Mother's words ring in my ears as I resume my quest. I'm far more familiar with the ways of sunlight, both from the stories and experience. I rack my head for some sort of story regarding the moonbeams, but none comes to mind.

I return to camp feeling defeated that evening. By noon, I gave up on scavenging for moonbeams. The sun probably shines too brightly to properly see the beams, anyway. Instead, I spent the afternoon gathering flowers and weaving the moonlight I got yesterday. Three new sections weigh against my back when I enter the dimming clearing. A fire outshines the vestiges of sunlight, and the cooks have the third meal set out.

"Oh, there you are Celisae," Jeayma m'ke exclaims when she spots me.

My dash to my cave halts. Apprehension prickles my skin. The moonlight feels extra cool in my bag, and the loom I borrowed bears down on my shoulders.

"We were worried about you," Jeayma m'ke says, though I think it's a purely perfunctory statement. If I were to bet, she probably forgot I was gone.

"Here are the flowers," I say. I shove the basket into her arms a touch too eagerly.

Surprise widens her eyes. "Thank you." She takes the handle. "Do you want some food? I'm sure you're hungry after being gone all day."

"I'll get some in a moment," I say. "Just want to put my stuff down."

Jeayma m'ke nods. Fortunately, she doesn't question what other 'stuff' I may be referring to.

It only takes a few minutes to free myself of the raeriel, loom, and moonlight. I hurry into one of two lines, the one furthest away from Ulane m'ke. She seems preoccupied with dolling out stew and doesn't catch my eye. Still, I shrink behind the tall warriors in front of me.

I make it to the end of the line before her eyes land on me. They narrow almost on instinct, and her jaw ticks. I scamper away as quickly as I can, hiding myself in the bowl-shaped rock I always sit on. Steam rises from the stew, a murky mixture of orange, brown, and dark green. The first bite warms me from the inside out. I shiver, not realizing how chilly it is. My hands press into the sides of my bowl until comfort turns to a searing bite. I release the sides, holding the rock closer to the top, where the heat is less potent.

A group of children follow Ellna through the clearing. Their laughter chimes over the buzz of conversation.

"Alright, children, gather round, gather round," Ellna says, her voice frail with age. She sits down not too far from me, and the children form a circle around her.

"What is today's story?" a girl cries.

"I hope it's a good one," another says.

"They're always good!" a third exclaims, unnecessarily offended.

"Shh," a few others chorus.

"Settle down, settle down," Ellna says. Though she sounds tired, the twinkle in her eyes tells a different, more mischievous story. "Now eat your stew, and I'll begin."

The children obey, beginning to take large bites of the thick, moist substance. Ellna tells stories during meals every so often, especially when rations are low and the food is less appetizing.

"Long ago, there were villages at the mountain bases. Countless of these miniature civilizations formed, separated by the highest mountain peaks. Few dared to traverse the mountains, for at the time, people feared the snow or the prospect of getting lost. Besides, they believed they had all they needed to live happy, comfortable lives. Thus, they lived in solitude, isolated from any other communities. In fact, they didn't even know that others existed.

"However, contentment rarely lasts forever. Certain members of these communities questioned the longstanding notion that they were alone in the world. They wondered what lived in the craggy heights and whether the mountains were truly as dangerous as the elders claimed."

"They questioned the elders?" a child gasps.

"The elders of old knew little compared to the matriarchs today," Ellna says by way of explanation.

"Nal m'se wouldn't have been afraid of mountains," a kid asserts. Several peers shush him.

"Three women decided to scout out the mountains," Ellna continues. She's quite used to interruptions and ignores them with ease. "Their families begged them to stay with the tribe, but they were insistent. Together, they ascended the mountain peaks."

I shovel another mouthful of stew from the bowl. For some reason, I find myself being drawn into Ellna's story. It may be meant for the children, but I don't have anything better to engage with.

"What the travelers found was not quite what they expected. Forests sprawled across terraced levels in the rockface, very similar to the forests they were used to at the base of the mountain. The first day, the women were excited to find such similarities between the ground and the elevation. But they soon discovered that the forests weren't as great as they initially thought. They found themselves lost on multiple occasions inside the sea of trees. It got to the point where the women were actually going down the mountain, instead of up, as they tried to get their bearings."

"Did they die?" a tiny boy whimpers.

"Hush, they don't die," an older girl soothes.

"Don't spoil the story!" another cries.

"Shh!" After the collective, and fairly aggressive shushing, no further interjections are offered.

Ellna continues unphased. "One night, while the women slept deep in the dark forest, one of the travelers woke to a strange glow. Amidst the dark brown trees, a milky beam glistened. It was thin, barely thicker than a single strand of hair on your head."

A girl yelps, and Ellna holds up a strand of brown hair. "Barely this thickness," she repeats. "So thin, so slight, yet so bright. The woman woke her companions, pointing to it. As they watched it, speculating on what it could be, a breeze swept through the trees. The light began to move. Yes, it began to travel through the forest. The women followed it, entranced by the occurrence."

I lean in closer, having completely forgotten about the remains of my meal.

"They followed it for days. Whenever the beam stopped, they stopped. Whenever the wind picked up again, they'd continue their journey. More light beams crossed their path, but they only paid heed to the first one they spotted. Forests came and went, but still, they followed their strange guide until one day, they climbed to the very peak of the mountain. From the new vantage point high above the ground, they could see for miles."

"Wow," a child breathes.

"The three travelers could see all the many communities set up. For the first time, they knew for certain they weren't the only ones out there in the world. Moreover, they realized just how vast the universe is. The three mountain travelers relayed their news to the elders of their communities when they returned home, leading to further expeditions. With each one, at least one of the three mountain travelers accompanied the groups, using the strange, white light beams to guide the way. Every time, the light led to the mountain's peak due to the way the wind blew.

"Eventually, connections and trade developed. The three mountain travelers became the most celebrated women in the community, becoming elders themselves in their old age. They became the inspiration for our matriarchs today, sage women who can lead the clan through their wisdom and bravery."

The children's attention, held by Ellna's story like a glass bubble, shatters. They erupt in eager chatter, some begging for another story, others commenting on the story. I no longer pay attention. My gaze drops to my stew, which has slightly congealed. I chew a gelatinous bite slowly.

"Never forget the stories." Wasn't that what Mother had just told me? The stories guide the way.

The light source in the story sounds awfully close to moonlight. And if the processes of old remain today, then the moonlight probably still travels to higher elevations. Perhaps I'll find more if I climb further up the mountainside.

I set my finished bowl aside. Well, I guess I know what I'm doing tonight.

***

A harsh wind whips over the mountainside. I shrivel deeper into my top robe, relishing every drop of warmth emanating from the fabric. I'm not sure how long I've traveled, but I know I'm pretty high up since some snow paints the vegetation white. A fine dusting of it also begins to slicken the ground.

Along the way, golden beams tease me from the sidelines. I resist the urge to collect them for a long time. Eventually, I get to the point where I can't stand the cold any longer, and the nagging sense that I'm passing up a prime opportunity to replenish my sunlight stocks bothers me too much. I remove my raeriel and play a quick song of sunlight.

Even more bright strands than I initially realized were around combine into a glimmering sphere. It makes me feel a little better about using a simmenberry box to contain it. Though I only have one box left for moonlight, meaning that I'll have to make at least one more trip up here. The thought makes my feet drag, so I try not to think about that possibility.

The narrow path through the mountain curves upward. Weathered, uneven steps lead high, passing between two towering peaks. My feet find the snow-dusted steps with ease until the very last one. My foot slips from under me, and I fall against the rock. Pain shudders through my body from the impact.

I groan. The shock vibrations wane in my ribs, replaced by a throb. It hurts as I reach around my back, removing my bag. I check over my raeriel to ensure it wasn't injured by the fall like I am. No cracks or scratches mar the wood, to my relief, so I sling it over my good shoulder. I half crawl the rest of the way up, then use the mountainside to pull myself upright.

My hip hurts in addition to my side. I walk more slowly now from a limp. A few branches scatter the rock, and one is sturdy enough to become a walking stick. Still, my progress is nowhere close to what it was before the fall.

Fortunately, I don't have to go much farther. A silver glimmer dances in my peripheral. Several bushes appear ahead with moonlight tangled in their barren branches. The song I summon it with takes on a more heart-wrenching quality than usual, perhaps due to the pain radiating through my bones. The notes come out more labored than usual, like each one is a struggle to pull from the instrument. Moonbeams respond in return, leaving their nests an inch at a time.

The mountains preserve the lamentation. Melodies intertwine in the air. Dissonance and melancholic harmony swirl in and out of alignment, building up to a silvery climax. The high-pitched note sings through the mountain pass for several seconds. The moonlight holds in the air, suspended by the emotional pitch.

Deep notes flow out of the instrument's core to finish the piece, resonating long after my bow lifts from the string. The vibrations are so strong, they agitate the throbbing pain in my side.

Moonlight floats in the air, secured in the usual tight coil. I unravel all the work I've just done with the weaving song. Again, it takes on a slower tempo, but I almost think it allows me to tap into the music's power more. I get the sense that the moonlight responds better to it, though I can't pinpoint why. Perhaps the more languid movements as the light beams twirl in the air, the way they lengthen and shine.

The end result is the same as always: a fresh batch of milky threads. I tuck them inside my second simmenberry box. Even if I had another box, I suppose it's for the best that I head back to the tribe. I don't want to be out too late, and with my injury, it might take me twice as long to back track.

Snow melts away, and my steps become more sure on the rockface. A number of times, I stumble, whether due to my feet or my staff landing the wrong way. I pass through unfamiliar clearings sprawling with grass. Forests lurk on the edges of my route, but I don't dare venture inside them. It's far too easy to get lost amongst the trees.

I still haven't reached more recognizable ground when a howl rips through the air. Fear jolts inside me, and I whip around, searching the grassy clearing I walk through. I try to limp faster, but pain reignites in my hip.

Fur slinks into my peripheral, brown with black patches tracing through it. My heart quickens. There's a reason why only warriors and hunters venture high up the mountain on a regular basis. All sorts of creatures lurk up here, and far are more dangerous than the lofaw.

A snarl breaks the night's silence. Fur lunges for me, and I drop to the ground, trying to roll out of its reach. The best way to fight a lofaw is to stay near the ground and duck under its blows.

The lofaw jumps for me again, and I dive under it, aiming my stick at its belly. It lets out a roar, then doubles back, running straight toward me. I smack its head with my stick, once, twice, but it only momentarily stuns the creature. The creature lunges for my neck with open jaws. I whack its neck with my stick. Adrenaline gives extra power to the blow, and the lofaw stumbles back a pace before coming at me again.

With as much power as I can summon, I raise my stick over my head and slam it onto the lofaw. It hits at the base of the creature's spine with a crunch, but the creature is not deterred. The lofaw tries to jump on me, but I hit it again, this time striking its underbelly. It was a weak blow, my arms felt too weak to go harder.

The creature barely stumbles an inch backward. Jaws snap at my throat, and with a mighty swing, I bring the stick atop its head. Wood crunches against its skull with a sickening crunch. The lofaw drops to the ground. Not as fast as before, it tries to get up, but I whack it again, and again, until the lofaw moves no more.

The stick drops my hands. Blood stains the wood, and I can't bear to hold it any longer. Panting and pulse thudding in my head, I limp away from the spot as fast as I can.