UNSURE (A JOURNEY OF THE UNKNOWN)

Lauren never imagined that a day would come when she would walk a path of loneliness, literally. Word had apparently reached Moa's ears about the decision made by the village elders. Despite living far from the village, the death of the Esmonds and Lauren's unusual appearance had not gone unnoticed. Grumbling but resolute, Moa had agreed to shelter Lauren, honoring a promise to the villagers that was tied to her right to remain on village land.

Lauren's thoughts drifted as she moved away from Moshi toward Moa's hut—her new "home." Just calling it that felt strangely painful. She was flooded with so many emotions, and the long journey, alone for the first time, was already weighing on her. The path was sloped and overgrown, branches and leaves scattered everywhere, with no sign of footprints—almost like a deserted place, which, in a way, it was. She had been walking for hours, exhaustion now creeping into her bones. If anyone asked, she'd never believe a place this remote was still part of the village. Moshi was small by population, perhaps, but not by size.

After resting for what felt like thirty minutes, Lauren continued. She finally came to a clearing, and there it was—the lone hut, perched on a hilltop just ahead. She paused to catch her breath; her legs ached terribly, and the sky had turned a stormy gray. What began as a light drizzle quickly became a downpour, drenching her in moments. Mud clung to her feet, weighing her down as she tried to press on, the chill of the rain cutting into her skin.

At last, she reached the hut's door. Suddenly tense, she didn't know what else to do but knock. Knock, knock. No answer. She knocked again, louder this time, and waited. Silence. Lauren shivered, her patience thinning as the cold seeped into her bones. She raised her hand to knock again when, finally, the door creaked open. Standing before her was a woman so tall that her head brushed past the doorframe. Lauren took two cautious steps back, momentarily forgetting her annoyance. She could only stare, wide-eyed, her mouth slightly open.

The woman arched an eyebrow, surveying Lauren with a curious intensity. "And who might you be?" Her voice was smooth, almost dismissive, as if Lauren's presence were an inconvenience.

"You're so beautiful," Lauren blurted out, the words slipping free before she could stop herself. She flushed, suddenly shy, her hand flying to her mouth in embarrassment.

Moa smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement. "That's a given," she replied. "But it doesn't answer my question."

Annoyed at the woman's bluntness, Lauren muttered, "Hag," just loud enough for herself. Clearing her throat, she answered more directly. "Lauren Esmond."

Moa's sharp gaze held Lauren's for a long, unsettling moment, scrutinizing her without a word. She didn't seem to care that Lauren stood there drenched, her clothes dripping onto the floor. Only when Lauren sneezed did Moa break her silence. "Oh, the anomaly," she murmured with a hint of a sneer. "Come in." It was as if Lauren's presence was news to her. Whatever admiration Lauren had felt was washed away, replaced by a flicker of rage.

Inside, the hut was surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the cold outside. Though the house looked small and simple from the outside, inside it was neat and unexpectedly spacious. The ceiling was tightly sealed, and instead of the single room Lauren had imagined, there were three: a sleeping area with two beds, one of which looked recently added, a small common room, and a modest kitchen. Heaven only knew where the restroom was.

Per Moa's instructions, Lauren changed into dry clothes and sat down opposite her at a small table, clutching a cup of steaming herbal tea. They sipped in silence, an unspoken tension hanging in the air, each studying the other.

After a long moment, Moa broke the silence. "I won't ask questions—I don't care. You're ten years old, from what I've been told, and you should be able to take care of yourself. This is my house, and I have rules. If you intend to stay, you will follow them to the last."