A cloudy day it was, common of this region. The sort that blurred the land into muted shades.

  Fettered rays of light pushed through the high canopy above, glinting as the routine swarm of churning, dark-brown atmosphere threatened to reel them under.

  On this particular mountain, plant life abounded—deep, twisting growths that stretched to catch whatever feeble sunlight slipped through.

  Leaves a near-black, reflecting a rusty terracotta hue from their dusty, furrowed veins. They strained outward, open but unused, as though the light was something they could never quite keep hold of.

  One particular tree in a middling region of the mountain felt a weight on its base. There, the shadows were darker than usual.

  “Are we near?“

  The boy’s voice cut low against the wind as he picked at the bark, pulling loose strips free with idle flicks of his fingers. His shirt hung in worn tatters around his waist, hems frayed further from too many days over this rough ground.

  Exhausted, he turned around and slumped down onto the tree’s twisted roots, the rough bark biting into his back as he stared forward in silence. A short way off, a man knelt, examining the surrounding terrain.

  At his question, the man looked up, but did not answer. His eyes flickered over the boy briefly, as if scanning for something, before drifting back to the soil. The child hadn’t uttered a sound on their trek here. “...We shouldn’t be far,” he said at last, gaze resting on a distant point, something beyond the brown shadows.

  “The area’s beginning to look familiar, at least.” He spoke with a certainty that only unsettled the boy further. The silence between them stretched, and the boy adjusted his grip on the bark strip before letting it fall.

  The man turned his attention downward, fingers brushing the dirt, carving small marks, tracing lines too faint for him to make sense of.

  Though the boy did not think himself ignorant, he couldn’t imagine that the soil held much substance. Not in their purpose here.

  Standing now, he adjusted the fraying hem of his shirt, brushing wooden splinters from his hands. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand why he’d been brought along. He just couldn’t seem to find a reason that made sense—or mattered.

  Stranger yet, each time the man glanced back at him, his chest tightened, as if waiting for a verdict he hadn’t known he would face. The thought of resisting already felt absurd, left somewhere behind on the mountain path they’d climbed.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked, his intentions simmering just under his question. The man’s bent figure barely shifted; only a slight tilt of the head acknowledged the question before he turned away again.

  “Nothing that concerns you.” he muttered, a note small enough for the boy to hear. He stood up, islands of earth coating his robes, trailing his gaze down the path they’d walked earlier. “We’re moving on soon…” He said, his eyes reeling upwards, lost in thought for a heartbeat too long. “Before we move on, find some food. There should be enough here to forage,” he said, quieter still. His gaze did not wander.

  The boy hesitated, glancing down the mountain trail they’d walked thus far. If they were so close, as the man claimed, what need was there to forage now? He let his gaze wander down the line of thickening shadows stretching toward the mountain foot, but found nothing.

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  Moving a large leaf out of his path, the boy finally stepped away, the question settling unanswered in his mind. Whatever lay at the end of this journey was bound to arrive with or without his understanding.

  The brush was dense, and the ground unfamiliar—new, but his task wasn’t. The fruits here—if that’s what they were—hung in clusters of knotted, wrinkled skins that scraped at his palm as he pulled them free from thorned stems. Dulled, like something that had half-forgotten the color it should bear. One cracked slightly under his touch, the brittle rind falling open to expose a pale, colorless core that his hand immediately recoiled from.

  Discarding the rest, he turned one over, its shell yielding nothing familiar, and watched it roll from one hand to the other before pressing it back against his chest.

  He tightened his hold, letting his fingers dig into their rough textures, but didn’t lift any toward his mouth. The mountain air was sharp enough to taste.

  The plants that bore them were like trees, broad leaves stretching wide in defiance of the dim light. Shadows gathered thick here, pooling under every branch–every leaf. He made sure to keep mind of his footing.

  His steps fell softer, each movement slow and careful, glancing once, twice over his shoulder as he collected a few of the more promising fruits. Here, anything that stood out should be special.

  The path back was short, a straight walk past only the trees he’d seen before. He grew relaxed; their journey so far had been smooth, but who can be certain?

  Soon, the sharp line of a tree’s base came into view, the bark rough under his hand as he pushed aside a leaf.

  He remembered this one; he’d lingered here before, resting in its shadow.

  Only now, the base of the tree was concave.

  The ground beneath was hollowed, the roots pulled back as though something had scraped them free. Dread edged along his spine, slow, winding. Hesitant.

  Slumped down within the pooling shadows at the tree’s base was something that gave the boy much shock, so much so that his mind dared not remember it.

  A flicker caught his eye, a movement so faint he wasn’t sure he’d seen it. The earth surrounding the clearing seemed to pull back. Recoiling, like the soil itself refused to settle, shrinking, retreating from a hollow that the boy’s thoughts refused to meet. He stood motionless, his breath drawn still.

  At the center of it all, there was something. Or at least, this was what the boy could discern.

  The scene was a lack of one. Some formless thing, a space where no light fell. The boy’s gaze was drawn to it, each second thick, each moment slow as his thoughts ground to a halt, reaching for meaning that wouldn’t come. It was something foreign to the boy, something that didn’t belong. Such a violating calm.

  The shadows–the all, pooled around it, leaning in, reaching out, and though he couldn’t name what he saw, it returned his gaze.

  “You’re back.” A host of noise entered the boy’s ears, of which he could understand.

  The air turned thin, a cold shiver retreating down his neck. His pupils flared, as if to devour the scene whole. “We’re close, as I’d expected. Pick those up; we’re leaving.” The man’s words came sharp, prodding him into motion.

  The world seemed to shift into focus again, as if waking from something half-formed. He looked down, his fingers slack around the bundle of fruit. They had scattered at his feet, a dark stain seeping into the earth, thick and wet against the soil.

  The boy knelt slowly, gathering the fruits, their sticky residue clinging to his fingers, spreading over his shirt in unfamiliar stains that left him oddly hollow.

  They moved on in silence, the man’s gaze occasionally flicking back. “Stay close,” he muttered over his shoulder, moving with growing certainty.

  The boy’s eyes remained low, fixed on the ground, feet trailing without purpose. A strange expression covered the man’s face as his words fell on deaf ears, though he shook his head and returned to scouting.