#rf12th

How had I gotten there? Had I meant to-

Blond hair and blue eyes suddenly popped into my view. “You alright?” a young man asked, his eyebrow quirked in a curious face of concern. A brown headband did little to tame the sunny spikes protruding from his scalp. He looked like a traveller of some kind. He offered a hand to help me up.

I took it, looking around at my surroundings. It was a forest, densely populated. I could hear birds, monsters, and other small animals rustling in the underbrush.

Oddly, though, it did nothing to remind me of how I got there. Or why I was there in the first place.

Or, I realized with horror, who I was.

“Can you talk at all?” the man tried again. Now that I was standing, I could see that he was shorter than I expected. He stood at least four inches shorter than myself. That wasn’t normal-- was it?

I blinked at him. “I-- yeah.” I ran through a few ways to broach the subject with him. Did he know who I was? Was I supposed to know him?

“Do I know you?” I asked finally.

The man smiled as if I had made a joke. “Hmm?” he shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I was just heading to Laine up the way and saw you here. Did you hit your head?”

I rubbed my head experimentally. Sure enough, there was a sore patch right on the crown of my scalp. I winced.

The man nodded sympathetically. “Let’s head into town together.” He shivered slightly in the cold. His head tilted to the side and he made a strange face. “Sounds to me like you’ve got some amnesia.” He smiled reassuringly at me. “But I’m sure there’s a place up ahead where you can live out the rest of your life in relative peace without anyone from your previous life ever showing up.” He started walking before I had a chance to figure out any of the words he had just said. Had he started speaking a different language while I wasn’t paying attention?

“Wait what?” I asked as I jogged to catch up with him.

“I’m Micah,” he said cheerily as he continued to walk through the forest. “Do you remember your name?”

“Uhhh….” Did I remember my name? “It’s Elle.”

“Elle? Nice name,” he said brightly. “And, if you don't mind my asking, are you a guy or girl?”

I made a face without thinking, starting at Micah in disbelief. “What?” He just stared at my face as calm as can be as if he hadn't just asked one of the oddest questions I had ever heard in my life.

Which, considering I could only remember the past few minutes, didn't say much. I sighed. “A girl.”

“Awesome!” He smiled. “Do you remember your birthday?”

“Ah…” no. I did not. “Maybe the beginning of winter?”

“Sounds good!” His smile broadened as he pointed ahead to a place where the trees suddenly cleared. “Look! There's Laine!”

We broke through the last line of trees. For the briefest moment, the world seemed to hang on a breath, my heart hovering between one beat and the next. Mist hung low over the rolling grasslands, leading down toward a small village near the coastline’s edge. A cluster of buildings were huddled together against the chill from a spring breeze carried from across the ocean. Some were small, homes perhaps. Others were robust and comparatively full of life-- smoke curling from chimneys and doors fearlessly tossed open in defiance of the chill.

“It’s beautiful,” I said quietly, my voice lost in a gust of wind.

I glanced at Micah at my side. His eyebrows were knit together in a look of confusion. “Something’s not right,” he muttered. He took off at a run down the path that led to the cluster of sea-worn buildings.

Without thinking, I followed him. What did he mean something wasn’t right? Did he live there? Were we about to run into a mess?

Probably. But I followed him regardless.

We arrived in the town, breathing heavy. I curled forward with my hands on my knees as I struggled to be able to ask one of the thousands of questions that were starting to bubble into my mind. Micah was looking around as if he expected to be greeted by someone or something.

When I finally thought I might be able to say something, a scream interrupted my intake of breath.

I turned my head this way and that, looking for the source. There were sturdy wooden structures like homes or businesses, but it took me a moment before I found the person who was screaming. It was a group of children playing outside the porch of one of the bigger buildings. About half a dozen of them were chasing one another. A small, dark-skinned boy was at the head of the pack, running away from the other five with a stick in his hand.

“Jerome! Get back here!”

“Big Bully- gimme back my stick!”

“Heeee~eey!!!! That’s not yours, it’s my turn!”

“Get him!!!”

The kids ran until they came running toward me. For a second I wondered if they would stop. They didn’t and my second of hesitation was a second too long. For the second time in all of the half an hour of my life, I found myself looking up at the sky with gentle water drops finding their way into the awkward crevasses of my neck.

“Ah now,” said a wizened voice, thick with sarcastic intent. “Look what y’all did. You nearly killed this poor girl.”

“It’s Jerome’s fault!” said a different voice. “He took my stick!”

I sat up, blinking and trying to again make sense of my surroundings. An old man, judging by the wrinkles in his skin and the white hairs on his head, stood with crossed arms and an expression that told me I was in trouble. He wore simple but hardy clothes, he looked like a worker of some kind, like a blacksmith or carpenter. He also had that air of authority that told me I should probably respect him or find myself in a world of social inconvenience.

But why the heck am I in trouble? I wondered. I’m the one they knocked over!

“Maybe less poor than just stupid,” the man said, nodding to himself. “That’s what you get for standing there like a gaping fish.”

Don’t agree with yourself! I thought bitterly, standing and trying, vainly, to brush the mud off my clothes. It occurred to me that I hadn’t noticed what I was wearing earlier. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to think about it now either.

“You alright, Elle?” Micah asked, seeming to have only just realized that I had fallen.

“I'm fine,” I said, not sure if I really was.

“Good,” he said. He turned his attention to the old man. “Is there a shrine or temple or anything nearby?”

“You need to make a confession?” The man squinted at Micah.

“Ignore him,” a new voice said behind us. We turned to the newcomer, an old woman was standing there with a small child on either side of her. She was elderly more than old. She seemed like the stately kind of woman who took charge of almost any situation. She wore a long green-gray dress with a high neck and long sleeves. Her hands were folded in front of her nicely. I envied the neat way she tied up her hair. My hair kept falling into my face no matter how many times I pushed it back.

“I tend the shrine here,” the woman continued. She shot a look at the old man and sniffed. “Rooty’s just a lazy sack of bones.”

I glanced at the man, wondering if this was normal. I didn't really have much to compare it to. But the words didn’t seem to sting their intended recipient.

The old man, Rooty, smiled sardonically in response. “Sally.” the way he said her name made me think they were probably old friends. “Wonderful to see your rheumatism kept you from bringing the kids on time.” He paused. “Again.”

“Old coot,” she sniffed. Gently, she nudged the children toward the building.

“In any case,” the woman said, keeping an eye on the children as they ran past me, Micah and Rooty. “If you need to see the shrine, I'd be happy to show you.” She bowed respectfully, finally turning her eye to Micah. “I'm Salina.”

Micah’s shoulders fell in relief. “Thanks a bunch,” he said as his face fell into a smile. He looked at me and gestured to Rooty. “You should probably stay here. I bet Rooty knows where the farm is.”

I blinked. “What farm?” I asked. Had we been looking for a farm? Was I forgetting something?

He laughed as if it hadn't occurred to him that this needed explaining. “The farm where you'll be living from here on out.” He waved as he hurried to follow after Salina, leaving me there with more and more questions by the moment.

I looked back at Rooty. He was scratching his head. He looked at me. “You're here to start a farm?” He asked dubiously. He eyed me in a way that said he didn’t think I was suited to the farm life.

I shrugged. “I don't know. He found me unconscious in the woods. I don't remember how I got there or where I'm from or anything else for that matter.”

Rooty grunted and started to turn back down the road. “Well, your friend wasn't lying. There's a farm just over that way that hasn't been tended to in years.” He turned back to see that I was following. “C’mon, follow me.”

“Waaiiitt!!! Jerome still hasn't given me back the stick! It's my turn!!”

Rooty turned sharply toward the child who spoke. “You had better get into Miss Charity. You know how she gets if you're late.”

All the children suddenly stiffened before taking off at a full sprint toward the schoolhouse. I wondered briefly what kind of woman Miss Charity was, but then Rooty was walking off again. I had to jog to keep up with him. How was an old man so fast?

“The farm's this way. There's a little house attached to it that no one’s using. I don't know if it has any furniture or anything but you're welcome to have it.” His words flowed so quickly I hardly had the brain power to interpret them. “The seed shop’s owner’s been out of town for a while. Their son is taking care of it for the time being. A no-good delinquent, if truth be told, but there you have it. Luckily he's got that girl keeping an eye on him, but she's as naive as they come. You’ll find the shop if you poke around town for a bit. The carpenter’s shop is open, but I don't know what services they're offering this time of year.”

He kept up a rattling account of names and shops and places in town with a solid complaint against each of them. Somehow, even though his words were harsh, I got the impression he was quite proud of his town.

“And if you know anything about monsters, then you’d be welcome to try to cross the forest. But if ya don’t then steer clear. It’s a dangerous place these days what with--.” he coughed suddenly, interrupting himself. “What with everything.”

“What do you me--?”

“And here we are!” he interrupted me, gesturing to a dilapidated shack beside a weed-infested field of stumps and boulders.

It struck me that the area outside of town, the way that Micah and I had come into the town proper, would be much better suited to farming, but I decided to say nothing so not to seem ungrateful. Rooty looked at me expectantly as if either waiting for my complete dismay or complete adoration. I settled for a half-hearted, “Wow.”

Rooty turned away, but not before I saw a smile form on his face. “This’ll be your home from now on. Take good care of it.” He started to return the way we had come. “If you need me, I’ll call ya.” He waved without looking back.

“Wait, what?!” I looked after him, rooted to the spot. He just kept waving and walking until he was out of sight. I looked back at the shack. A large blackbird swooped overhead and lighted on the crest of the roof.

“What?” I said, quieter, to myself. I stood there staring for a long moment. More birds flew around. My head began to throb painfully and I shivered with a cold breeze that tore through the dress I wore.  

I made my way to the little hut. At least the wind wouldn’t be able to reach me inside, right?

Surprisingly, the inside was much cozier than the outside might lead one to believe. It was only a single room with a small washroom attached to one side. There was a small space with a table and a single three-legged stool to the left of the front door. To the right, there was an old mattress on a wooden frame. A small apple crate was placed next to it with a single candle stub and a worn book.

I moved toward the book, curious. Inside was a diary belonging to someone named Cucumber who had run a farm there a long time ago. Without hesitation, I tore out the pages belonging to Cucumber and began to write my own entry, explaining everything that had happened to me thus far.

Just as I finished, my door was thrown open. The roof shuddered and dust flitted down from the ceiling. I froze, fearing that the house would fall down on top of me. Then I saw Micah standing there in the doorway, eyes wild and a giant grin on his face. “Holy Native Dragons, Elle, you’ve got to see this!”

He paused when he saw me with the open book in my lap. He grinned. “Oh, hey! You found the diary! So Rooty already explained everything to you about the farm, yeah?”

“Ah,” I closed the book, not wanting Micah to see my descriptions of him. “No, not really. But I think I’ve got the jist of this part at least.”

“Well lemme explain the rest reeally quick, then-- you’re absolutely not gonna believe it-- anyway--.”

He shot off in an explanation that was almost entirely lost on me. At first he said things like “check through your inventory with the [L] button” and then “equip with the [A] button” and “You can use it with the [B] button, but be careful because sometimes you’ll get stuck using a move and get killed by a monster mid-stroke.”

I stared at him blankly until he was done, physically feeling the words bounce right off my head. He finally finished miming a stroke from a weapon of some kind and put his hands on his hips. “Make sense?” he asked.

My head fell to my hands and I wished that I had never regained consciousness. “How did you make that sound with your mouth?”

Micah ignored me and turned toward a chest I hadn’t noticed against the far wall of my hut. “Oh, hey,” he said, moving closer to it, “I bet this has your farming equipment.” He opened it and started rummaging through it.

Horrifyingly, the sounds that came from it sounded significantly more echo-y than they should have for a container so small. I moved to examine the chest over Micah’s shoulder. My mouth fell open. Inside, the box was significantly wider and deeper than it should have been.

“How-?”

“I know,” Micah said in a tone of weary dismay. “But it’s always like this.” He pulled out an ax that definitely shouldn’t have fit inside the box, to begin with. He examined it and sighed discontentedly. “This couldn’t cut a twig, let alone a tree.”

I sighed, realizing I had expected his answer this time.

“Don’t worry,” he said, patting my shoulder as he misinterpreted my exasperation. “I’m sure the blacksmith in town can help you upgrade them eventually.”

I hummed in response, wanting nothing more than to sink into unconsciousness and hope that this was all just a bad dream. Micah seemed to notice my despair. He sighed, glancing out the open door. “Well, I guess it can wait until tomorrow,” he said. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll be back tomorrow morning to help you figure out the farming stuff-- heck, I bet I can find you some seeds from the shop in town as well!”

With that, he turned on his heel, smiling back as he shut the door softly. “Sleep well!”

I listened to the crunch of his boots against stone as he walked away toward town. Eventually, they faded into the cawing of birds and the whistle of the wind over my rooftop. Wearily, I turned on my bed so I was sitting on my knees and facing the window. I gently pulled the dusty curtain back, worried that the touch would cause the gentle fabric to disintegrate.

The scene outside was just as it had been when I’d first seen it-- bleak. From this angle, I could see the rickety wooden fence that marked the edge of the cliff. I made a mental note to never wander too close-- or fix up the wall later when I knew more about that kind of thing.

With the window open, I curled up on the mattress. It felt stiff and musty. As I closed my eyes, I wondered if maybe I’d regain my memories once I woke up. Maybe I’d know my way home. Maybe I’d remember my family…. Maybe I’d… Maybe…. Remember.

The sun’s fading light threw a perfect square of light into my face, waking me with some gentle warmth. I pulled the curtain closed, blinking until I could see again. The small room was a warm orange now. I noticed things I hadn't before: the small fireplace in one corner, the large mirror on the wall beside the washroom.

Slowly, I sat up. My head didn't ache as much, to my great relief.

Sadly, I still remembered nothing from before I woke up in the forest. The thought left me feeling somewhat melancholic. I took a deep breath. Better to mourn it now and accept my lot then let it fester for later.

I might have a family somewhere. They might come looking for me. Or they might not. I might have people waiting for me. Or I might not. In the end, whatever happened in regards to my past, this place was my new home. And I would make the most of it.

I recorded these thoughts in my diary. I didn't realize I was crying until the ink began to blur.

What made it all the worse was the fact that I didn't even know what I was mourning. I didn't know what I was supposed to be missing. I didn't know what home I had left behind or what friends I had now abandoned.

But all the same. All the same. I had a new life. New people. I could be happy here. I just had to try, right?

My stomach growled, interrupting my soliloquy. I winced, wondering where I'd be able to get food. The hut didn't look particularly well-stocked. I began to pat the sides of my dress. Maybe I had pockets and money inside of them.

Sure enough, I found a store of money in my inventory with just about three thousand gold pieces. I hoped that would be enough for a meal in town. And some seeds. Maybe tomorrow I’d be able to get a start on fixing the farm.

I stood and stretched. My back popped. I winced. Moving toward the washroom, I caught a glimpse of myself for the first time in my memory.

I was obviously a woman. Micah’s question came back to my mind and I made a face. The dress I wore was well-cared for if not just a bit dirty. I could see places where someone-- myself, perhaps?-- had patched the seams and tears. It fell past my knees where I could see my torn stockings. They were knit with some kind of twisting pattern around my calves. Boots that laced up just past my ankle were tied onto my feet. They seemed scuffed and a little worn, but in good condition overall.

“So that’s what I look like,” I said, finally looking up at my face. There were splotches where dirt had clung to the rain on my face. My hair, probably a dusty brown, was currently just dusty. It might have been in a braid at some point, but I looked a bit like a wild child.

For a moment, looking into my eyes, I thought there was something wrong with them. But the moment passed. They were a deep fuschia color. Pinkish, but maybe that was just the setting light.

I moved to the washroom to clean myself off slightly. Maybe even brush my hair. I found the room to be better stocked than I had first anticipated. There were even some old, worn clothes. They were cleaner than what I was wearing so I put them on. It wasn’t anything flattering, but it seemed that I might be able to sew, so maybe I could take them in a little to fit me better.

I set my dirty clothes aside with the intent to wash them later when I returned. My stomach hurried me along toward the town again. Feeling refreshed and ready to eat the best meal that a poor amnesiac could afford, I threw open the door--

Only to have someone knock against my forehead with a sharp knuckle.

I spluttered and ducked, rubbing my forehead.

“Oh, gods, I’m so sorry-- I didn’t-- gods--.”

“Ahh,” I hissed. This kid had the knuckles of a palm cat. I blinked at the wood floors beneath my boots. Did I know what a palm cat was?

“Are you alright?”

I finally looked up at the man on my doorstep. His face was golden with the setting sun. His hair was sandy, nearly blending in with his skin. His purple shirt glinted with silver threads. He was tall and reasonably built, not gangly nor threateningly large. All that being said, if he wanted to pick a fight, I was pretty sure I could take him.

“Mmm, yeah,” I said, straightening. “Er… Sorry about that.”

His eyes widened comically. “What? No, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have--- gods, I’m so sorry. I should have been paying attention.” He was waving his hands. I found myself smiling at him. He was cute.

A blush spread across his face. “Really, I-- sorry-- I’m here because Granny Sal sent me. She said you’d probably be hungry and Rooty forgot to feed you before dropping you off and she’s with the twins right now and Rooty’s at the orphanage, of course, and-- gods, I’m rambling I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” I laughed for the first time. I noticed the box in his hands. “Is that for me?”

“Yes!” he said as if he had just remembered. With his arms stiff as sticks, he extended the box toward me. “It’s a dinner-- and there’s probably enough for breakfast tomorrow as well.”

I accepted the box. “Thank you, I was just thinking I was hungry.” My stomach growled to emphasize my point.

“I- uh.” from his other hand he lifted a second box. “Sal gave me one as well, so that I could join you, if you don’t mind the company?”

I blinked in surprise. Given what I had seen of Sal-- well, I had only seen her for a minute. Maybe she made a habit of making sure no one ate by themselves. “Of course not,” I replied.

I didn’t need to glance behind me to see the dusty, unwelcoming interior of my home. “Shall we eat outside?”

“Sure!” he beamed, clearly relieved that I had accepted. “There’s a place over there--,” he pointed toward the cliff, “--where a lot of us like to come to watch the sea. It’s a nice spot, is it okay if we eat there?”

As nervous as I was about the cliff and the rickety fence, I followed him there. The fence was even more rickety than I had imagined. Pieces of wood were just a nudge away from falling to the churning water below. He led me past the fence, around to a little flight of stairs leading down to a large shelf of sand and grass.

“Sometimes Will comes here to fish,” he explained. “Juliette and I come with him every now and again. It’s also a great spot for the fireworks festival next month. We don’t talk about it in town though, Rooty goes off on us hard if we do. He doesn’t want the kids thinking that it’s okay to get this close to the cliff.”

I nodded as if I understood what he was saying while we found our way to a rickety bench against the cliff face. Then I realized I had no idea who he was talking about, apart from Rooty and the kids. “I’m sorry, who is Will and Juliette?”

The man, who still hadn’t introduced himself either, laughed self-consciously. “Right, sorry, I forgot that you haven’t met everyone in town yet.” He opened the box of his dinner and began eating as he explained. “Will, Juliette, and I all work at Charlie’s Inn. Will’s-- well, he’s supposed to be an entertainer, a juggler, but he’s more of a glorified waiter.” He chuckled again. “Juliette helps me with the music sometimes, but she’s more of a hostess. She’s kind of like the face of the Inn.”

“So you’re a musician?” I asked, not really wanting to take my attention away from the best meal I could ever remember having. If Sal’s cooking was this good, then I think any sense of melancholy would be lost with my expanding waistline.

“Mm-Hm,” he said around a bite. “I stick to the piano for the most part-- you should hear Juliette on the violin, though. She’s incredibly talented!”

I glanced at him. The tone in his voice, he was so proud of his friend. He also seemed the type to deflect any sort of compliment away from himself. Again, I wondered, how do I know that?

“I’m sorry,” I said suddenly, hoping to finally get his name. “I never introduced myself. I’m Elle.”

He blinked at me in surprise. “I knew--” his face changed suddenly. “Oh! I didn’t introduce myself either, I’m so sorry!” He shifted to turn toward me and bowed slightly. “I’m Hammond, it’s an honor to meet you, Elle.”

“You as well, Hammond,” I smiled at him.

He chatted more about the townsfolk. I heard another half dozen names that seemed to just slip through my mind without any sort of intention of staying there. He was very animated as he spoke, very enthusiastic about all the wonderful qualities of everyone in the town. His voice had such a gentle quality. It was pleasing to hear.

The sun sank past the horizon, setting the mist aflame as it said it’s final adieu. Hammond had been right, it was a very nice spot. The temperature was still chilly, but I could see the summers passing with townsfolk celebrating at the cliff’s edge. It was oddly… idyllic.

“I should probably get going,” Hammond said as the night began to settle in a fair shade of lavender. He collected both of our boxes (neither of us had left enough leftovers worth saving) and tucked them under his arm. “I’ll walk you back to your house.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And thank you for bringing these, the food and company were both much needed.”

Another blush formed across his face. “Ah! You’re welcome!”

Meg’s house always smelled like something sweet Forte couldn’t quite put her finger on. Whatever it was, it was so perfectly Meg that Forte wanted to wrap herself up in the scent forever.

Forte also loved how the sunlight poured as a golden hue through Meg’s windows in the late afternoon. Since Meg’s house was on the east end of town the sun only provided the house with light and didn’t make it sweltering hot to be inside.

“Come on, Forte. Keep your hand on my shoulder.”

Meg’s voice jarred Forte out of her thoughts and she looked into the kind eyes of her girlfriend. If it wasn’t for the faint blush on Meg’s cheeks, Forte would think she wasn’t flustered about this at all.

“O-okay,” Forte tried to keep her voice as steady as Meg’s, but failed.

“Great!” Meg flashed Forte that smile that never failed to make her knees wobbly. “Now, you can’t look at your feet while we dance, so keep your eyes on me, okay?”

As if that was ever hard to do.

Meg was sunshine and rainbows. She was soft melodies and a gentle voice. Soft skin and warm eyes.

And Forte was desperately, hopelessly, in love.

Her only solace was that Meg was in love with her too.

“Forte, you spaced out again,” Meg once again snapped Forte out of her revere. “You okay?”

“I love you,” Forte stumbled out. She could feel the redness in her cheeks and decided she didn’t care.

“Oh!” Meg looked taken aback, but pleased. Her hands were still on Forte’s body, one on her hip and one in her hand. Her face was close enough that Forte could feel her breath on her cheek. “I love you too.”

Her face really was close. So, so close. So Forte kissed her.

Meg wasted no time in participating in the kiss. She immediately leaned into it, their mouths doing a little dance of their own.

Forte pulled back before the kiss became too heated, resting her forehead on Meg’s. “I love you.”

“Yeah,” Meg giggled. “You mentioned.”

They sat there for a moment, flushed and staring into each other’s eyes before Forte finally broke the silence. “We can get back to dancing now.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about that,” Meg said as she stood up straighter. “Now follow my lead and step when I count, okay? One, two, three, four…”

Forte did follow Meg. She stepped on Meg’s feet and stumbled a lot, but she always laughed and gave Forte a peck on the cheek afterwards.