name—*my* name, maybe—but I wake up with it already gone. My chest aches. *Seven days now. Why do I still remember nothing?*

The next morning arrives like a dull blade—no sharper than the last. I scoop the porridge into my mouth mechanically, staring into its murky depths as if the answers might swirl up from the gruel. *Focus. Push.* But my mind stays as empty as the bowl when I finally set it aside with a sigh.

*"Hey, Julianne..."* Aiden's voice drops to a rare, low rumble. *"Kid's got that stormcloud look again."*

I don't need to glance up to feel Julianne's gaze on me. There's a pause—then the crunch of grass under boots as she approaches.

**Thud.**

The cart shudders as she plants one hand on its edge and leans over, her shadow falling across me. *"Hey, squirt,"* she says, the nickname rough but not unkind. *"What's eating at you?"*

*"Nothing,"* I mumble, tracing a finger along the bowl's chipped rim.

For a heartbeat, she just studies me. Then, without another word, she vaults into the cart and settles beside me. Not speaking. Not pushing. Just *there*, her shoulder warm against mine in the morning chill.

And somehow, that silence undoes me.

*"I—"* My voice splinters like dry wood. *"I still can't remember anything.

Julianne lets out a sigh softer than morning mist. Her sword-rough hand—usually so firm when gripping a hilt—cradles my head like a precious thing. Fingers gently work through my tangled hair, the rhythm slow and steady as she murmurs, *"I'm sure your memories will come back to you. Just be patient, okay?"* Her voice wraps around me like sunlight through stained glass, warm and colored with something I can't name.

Then—

A spark ignites behind my eyes.

**Memory:**

_A woman's hands—worn but gentle—carding through my hair just like this. *"Don't worry,"* her voice hums, clearer than spring water. *"You're safe now..."* Her thumbs brush my temples. *"...Aaron."*_

The name **AARON**

—splinters through me like a lightning-struck oak.

My breath stops. The world tilts. That voice, that touch, that *name*—

—*mine*.

Julianne's hand stops mid-motion as she notices my sudden stillness. "What's wrong?" she asks, her usual rough voice softened with concern.

Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision. My hands tremble as I choke out the words: "I...I remembered my name." A shuddering breath. "It's Aaron."

Julianne's eyes widen slightly before her face breaks into a warm smile.

"Aaron," she repeats, testing the sound. Her calloused hand ruffles my hair again, gentler this time. "Good to finally meet you properly."

*"Y-yeah,"* my voice still hoarse, but a sheepish smile tugs at my lips. *"Nice to meet you too."*

**THUNK.**

Aiden's grinning face appears over the cart's edge like an overeager puppy. *"Ooooh,"* he croons, waggling his eyebrows. *"Look at mother bird and her hatchling getting all cozy! Julianne, you've officially become an old—"*

*"I AM THIRTY!"* Julianne's roar sends nearby birds scattering as she chucks her waterskin at Aiden's head. He ducks with a yelp, the container exploding against a tree in a spectacular splash.

*"Twenty-nine-and-three-quarters!"* Aiden corrects, already sprinting away as Julianne vaults from the cart in pursuit, her bootsteps shaking the ground.

I wipe my tears with the back of my hand—but this time, they're mixed with laughter.