Hello, world. Here's the next chapter, just as promised over in Tales of Moonlight. I was sure this would be out a month or so earlier, but then summer classes happened. And now it's Camp NaNo again, I'm almost a third through, and I am basically a zombie at this point. See, I did this thing where I thought it would be a grand ol' time to do a 24-hour writing marathon. Oh yes, I did it - I even got one of my writer buddies to join in the madness. Made my 24k goal with a little time to spare, got pizza, it was great. That was two days ago. I'm still exhausted because now my body has apparently decided that it's going to be tired forever but doesn't want to sleep. Hence, if you notice anything really weird in the last section of the chapter, I apologize, just let me know and I'll fix it immediately. I'm not the most coherent human right now...

On a more positive note, thank you so much to joycelyn. o. ting for reviewing the previous chapter. Made my night when I saw it :)

Chapter 22

Mira's solitude on Stornmess Head serves her well. She finds an old, overgrown cabin hidden against the side of the mountain, and with a bit of cleaning and repairing it's a cozy home. She keeps her journal well, until the words on a page become more real to her than her own voice. Mira is truly alone, and it slowly begins to ease the constant ache in her heart.

The months pass slowly at first, but as the third slips by the rest start to go by a little easier. Sometimes, Mira catches herself looking out north, even though she can't really see Cair Paravel from here. Her cabin is done after that third month, and from there she loses track of time. Her days are the same with very little variation. In the morning, she wakes up well after the sun and sets out to gather berries and nuts. A portion of her gatherings is her breakfast. Her afternoons are full of practicing her aim, both with the bow and with a dagger. The daily practice does wonders for her, and soon she's in the best shape she's been in her entire life.

Sometimes, her practice is interrupted by passers-by, most of whom don't even discover her. But every once in a while, they venture a little too close for her liking and she takes it upon herself to ensure they don't venture so far again. Mira makes sure she never hurts any of them, but she's certainly not above giving them a little scare. She's brought that white-grey cloak for just such occasions, and a few well-timed flashes as she darts soundlessly between the trees are generally enough to frighten any curious folk away. One time, they try to speak to her, and that's when she has to let out a chilling scream. That does the trick, and they never return.

Nighttime is the hardest part of the day. Nighttime is when she thinks of Leila the most. Leila was supposed to go to art school, and she and Mira were supposed to stay the best of friends forever, even through those first years after college when they were both sure to be on a ramen-only budget. They were supposed to commiserate about college papers and cry about their break-ups and have their first cocktails together when they turned twenty-one. There were so many things they were meant to do, and now all of that has been ripped away. It's a wound that doesn't heal so easily, not even as three months double and double again. Mira still cries some nights, but more often she simply sits outside and stares at the moon through the trees.

Tonight, that is exactly what she's doing. The moon is almost full now, and tomorrow it will be. The moon is how Mira takes a guess at how much time has passed. Today, she chased off a relatively determined crew of Archenland hunters. They were a curious lot, and it took more than one well-timed otherworldly screech to drive them away. She'd considered firing an arrow at them, but then they would know she wasn't a specter and moreover they might take it as an attack. But so help her, Mira considered it for more than a few seconds.

Leila would have been amused, if she were here.

Mira tries to shake away the memory of her friend struggling for her life in favor of happier thoughts. Leila always did have a fondness for remembering the good times. She does try, she really does.

But tonight, Mira isn't really in the mood for happy memories.

Her friend is gone, gone without any hope of coming back, and thinking of happier times won't change that. Tonight, Mira is just a little too tired and a little too heartsick to think of all the fun she used to have. A year's solitude can't take away all the ache.

That night passes slowly, inch by inch, and Mira's mood doesn't improve in the slightest. Even when the sun starts to peek through the trees again, she's still as sour and sick as before. She dearly hopes no one has the poor judgment to go exploring around Stormness Head today – she doesn't have the patience to be subtle in chasing them away.

Usually Mira gets at least a few hours of sleep, but tonight was just one of those nights that she couldn't. Leila's sleeping enough for the both of them, anyway.

That thought sends a very unpleasant shiver down Mira's spine as she sets out for her morning berry picking. Today is not going to be one of her better days.

Of course, it's her rotten luck that dictates someone is coming along just as she's pocketing her breakfast. It's a good thing she brings that cloak with her everywhere, but even so she's more annoyed than usual at the intrusion. Some genius just had to pick this particular morning to stumble upon her home, didn't they?

With an inward sigh, Mira pulls on the cloak and readies herself. A snap sounds much closer than she was prepared for, and on instinct Mira whips out her bow and spins to face the bushes on her left. Her eyes blaze out from behind her hood as she searches for the roamer who made the noise. Another snapping twig echoes through the woods, almost snapping Mira's patience along with it. If they would just step through the thicket, she could start her theatrics designed to frighten them off and get on with her morning.

She bites her lip on a grunt of impatience and waits tensely for the intruder to show themselves. Her bow is still drawn and ready, but she's just frustrated and gloomy enough that she doesn't quite care, especially not this early in the morning. The sun only finished rising perhaps an hour ago, and Mira usually gets up a good few hours after the glowing orb takes its place in the sky for the day. It's too early for this.

The branches rustle, and a body starts to come through. It looks just the tiniest bit familiar…

Before Miranda has time to puzzle over that, the face emerges and she rushes to pull her hood further over her face even as she draws her arrow back tighter without really needing to.

"Mira?"

What in the name of Aslan is he doing here? He's supposed to be at Cair Paravel, he…how is he here?

Mira feels her gaze sliding to meet his before she can stop herself, and then their eyes are connecting and her breath is catching and she can barely hear anything above the pounding of her heart.

He stares at her like he's seeing a ghost, and indeed that's what she has fashioned herself to look like – a ghost. A ghost who still hasn't lowered her bow. He doesn't blink even with her arrow trained right between his eyes. Since saying her name, he hasn't even opened his mouth.

"What are you doing here?" Mira finally chokes out, her voice rough with disuse. Why can't she put down her bow?

"I could ask you the same." His reply comes out sharp and hurt, and it takes her aback. First he was so shocked to see her he couldn't even blink, and now he's angry with her.

"Ask all you like, Caspian," she answers with bitterness dancing across her tongue. "I don't have to answer you."

Now it's his turn to be taken aback, and he seems to notice for the first time that she still has an arrow aimed at his head. He steps closer steadily, and Mira's heart races even faster than before. Before she knows what to do, he's walked right up to her and started to push her bow to the side.

It's the wrong thing to do.

She spins away quicker than anything and draws her knife before he's moved her bow an inch. She drops it anyway, and only once she's gripping her dagger with white knuckles does she realize what she's done. Caspian's angry, she's frightened, and she just treated him like a threat. It sits the wrong way in her gut, but there's no taking it back now. The only thing she can do is stay firm and try to look strong. He does need to leave, but she wishes it didn't have to be such an explosive sort of meeting.

She barely notices that her hood has fallen from her head. She's too busy eyeing him like a cornered deer, though she really doesn't mean to. It just happens, in the same way she drew her arrow on him and her knife after that. She just couldn't help it. No one's been so close to her in over a year.

"Mira…" Now the anger in Caspian's voice has been replaced by hurt, but he doesn't try to approach her again. He looks like there's something else he wants to say, but at the last moment he changes his mind.

"Where have you been?" he asks her, softly this time.

Lion, she missed him.

"Here," she answers, still attempting to calm herself down enough that she can stop pulling out weapons whenever he moves wrong.

"When did you…how…what happened?" he finally says. It makes her heart twist to see how he tries to be gentle with her, even though she can see the flash of anger still in his eyes. She knew he might be angry with her for leaving so suddenly, but this is more than she expected.

"I went home for a little while," she says. "And then I came back. Didn't Suncloud fill you in?"

This is nothing near the explanation he wants, she knows, but how is she supposed to tell him everything that's happened? She had a hard enough time opening up to him in bits when they were first forging their friendship - how can she do it again, when there is so much more weighing her down?

"Mira, I thought you were…" Caspian swallows hard, and she can't tell if he's unsure of his words or if he's just having that hard of a time keeping himself under control.

"I had every reason to think you were dead," he finishes, eyes flashing with that buried ire once again.

She doesn't know what to say to that, even when she recalls that she never managed to tell him that she'd already died in her world before she left. A part of her thought Aslan might tell him, but it sounds like he didn't. He had said no one is told any story but their own, after all. Suncloud must've filled him in the he arrived, but perhaps a year with no contact and nothing left behind but another letter was worse than she thought.

"I'm sorry," is all Mira can think to say, and she knows without even meeting Caspian's gaze that it's not enough. He deserves more of an explanation, she knows he does, but she can't. She's grown used to her solitude, and she doesn't know how to handle other people anymore, not unless frightening them away counts.

"What brings you here, anyway?" she blurts out. Better to discuss that than all the other things she knows she can't talk about.

"I was on my way to Archenland, and when I heard about the so-called spirit haunting Stormness Head that looked so like you…" Caspian trails off and never stops looking at her. His gaze is starting to make her self-conscious, even though she closed herself off to those sorts of feelings long ago. Some rat must have seen something, and the report must have made its way back to him.

"You shouldn't have come here, Caspian," she answers with ice in her voice. "I frighten everyone away for a reason."

"What is it?" he shouts, his control finally snapping. "What is your reason, Mira? Why have you hidden out here for well over a year? Why did you leave before I could even see if you were alive?"

Caspian strides toward her with thundering steps and hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. It's pure instinct that has Mira trying to scamper out of reach, but this time he's expecting it and she can't quite dance away fast enough. His hands close around her upper arms in a grip close to bruising and he shakes her, hard enough that her teeth rattle.

"Why, Mira?!" he yells again. His anger is not so well buried now.

"Caspian," she murmurs, her voice suddenly small and not so harsh as before. "Let me go."

Either he doesn't hear her, or he's blatantly ignoring her. Regardless, Mira struggles to free herself. She's dropped that knife, and now she'll have to gather her things, abandon her breakfast, and hope he doesn't follow her back to her home. She'd like very much to think he wouldn't do that, but she's not sure of him right now. She hasn't seen this side of Caspian before.

"You're frightening me," she tries again, still missing that stony edge to her voice that usually works so well.

This resonates – Caspian eases his grip quickly and an apology shines in his eyes next to the residual anger. As soon as she can, Mira slips out of his reach and stands with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at him without being sure if she's still afraid or if she's simply doing what she does best – pushing away.

"You should go," she says. The words weigh on her heart, and she doesn't know why. But he has to go, because she still has a lot of healing to do and she can't do that if she's not alone and free to figure it out at her own pace. She's not ready for human company yet.

Caspian doesn't acknowledge this. It's as if all the fight and fury went out of him the moment she told him he was frightening her. He stands there looking a little lost and a lot sad, and before she left Narnia she'd have done anything she could think of to set him at ease. But now…now she knows this could work in her favor, that if she words everything right she can secure her solitude for years more. Guiltily, she finds that she's considering exactly that.

She chooses to send him away, and she hates it as soon as she decides it without really knowing why.

"Just go, Caspian," Mira whispers. "I like being alone."

He turns as if he's stuck in molasses. Mira despises what she's doing more and more by the second, but she can't stop herself, can't pull back from this in time.

"Those stories you heard were true. I'm only a spirit," she tells him softly, waiting for him to walk away.

Caspian shakes his head like he's trying to shake away her words even as they fall on his ears.

"I'm nothing more than a ghost."

With those words, Miranda starts to glide back into the trees, and the months of practice ensure that she slips away soundlessly. If Caspian hadn't shaken her with his own two hands, she thinks he'd have no trouble believing her words. He stands with his back to her now, his hands running through his hair. He's trying to make sense of this, but by the time he does she'll be gone from sight. Things will go back to what they were, and perhaps in time he'll think she really was a ghost.

She doesn't want that, not really, but what choice does she have? After all that's happened, she knows her heart is nothing near ready for even simple friendship. She needs this time of solitude to work it all out, to accept it. And then perhaps she'll move to some village somewhere, when she's ready to stop chasing everyone away from her, but perhaps that day won't come. In her mind either one is just fine, but Mira knows that for Caspian, perhaps not.

By the time he spins around, she's melted away from his sight. Caspian spins round a few times, and a few times again, but now she's taken off that white cloak and her brown clothes blend into the trees just so very well. Something sours in her stomach as Mira watches him search for her, as she sees the doubt start to take hold of him. His brow furrows ever deeper as he darts from tree to tree, searching for her. After the first few trees, he starts sprinting, as if he's frantic to prove to himself he didn't imagine the whole thing.

And though her skin prickles painfully at what she's putting him through, Mira slips farther and farther away, silent as the specter she's pretending to be. It's the work of mere minutes to get far enough away that she can start running. And run she does, faster and faster with no mind for the pine needles scratching her face. Lion, she doesn't want to run from him. But her legs won't stop.

Her chest squeezes in some strange mixture of relief and despair once her cabin comes into sight. Mountain laurels have been growing ever thicker around it, hiding it from all but the most careful of eyes. Mira stumbles through the path she's worn in the bushes, her heart somehow in her throat and yet in her toes. He should've have come, she wasn't ready...but how could she have left him there like that? Yet she knows it was for the best, so why are her insides still knotting up at the echo of his voice long behind her, calling for the specter he will soon believe she was?

Mira shakes her head until her hair whips across her face and curls up on her cabin floor. The packed dirt, usually comforting simply because it's hers, suddenly feels too hard beneath her legs. If she listens hard enough, she can still hear Caspian crying out her name. She was cruel to leave him so.

For a moment, she wonders to go back, at least to make the screaming of her name stop. But no, it would be even worse to reappear only to leave once again. What better parting words can she offer him? She made her goodbyes in her letter, and to say it again, now, seems a mockery, even more cruel than her current method. It seems like a taunt.

So Mira stays there, legs against her chest and arms wrapped as far as they'll go around her knees. Part of her begins to wish she'd never come back, that she she'd just stayed in her world where she clearly belongs. She didn't hurt anyone there, except the one person who deserved it. And besides, she'd be closer to Leila there, though the funeral would've been a rough ordeal. Yes, staying there would have been for the best.

No sooner have her lips formed around the words, a distant roar echoes in her mind. Mira trembles at the sound and hugs her legs tighter, but she understands. She's here because she asked to be, because Aslan saw fit to save her yet again by bringing her here.

Mira wishes she could be grateful, but she can't right now. She can't.

Eventually Caspian stops calling for her. He might even stop searching, might finally believe that it was the work of worry and imagination and wishful thinking. Mira doesn't go outside to check, but she feels safe enough to get up from the floor. Her stomach rumbles as soon as she's upright, and she jumps from the sound. Idly, Mira glances around her home and finds some of the vegetable stew from last night. She finds mushed berries in her pocket, warm and forgotten like her bow and arrow.

Oh.

Caspian will know she's no ghost once he finds that bow. He'll know she must be close by. Perhaps that's why he's stopped calling for her. Oh Lion, is he searching already? Are the laurel high enough, wide enough to keep her hidden?

Mira shivers and wraps her arms around her middle. The thought of being found again both terrifies and relieves her, a strange mix that leaves her pacing lightheaded and indecisive. Should she stay here and wait to see if she's as hidden as she thinks? Should she leave, ensure she's never found again? Should she seek him out and find better words to say? Does she even have better words?

She ends up pacing from end to end of her little home, more undecided with every step. What's the use in hiding and running if he knows she's real? What's the use in staying away when he was so worried and hurt? Mira was so sure this little self-imposed exile was the answer to everything, but seeing Caspian in pain before her shakes that notion and introduces pangs of guilt she hasn't felt in months. She's had a year. Isn't that enough? Is it?

Mira's stomach twists uncomfortably, and she's not sure if it's hunger or the whole situation making her sick to her stomach. Caspian may not be yelling for her anymore, but his cries echo in her mind as if he still was. The memory makes her want to run out the door, but she can't say whether she wants to run to a new exile or into his arms to apologize for everything. Mira's quite sure she shouldn't be considering running back to him at all, but...she's missed him. Oh, but she can't afford to, can she?

Can she? Can he?

By nightfall, Mira still doesn't know, and her legs ache from pacing.

Nightfall brings a knock to her door. Mira lurches away from the door, her stomach swirling with sourness again. Has he been looking all this time? How could he see this place? Why couldn't the mountain laurel keep her hidden? She hates those plants right now.

Another knock, this time harder than the last. The door rattles on its hinges, and Mira realizes she never did fix them. They needed some sort of repair, but she couldn't figure out just what. She has no skill for making new hinges, for Lion's sake.

A third knock. Mira wants to shrink away, but her feet carry her to the door. Almost against her will but not quite, Mira's eye is peering through that little crack, moisture gathering at the corners when she forgets to blink. What she sees gives her the smallest of comforts, though her heart still pounds in her throat. It's not Caspian. Caspian doesn't have the body of a horse.

Suncloud.

Mira finds that her fingers wrap around the handle and pull the door open before she's actually made up her mind what to do. Her dearest Narnian friend stares back at her, much like Caspian first looked at her in the woods earlier today. Like she's a ghost.

For a long while, neither of them says anything. Mira's mouth is far too dry in any case, and Suncloud looks just as lost as she feels. But in the end, he's the one to break the silence.

"A letter again, Mira?"

She swallows, wrapping her arms around her middle as if she can hide from what she did. She feels so small now, and she's only just been learning how to feel like a Someone again.

"You would've stopped me," Mira whispers. "I needed this."

Suncloud looks away, staring at the ground as if he'd much rather stare at half-dead leaves than her. Mira doesn't blame him, but it still stings. The centaur raises his eyes again after a long while of silence and neither of them knowing what to do.

"How are you?"

Mira blinks up at him, scrunching her eyebrows. The question takes a moment, several, to sink in. But she doesn't know the answer. Perhaps she did earlier this morning, or even last night. Now, she doesn't know again and this is exactly why she left. To try to avoid feeling small and sorry and lost all the time.

"I've been better," she answers at last, and now it's her turn to look away. "I needed this," she says again. Maybe if she says it enough, he'll believe her and she can be left alone again. Right now, Mira doesn't want to be around anyone for a good long while. Another year, two at least.

Suncloud shifts on his hooves, and that lost look comes back to him. Mira understands that look, because it's exactly how she feels right now. She hates knowing she caused this look on him. At least while she's been alone, far away from Suncloud and…and Caspian, she's been able to forget what she's put them through, pretend that it didn't really matter because they couldn't care that much.

Mira is sure he'll say something else to make her feel small, not intentionally but it'll happen just the same. She's bracing for it, that inevitable knife he's going to slip through her ribs with all the ease of obliviousness. So when the knife doesn't come, she's left blinking like a fool again, addlepated and unsure.

"Good," Suncloud says, though there's pain lingering in his voice. "That's good."

Mira has no answer to that. She's still bracing for something, for words that will remind her of how deeply she's driven a knife between them. She waits, with a resignation akin to patience. Minutes that could be years pass, and nothing more comes. Frowning, Mira loosens her arms just a little.

"Spend an hour with us."

Ah, there. Mira's mouth goes dry again and she wants to hide away more than ever. To his credit, Suncloud looks shocked by the request, almost looking as though he wants to take it back.

Then he seems to make up his mind, straightening his back and loosening the furrow of his brow. "He just wants to see that you're well. For himself."

Mira tries to swallow, but her throat feels like sandpaper. Her arms tremble just the slightest bit, going back to their death grip around her torso. She can't see him, doesn't want to see him. How can they ask this of her?

"Didn't he see enough in the forest?" Mira wants to take back the quiet hostility in her voice, wants to stop staring at Suncloud as if she's calculating his strength against hers – as if he's suddenly become an enemy. So why does he still feel like one?

Suncloud lets out a dry chuckle, a dark sort of amusement that isn't really amusement at all. "So that was real. He was unsure at first."

Bitter guilt returns, but Mira is painfully aware that the vulnerability does not show on her face. Her body remains set in stone, stiff and unwelcoming. But inside, her mind trembles, her insides feel sick and sloshed, and there's a horrid taste in her mouth. She wants very much to tell the centaur before her to go away, go away and never return. Then she wants to leave at once, covering her tracks so well that no one will ever be able to find her again. She thinks of Calormen for a moment, wondering how well she could survive in the harsh deserts of the south, lost to the sand dunes behind the borders of a country more often hostile to Narnia than not.

Yet, she can't.

Mira looks at Suncloud, stares into his eyes as if she's staring right through them to see all his intentions and wishes laid bare. In some strange sense, she feels as if that's precisely what she's doing. She sees fear, betrayal, hurt. Longing. Hope. It's the last that breaks her, chases away her visions of shifting sand and isolation in Calormen with only sand lizards and cobras for company.

"All right," Mira finds herself whispering. "One hour. No more."

Okay, is anyone else kind of excited for her next run-in with Caspian? Or is it just me, half-mad with caffeine and pizza?

If you've got a sec to leave your thoughts, I always love hearing from you :)