OOC: Thank you very much for all the kind reviews, and letting me know that you are interested in the story! Knowing that keeps me inspired. Hope you like this chapter!

Chapter 14 – The Mirror Glade

Crack. Crack. Crackle.

The snapping sounds of firewood, burning slowly, as the flames licked its sides, turning them charred. Such a quiet place, with none to disturb its tranquility. A great water surface reflecting the dim rays, which danced on its glade, like on a mirror. Against a rock, next to that fire, a familiar shadow sat. Its nail and belongings placed on the ground next to the figure. In its only hand, a quill. And a piece of paper pressed against the hard, chitinous thigh, serving as impromptu writing pad.

It's been … what, several days now? Deep inside Hallownest, it was hard to tell. Devoid of natural cycles of day and light found on the surface, time was… nonexistent, in this kingdom of perpetuated, frozen decay. The knight cared very little for the lake right now, the attention of its eyes fully upon the parchment. Was it drawing a map of the place? Hardly. To draw a map, one had to know where they were going. Instead, the tall bug worked diligently on that picture from before. Back when the Knight started, all those weeks ago, the only things featured were crude scribbles of the two bugs that took it in. Plain and alone on an empty surface, attached to nothing.

Now… there was more. Silhouettes and images of huts in the background, lampposts here and there, and more bugs. There was a cute small bug next to a big triangle, 2-3 times its size. It looked belligerent. Next to it was a much larger bug, patting it on the head. To the side, there was what at first looked like a fence. But if one paid attention, one could see that the fence had many eyes, limbs, and mouths, and spears poking from all sides. In front of that fence was another small bug, in a cloak. Uncolored, for now. The Knight never figured how to make ink red. This one was the best of the tiny drawings the bug made yet. It was getting better. And yet…

Strange little bug… So small, yet so fierce… Did I fail you too, somehow?

It came to Knight in its dreams. Many images of places it had not seen before. From the dream of climbing from the bottomless pit, many others… The buzzling sound, the pale figure… And a mission. A mission worthy of a true Knight. And with it, a heavy feeling, one that the bug could not explain. Like a shard jammed deep, impossible to pull out. But… what was it? Whenever it tried to focus, it vanished, like morning fog. Staring blankly at the picture, the creature carefully brushed the tip of its finger against the image it just created. Carefully removing a tiny smudge that only it could see or consider significant.

Splash.

A sudden sound distracted the Knight, making it lift its head from the paper, and look towards the lake. Was there someone? Another splash. As though an oar was hitting the water glade. Its perfect surface was slightly disturbed, circles traveling over the water. Who'd dare ruin such tranquility. Alarmed and slightly annoyed, the Knight reached out to take the nail, still in scabbards. A few moments later, there were steps.

"Manama tut'churo namen~"

A greeting, followed by a slight cough, and the sounds of sand crackling under one's foot. Soon, a silhouette appeared, of an average bug, with an oar on its shoulder. The only peculiar thing about it was a strange hat, that looked like a mask, worn over the top. It had both a face and a mask. The Knight had never seen such before.

"Ah, ah, no need for nails, fellow traveler. I am merely a ferrybug. Quirrel is my name. I saw a fire on this side of the lake and thought someone needed crossing to the other side… Though, you do not look in a hurry. Mind if I join you?"

The tall bug tilted its head to the side. A stranger, yet so … friendly? Company would be nice… - a small, almost childlike voice spoke inside of its head. Not willing to resist its persuasion, it nodded towards the fire, as if offering to sit closer. Without much hesitation, the other bug approached, and rested its oar on the ground. Reaching his hands towards the flames.

"So good to feel a fire warm up your shell after a long day. What is your name, friend?"

Once more, the Knight shifted, as if wanting to speak, but no sounds escaped its mask. It stopped, and brushed its fingers against its surface, as if trying to convey something. Quirrel nodded, seeing that motion.

"You cannot speak? What a pity… But then again, the ruins of this old kingdom often produce silent ones. I do not mind, one of your kind was the best company I had. Though… not quite as large."

Humming in content, the bug pulled out a small bag. In it, were the chopped remains of some tiny critters, too small and too feral to possess a mind. They were both food and currency in these parts. Pinning a couple of them on a stick, Quirrel put them over the fire. Before turning attention to the silent bug on the other side of the fire.

"You have a look of an adventurer about you. I too was an adventurer, once. Coming from faraway lands, answering a strange call, and distant memories of… this place. I spent so much time here, yet still, cannot piece them together."

The Knight watched, silently. Though the bug could not express itself with words, its eyes remained fixated on the unlikely companion. Gleaming in the light of the flame, with interest. Wanting to know more of the faraway lands… and of the memories lost. Is he like me? – it wondered. Quirrel noticed the interest. Tipping its cracked mask as if it were a hat, between fingers.

"I wandered these caverns, until I found this place. This beautiful lake. So peaceful, yet so graceful. And so cold at times. I fell in love with it the moment I saw its glade, I could no longer leave. I became a ferryman here, to help other bugs across. There are not many, though. Most of them have the same look you do. Haunted and lost. Their minds shattered by the yellow plague. So hard to piece together, I'd imagine."

Yellow… plague?

The Knight gave Quirrel a puzzled look. The yellow plague? There were mentions of it in Dirtmouth too. A moment later, it looked down. The bug could not remember. Whenever it tried, all imagery was flooded with a bright, yellow light. Sealing away everything that came before. A rumble came from the Knight's chest, an angry one. Quirrel looked at him, and nodded, understanding. He took a bite from his grilled food on a stick, a small crunch escaping it. A pleasant scent, it reminded the tall bug of Iselda's place. It had a … calming presence.

"Ah… my bad, my bad. Parshaara…" – the ferrybug apologized. "I meant to ask… what brought you to this lake? Did you, like I, felt its pull? Or are you simply looking to cross? Or is it… something else?"

The Knight remained silent, for a little while. Then, it reached for the paper it worked on. Bringing it over, and showing it to Quirrel. Pointing at the two figures with a finger, and a big question mark.

"I vaguely recognize the village. Is it Dirtmouth? It's been so long, I hardly remember the place. I do not remember the two you are looking for. But I remember this one."

He pointed at the petite bug with a cloak and a needle.

"She attacked me when I first came to this land. Thought me for a grave robber or something. So fierce… And yet… I felt a great sadness behind the aggression. Protecting the graveyard of what she once knew."

What she once knew… - the words echoed inside of the Knight's head. Put things into a perspective.

"But… there might be folks that do know. West of here and a bit below lies another village. Fierce warriors live there – neither beast nor bug of poor wits is allowed passage. I would not recommend going there, friend. Not with your… ah… injury."

Quirrel did notice the bandages. And the fact that the Knight had only one arm. The tall bug would have frowned, it could, reaching for the shoulder with one hand, and covering it with the cloak. Taking back the picture it drew, and placing it into the bandages. Close to the heart. Quirrel saw that, and nodded.

"Ah… I see. You are brave indeed, strange one. I doubt my words will deter you. Who are they to you, I wonder..."

The Knight lowered its head, when asked that, its hand clenching around the scabbard of its nail, shaking a little. A single word came to mind.

Family…