Thyst sat cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, listening for any movement in the cottage. She'd heard her mother climb the stairs and shut the door of her upper room more than an hour ago. Other than the initial creak of her mother's bed, their home was silent. It was time. Thyst crept into the main area of the cottage. She lay her open satchel on the table and filled it with four apples, a large wedge of cheese, a loaf of bread, and a skin of water. The added weight made the strap dig into her shoulder once she slipped the satchel back on her body. She held the bag against her hip to keep it from jostling too much and snuck through the front door. The crisp night breeze brushed the hair from her face. She pulled her plum cloak tighter around her shoulders, tugging the hood over her head. Thyst broke into a sprint, racing past the meadow and other small houses along the village path. She froze when she saw a light through the window of Ig's home. Crouching, Thyst peered through the window. She could just make Ig out, pacing the back wall with a visible bounce in her step, and her red hair a tangled pile. When Ig turned, Thyst could see the infant. Ourma, that was her name. Apphi had delivered her and pulled Zir, Ig's mother, aside in concern. Ourma was too small and an odd color. Thyst remembered the argument between Ig and Zir the following day. Zir suggested that Ig had chosen a sick human to father her child. That set Ig off. All the nymphs of the village gathered around the two as they screamed. After several long minutes, Apphi stepped in and separated the two, suggesting they leave Ourma with her for the evening so they could get some rest. Thyst was holding Ourma at the table in their cottage when she finally asked her mother what she thought.
"What are do you mean, my love?" Apphi said. Thyst pushed the blanket back from Ourma's face, studying the bluish undertones of the baby's flesh.
"Do you think Ig's human was sick? Or flawed?"
Apphi stirred the pot of soup over the cook-fire and hummed under her breath.
"You know, it is said in the ancient texts, that many centuries ago, nymphs were originally smaller than humans and with brightly colored skin." She replaced the lid on the pot and sat in a chair next to Thyst, brushing some of the fine hairs from Ourma's forehead. "I do not think this child is ill or flawed. I think an ancient blood pumps through her veins. It will make her wild and more difficult to raise in our customs. That is why I spoke with Zir at her birth."
"Then why did Zir accuse Ig of using a sick human? If you didn't tell her that?"
Apphi scoffed.
"Zir is an old fool. She has lost her way and lost her faith in the ancient texts and sacred practices. That nymph has been causing trouble since I was chosen to lead our village, as well as trying my patience. Ourma will be a handful for Ig, but she's an otherwise fine and healthy baby."
Now, Thyst couldn't help but agree with her mother. Ourma was just over a year old, and she still fussed throughout the night like a newborn. When Ig's back was turned, Thyst slunk past the window and beyond the edge of the village. As she continued running, she spotted the hulking shape of inky black growing wider in front of her. The treeline. Beyond. Fear gripped her heart, but she forced her feet to move faster, push her farther. Her entire life, she'd been warned to stay far from Beyond. Creatures were said to lurk amongst the trees. Horrifying monsters that could bite a nymph's body in half with ease. The point Apphi emphasized to Thyst had always been the lack of magical ability in Beyond. Nymph magic was useless there, and a nymph without her magic was defenseless. The darkness was now a wall in front of Thyst as she made the final lunge. She felt it as soon as she entered. Though she had very little magic within her, she still felt it tear from her body, leaving a small hollow pit in her abdomen. Thyst's breath caught in her throat and she instinctively looked down at her marks. She couldn't see them in the gloom. The faint glow she'd had was gone. She looked ahead of her, farther into Beyond. In the moonlight, she could barely see the silhouettes of giant trees stretching up towards the sky. She readjusted her satchel and ignored the desire to turn around, stepping forward into the black. Somewhere above her, an owl called, somber and alone, carried only by the night wind.
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