The Last Moon of Eldervale

Chapter 7: Through the wild

Alden’s POV

the time the sun dropped low and the shadows stretched long over the forest floor, my legs felt like they were made of stone wrapped in burning nettles. Every step was a battle. Every breath scraped through my ribs like a blade.

But I kept walking.

The Knights rode ahead, their horses moving in an easy rhythm that I envied. My own feet tripped and stumbled over roots and rocks, but I didn’t stop not even when my vision wavered at the edges.

Rowan didn’t look back often, but when he did… it was to check if I was still upright.

And I always made sure I was.

The trail narrowed again, winding between leaning trees and clusters of thornbrush that snagged my clothes. The air was colder now, the light dimmer. I pulled my cloak—my father’s old cloak tighter around me and kept my head down.

Fallon’s voice cut through the silence like a hammer.

“Rowan! We need to check the map again. This turn doesn’t look right.”

Rowan slowed his horse, pulling slightly ahead. Fallon dismounted with a loud grunt, already rummaging through his saddlebag. Hoseman rolled his eyes subtly. Thomas gave me a sympathetic look.

Fallon spread the map over a flat rock. “See this?” he said, stabbing the parchment with a thick finger. “This fork here. We go left.”

Left?

Left led toward the hills—those black, jagged shapes rising like broken teeth in the distance. Even without the map I knew that. I’d hunted rabbits near those slopes. I’d fetched water from the spring on the ridge. And I knew exactly what waited on the other side.

A deep river.

Colder than ice.

Fast enough to drag a grown man under.

I swallowed, stepped forward, and cleared my throat.

Fallon stiffened. “What do you want, boy?”

I pointed at the map. “We shouldn’t go left.”

Fallon stared at me like I’d spoken blasphemy. “And why not?”

“That path goes straight up the ridge,” I said. “Steep climb. Loose rocks. And once you cross it, there’s the river. It’s deep this season. Too deep to cross with horses.”

Fallon scoffed. “The map says it’s the shortest route.”

“That doesn’t make it the safest,” I countered, voice firmer than I felt. “You’ll lose a horse in that river. Maybe more.”

Hoseman leaned closer, eyebrow raised. “He’s not wrong about the rocks. I remember that ridge from a hunt years ago.”

Fallon threw his arms up. “Oh perfect. Now we’re listening to the child and the dreamer.”

Thomas nudged his horse forward. “What’s the alternative, Alden?”

I pointed to the right-hand path a narrower trail winding between thicker trees. “Go that way. It curves around the ridge. Takes longer, but it avoids the river entirely. The ground’s flatter. Safer.”

Fallon barked a laugh. “Safer because the boy says so?”

I bit back the urge to glare. Instead, I held my ground.

“You asked what I know about these woods,” I said quietly. “I know this.”

Fallon’s expression twisted with irritation. “Rowan, come settle this nonsense. The map says left. We go left.”

Rowan dismounted slowly, calmly, the way a man moves when he’s thinking rather than reacting. He walked over, boots silent on the earth, and took the map from Fallon’s hands.

His eyes moved from the parchment to the trail… then to the ridge… and finally to me.

“What did you say about the river?” he asked.

“It’s too deep now,” I answered. “The meltwater from the mountains has been heavy this year. And the current’s strong. Even the hunters stay away.”

He studied me for a long moment.

Fallon crossed his arms like a sulking bear. “Rowan, the boy is”

“Alden is right,” Rowan said.

Fallon froze.

Hoseman grinned.

Thomas gave a single satisfied nod.

Dutch muttered, “Told you the boy knows these woods.”

Fallon sputtered. “What....Rowan.....you can’t seriously”

“The shortest distance isn’t always the wisest path,” Rowan cut in. “Especially when crossing a ridge and a river with eleven mounted Knights. We go right.”

Fallon’s jaw fell open in outrage. “You’re siding with him?”

“I’m siding with survival,” Rowan said, folding the map neatly. “Mount up.”

Fallon glared at me as if this were somehow my fault. “Fine. But when wolves jump us on this ‘long, safe path,’ it’s on you, boy.”

I didn’t respond.

Mostly because I was too tired.

Partly because arguing with Fallon felt like arguing with a boulder.

The Knights remounted. Rowan gave me a nod not praise, not encouragement… but acknowledgment.

For me, that was enough.

I followed beside Rowan’s horse as they turned down the narrow right-hand path. The trail opened slightly, just enough for the horses to pass single-file. The ground was softer here, damp with moss and fallen leaves.

The deeper we moved into the woods, the darker it grew. Branches arched overhead like skeletal arms. The wind whistled through the pines.

Fallon muttered curses under his breath the whole way.

“Well,” Hoseman said cheerfully, “if we had gone left, we’d be half-dead climbing that ridge by now.”

“Or drowning,” Thomas added.

Fallon groaned loudly. “Shut up. All of you.”

Dutch laughed. “Fallon hates being wrong.”

Fallon shot him a glare. “I wasn’t wrong. I was practical.”

“You were stubborn,” Hoseman corrected.

I kept my eyes forward, but I couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at my lips.

Rowan noticed.

“You’re pleased with yourself,” he murmured.

The smile vanished. “No I just...”

“It’s fine,” he said. “You saved us time and risk. That matters.”

I didn’t know what to say. Praise wasn’t something Rowan gave lightly.

We continued for another hour before the path widened again. The air grew less oppressive. The fog thinned. Birds returned to the branches overhead, chirping soft warnings or greetings it was hard to tell.

My legs felt like they were trembling under me.

But I didn’t dare ask for rest.

Rowan eventually reined in his horse.

“We stop here.”

Fallon mumbled something about “finally,” and dismounted. The others began setting up a temporary camp. Thomas gathered more wood. Dutch cleared a small area for the fire. Hoseman checked the perimeter.

I sank onto a fallen log, forcing myself not to collapse completely.

Rowan approached again, arms crossed.

“You knew the dangers of that ridge,” he said. “Better than the map. Why?”

“My father took me hunting there sometimes,” I replied. “We always avoided the left path during spring. Too many accidents. Horses slipping. People drowning. The river gets wild.”

“And you remember all of this?”

I nodded. “You don’t forget the paths that can kill you.”

He studied me again measured, evaluating, as if weighing something inside his mind.

Finally, he said:

“You’ve proven useful twice in a single day.”

“Twice?” I blinked.

“You survived Hoseman.”

His tone was flat an observation, not flattery.

Then he added:

“And you corrected Fallon.”

The corners of his mouth twitched almost a smirk but it vanished almost quickly.

Before I could respond, Fallon stomped toward us.

“Rowan,” he snapped, “I hope you’re satisfied with yourself. Because when we run into wolves out here, don’t blame me.”

Rowan turned to him with a calm so sharp it was nearly a threat.

“If wolves come,” Rowan said, “we’ll fight them. If they kill us, it won’t be because we took the boy’s path. It will be because they’re faster, stronger, and hungrier than we are.”

Fallon fell silent.

Rowan stepped closer to him.

“And between you and me,” he added quietly, “I’d rather face wolves on even ground than climb a ridge in the dark.”

Fallon muttered something unintelligible and stalked away.

Rowan returned his attention to me.

“Get water from the stream,” he said. “Thomas will show you where. Don’t go alone.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Alden?”

“Yes?”

“You did well.”

He walked away before I could respond. My chest tightened not with pain, but with something warm, unexpected.

Respect.

Earning it felt… good.

I joined Thomas, who handed me a pair of water skins and smiled. “Come on, kid. Let’s refill these.”

As we walked toward the stream, he said softly, “Fallon won’t admit it, but you impressed him.”

“He hates me.”

“He hates everyone,” Thomas laughed. “You’re doing fine.”

I didn’t know if “fine” existed anymore not after losing everything.

But walking through the dark woods, carrying water skins, following the Knights…

…it was the first time since the Red Moon that I felt the faintest spark of purpose.

I wasn’t strong yet or a Knight.

But I was still alive.

And for now

That was enough.