Rain drizzled on the forest, casting everything behind a soft veil. From the ground rose a light fog, awoken by the pattering of water upon its earthy roof. Somewhere in the forest, a sparrow chirped, and doves exchanged their mournful calls, as if searching for companionship to wait out the rain. A wide river splashed nearby, welcoming its wayward, raindrop sisters to its seaward road. Just as it always did. Everything just as it always was.

Always?

How could she know that? What claim had she to that knowledge? She felt as if she had been here before, but in the same way as knowing you had seen a person in a crowd before: distant, vague, like trying to capture the curling mist. The river, the rocky bank, the tree behind her, all foggy figures from a dream.

She looked at her hands. The right almost glowed in the heaven-sent water. Her left gripped the handle of a small, silver hammer. She brought up the ham-mer to her eye line. Water gathered and dripped down the hammer’s surface, winding around engravings of dragons and lightning. In almost seemed to hum and sing in her hand. This hammer… where had she….

From a chain hanging to her breast, a similar vibration and song entered her chest. She pulled up the chain. It looked braided with some form of light gold, and upon it hung a plain bronze compass and three keys of some clear stone.

Keys. A silver hammer. Keys go to keyholes. The tree….

Slowly, she pieced together the fragment. A journey. Fairies. Elves. Dark elves. Monks. Enchanted trees. Wicked magic. Poisoned moonlight. Dreary swamps. Darkness. Fear. Dread. Sorrow. All to find the keys. All to open a door. All to bring the hammer back to… to whom? She was not sure, but to someone.

All alone? No. Not quite.

“Mel?”

“Milady.”

Warmth gathered in the girl’s heart and spread to her chilled fingers.

“Mel,” she said, “I’m back from the Fae. I did it. I got the hammer back.”

“Yes, Milady. You did.”

The girl’s brow crinkled, though her smile remained as she looked over her shoulder at the instrument. “You don’t sound happy about it. Didn’t you want this to end well? Or did you want another dramatic tragedy?”

Mel did not reply.

“Mel? Mel, what’s wrong?”

“I cannot say,” it answered.

The girl’s smile became more strained. “Well, that’s odd. I thought you never ran out of things to say. Mel, really, what’s wrong? You’re acting strange.”

“Milady, please! I. Cannot. Say. I truly cannot, but if you wish to understand even a little, tell me: why was it so important that you retrieve that hammer?”

“W-well… I… I suppose… I just had to, I guess,” she answered, but as she did, a lump formed in her throat. “I-it doesn’t really matter! The point is, I’ve got the hammer! Now I can return it. My journey is almost finished!”

“Then let us finish it, Milady.”

With those words, she set out through the woods. However, contrary to her declaration, the kithara’s request for “why” shook her and made her stomach churn and chest tighten. Why had she set out on this quest? What reason could she have? Surely there was one, right? And so, she searched and searched and searched, but all she found was emptiness.

While she trudged through the forest, the rain hardened. Earth became sticky mud, and hidden tree roots turned slick. Visibility, too, worsened as the fog answered the rain’s challenge.

The taste of moist air poured into the girl’s mouth with every gasping breath. Weariness clung to her body. She had just traveled the fairy roads three times without much rest and now fought against earth and heaven. But to stop now would be unwise, especially with her body and clothes already soaked through. She had to keep as warm as she could until she found shelter or else risk illness. She also did not want to be caught outside at night when she could not be sure about the strength of the moon. She had to keep going.

More than once, the girl slipped on a root or fallen stick or slippery rock, sending her to the muddy ground. Scrapes and bruises soon covered her arms and legs. One branch cut her cheek, causing warm, scarlet blood to mix with cold, summer rain. The girl shivered. But still she pressed onward, onward toward the shattered, scattered memory of whatever or whomever it was she sought.

Finally, she broke free of the trees. Hills rose before her, misty green quickly fading to gray in the fog. For a moment, her heart danced, but it soon sank again when she realized she did not know why they made her so happy. Happy enough to cry.

She wiped away hot tears, but there was no need. The rain washed away everything but the fog.

Turning aside, she walked parallel to the hills, and though she did not face them, they always remained visible in the corner of her eye: sad, gray forms hid-den by fog and forgetfulness.