Oblea moves through the forest, the child secured on her back in a makeshift carrier fashioned from village blankets. The baby, no older than eight months, rests quietly as Oblea carefully navigates the dense trees.
Snow blankets the treetops, casting the forest floor in deep shadows despite the clear ground.
She pauses occasionally to gather herbs and wild vegetables, her sharp eyes scanning the undergrowth.
The sound of rushing water soon breaks the silence, leading her to a wide river. The trees part and for the first time in hours, light filters through, reflecting off the snow-covered riverbanks.
Near the water, Oblea notices strange animals grazing and drinking. They resemble boars but are thin, with twisted horns that curve backward along their bodies.
Their dark fur is matted with dried blood, evidence of a recent fight.
Kneeling by the river, Oblea fills her canteen and rinses a bottle for the child. The boars remain tense, their wary eyes never leaving her as they drink. She glances at them briefly but focuses on her task, her calm demeanor unshaken by their presence.
Oblea feeds the baby from the bottle, though the infant drinks only a little before turning away.
She packs her canteen and the infant's bottle.
Moving upriver, she keeps a sharp eye on her surroundings, looking for a clear path deeper into the woods.
Her supplies are minimal, just the essentials for survival. As she walks, she notices the soft sound of steps on the opposite riverbank. The boars are following her, their curiosity evident, but she remains unconcerned.
Eventually, she reaches a small cliff and waterfall. The rock-face no more than ten feet high, covered in sharp stones and gravel. The area around the cliff is open, with no trees to block the noise of rushing water.
The constant sound seems to unsettle the baby, who starts fidgeting and whining, breaking the calm she's maintained for hours.
"Yeah, yeah, it's too noisy here," Oblea mutters, her tone edged with mild irritation. With a quick, effortless leap, she grabs the top of the cliff and pulls herself up.
The boars below hesitate, confused, before retreating into the nearby tree line, unable to follow her.
Oblea continues into the forest, her eyes glinting faintly in the shadowy gloom.
Days pass as Oblea follows the river, her steps steady but purposeful. She stays close to the water when she can, but the winding terrain often forces her to veer into the forest.
She gathers what she can along the way and hunts whenever she is able to keep herself and the child fed. Nights are spent under makeshift shelters of branches and leaves, the baby bundled tightly against the cold.
The child's cries echo through the quiet forest, drawing Oblea's sharp gaze to the darkness, always watchful for unseen threats.
After several days, the forest begins to thin. The air feels lighter and sunlight filters through the trees more easily, warming the chill in her bones. Oblea pauses on the riverbank, her eyes scanning the area for a spot that feels secure.
She finds a small clearing near the river with a rocky overhang near the river, sheltered on one side by a cluster of trees. It's not much, but it offers a place to rest and perhaps a start for something more permanent.
For the first time in days, she allows herself a breath of relief.
She places the baby gently on the ground and collects dry rocks and sticks to start a small fire. Once the flames are steady, she fills her pan with water and sets it over the fire. As the water heats, she begins chopping the herbs and vegetables she gathered earlier, adding them to the pan.
The mixture simmers into a dark, aromatic liquid, which she carefully pours into the baby's bottle. To cool it quickly, she dips the bottle into the cold river water before handing it to the baby.
The infant resists at every turn, squirming and refusing to cooperate.
"Come on, eat," Oblea coaxes in a calm voice. "You'll be hungry until we settle. You need to eat while you can." Despite her efforts, the child twists and turns, determined to reject the meal.
After a while, Oblea lets out a tired sigh, conceding defeat. The baby, equally displeased, fusses in her arms, making her decision easy. She carries the infant closer to the fire, hoping the warmth will soothe the restless little one.
As soon as they're near, the baby's attention shifts, her wide eyes fixated on the flickering flames. She crawls closer on her own, captivated by the movement of the fire.
Oblea smiles faintly, amused by the child's curiosity, until the baby stretches her hand toward the heat.
The warmth quickly proves too much and the baby flinches, pulling back with a startled cry. The fascination vanishes, replaced by tears and Oblea picks her up gently.
"It's alright," she murmurs, rocking her slightly. "Lesson learned, little one."
Over the next few days, her work not only continues, but escalates. She constructs a simple room using rocks for walls and fallen branches reinforced with mud to seal gaps.
The roof is woven from leafy branches and bark, offering just enough protection from the elements.
The space is small but secure—a place she can finally call shelter
In between her building efforts, she hunts and forages to keep herself and the child fed. Setting traps along animal trails brings her small game, while the forest provides berries, roots and herbs.
Each hunt is careful and deliberate, her bow always ready in case of danger.
Taking care of the child adds to her routine, yet it's a task she takes on with surprising ease.
She feeds the baby with concoctions of foraged greens and roots, boiled in her metal pan over the fire. When the child fusses, Oblea carries her as she works, humming soft, wordless tunes to keep her calm.
By the end of the first few weeks, the small room is sturdy enough to weather the elements. She stakes out an area for a fire pit near the entrance, ensuring smoke won't collect inside.
The baby crawls around the small clearing, babbling to herself as if unaware of the hardship surrounding them. Oblea glances over often, her stern face softening at the sight. "We'll make it, little one," she murmurs, setting another stone into place.
Each passing day strengthens their tiny home and their bond. The forest remains an unpredictable challenge, but Oblea feels a growing sense of purpose.
With every rock she sets and every hunt she completes, she builds not just a shelter but a life for both of them.
Oblea finally sets the last stone into place and steps back, her eyes lingering on the small but sturdy shelter. She kneels beside the child near the fire, lifting her gently and holding her close. Brushing a strand of hair from the baby's face, she murmurs, "This will be our home, Eska."