A RIVER WHO WANDERS

River stood at the threshold of the Veiled Hollow and felt the weight of centuries press down on him. Behind him, the elders’ lantern’s flames dimmed with veils of silver so their light would not trespass where it was not invited. The trees rose tightly knit, their canopies so complete that even the moon above could not pierce them. Prayer ribbons hung in tatters, offerings left by those who came seeking absolution or remembrance.

The Veiled Hollow was hallowed ground.

Not because it was kind.

But because it was claimed.

River had been taught the truth of this place. That Nyssara, his people’s goddess, gathered what the world abandoned. Forgotten names. Broken oaths. Memories too heavy to carry. Souls who died without witness or lived without being truly seen. She kept them. Tucked into the forest, so that nothing ever truly vanished. But it also held something far darker. Souls of the lost who refuse to leave. Who looked for absolution, and found only purgatory and jealousy of the living.

River exhaled, watching his breath in the cold night air. He wore only his hunting cloak, the fur worn thin with travel and years of service. Across his cheeks and brow, pale gray markings had been brushed with ceremonial ash and moon-dust—sigils worn only by those who sought a path not yet given.

Elder Vess stood beside him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Her eyes, clouded with age, reflecting only the forest ahead.

“You understand why you stand here,” she said quietly.

River nodded, though his throat tightened.

“I fear I am becoming a guide who does not believe in his own direction,” he admitted. “I lead others. I bind wounds. I speak the rites. But I do not know if the Lady still remembers me. Or worse, if I am only repeating words taught to me.”

Vess’s grip tightened.

“To serve Nyssara is not to be unwavering,” she said. “It is to be seen by her, even in doubt. The Hollow will test whether you are willing to remain yourself when forgetting would be easier.”

She lifted her bell, bone and silver etched with lunar sigils and rang it once. The sound sank into the forest like a stone dropped into deep water.

“If Nyssara still holds you, and you still hold her,” Vess continued, “you will return whole. If not… the Hollow will take claim you.”

River stepped forward without looking back as forest closed around him. The darkness was not empty. It felt crowded.

The air thickened with breath that was not his own. Roots twisted across the forest floor like grasping fingers, forcing careful steps. Moss glimmered faintly with residual magic, pale blues and silvers like drowned starlight. Every tree bore marks of devotion—names carved and partially erased, offerings embedded into bark as if absorbed.

Whispers came swiftly.

Lostlostlost—this one walks without knowing where he belongs.

At first, the path was clear—narrow but perceptible, worn by centuries of hesitant feet. But gradually it began to fray, branches encroaching, roots rising higher. The forest was not blocking him.

Then he felt it. A tug. Not sharp nor sudden. A steady pull at his awareness, like fabric held between two fingers and refused release. Every teaching warned against following unanchored calls within the Hollow. To follow blindly was to risk dissolution. The rational and safe choice was to remain on the path. Yet the tugging persisted.

“I hear you,” though his voice felt too loud in the dark.

The pull shifted, not toward danger, but deeper into uncertainty. River stepped off the path, he forest reacted immediately. Thorns tore at his calves. Branches snapped, striking his shoulders. The ground sloped unpredictably, forcing him to brace himself. The whispers, growing louder.

Foolish. This is how you vanish.

Fear coiling tightly in his chest. His breath quickened. Rational thought screamed to turn back, to choose the path that still existed. Yet he pressed on still. The underbrush parted suddenly, revealing a small clearing choked with thorns and mist. At its center a white fox, tangled and trembling, its paws bloodied. Its fur curled and flickered like pale smoke.

Nyssara’s messenger.

Relief warred with dread. A sign yes, but also proof that he had chosen correctly or disastrously wrong. He knelt, ignoring the pain in his legs, and extended his hand without reaching.

“I see you,” he whispered.

The fox did not move.

The forest shifted. The clearing deepened, stretching unnaturally. The thorns grew higher, forming a living cage. Whispers surged.

Leave it.

You cannot save everything.

Step back onto the path and you will not be harmed.

River’s rational fear flared. The offer was clear. Abandon this moment, return, and leave the fox to become another preserved memory.

His hands shook. He believed Nyssara remembered the lost, but did he remember still?

“I am afraid,” River admitted “I don’t know what happens if I stay.”

The fox lifted its head, eyes like clouded moonlight fixed on him.

“But I believe being seen matters. Even if it costs me.”

He stepped fully into the clearing. Pain flared instantly, thorns cutting skin, whispers clawing at his thoughts.

You will lose yourself.

River closed his eyes and stayed. Reaching out, not to pull the fox free, but to rest his palm against its fur.

“I won’t forget you,” he whispered.

The forest shuddered. The thorns receded. Moonlight cut through the canopy like a blade. She stood there, woven of silver and memory. Her presence bending the forest. Nyssara regarded him with clear, curious eyes, her expression looked almost playful.

“You chose the longer pain,” she said softly.

River bowed deeply. “I chose what I believe.”

“Belief without fear is nothing,” she said. “Belief despite fear is remembrance.”

Moonlit threads wrapped around River’s arms, warm and grounding.

“Walk well my child,” she said. “You will always fear forgetting. That is why you will never forget.”

The fox rose, whole and radiant. And the Veiled Hollow let him go.

Zachary Koches is a born and raised outdoorsman from New Jersey. While writing is his passion, in his free time he can be found out in the wilderness, creating digital and traditional art, and exploring and learning of different cultures and theology.