The moss is soft under my hands, the beam slippery under my feet as I start to push myself up. This is not going to be a simple climb.

I glance at my treasure one more time to make sure she is staying where I put her. I need her to stay away, out of danger and within sight. Reassured when I see her standing where I left her, safe, I turn away to focus on my climb.

I must reach the red, glittering plant at the top. It will cure my treasure of the epis withdrawal that I know she is feeling. Make her feel better. Over the last few days, I've watched as she has continued to grow paler and paler. I’ve noted often the tremor in her hand as she lifts the water to her mouth.

The epis is killing her. Epis. The cause of all suffering and evil on Tajss.

It is only a matter of time before my treasure succumbs to the effects of no longer having it. I recognize all the signs. I curse the name of whoever fed her that terrible plant.

So I have been searching this place relentlessly while watching her tire, watching the sickness wear her down. Desperation set in as I watched her in pain.

I do not want her to hurt.

I do not want her in pain.

If I do not get this plant to help her . . . she will die.

And that I cannot bear.

I look up to see the ruby leaves still some distance away. I do not know how I know the plant will help her. That memory is somewhere I cannot reach, shrouded in a fog I cannot penetrate. A fog that is starting to thin, but that is still not gone. Not completely.

I just know that the plant will help.

Frustration gnaws at me every time I try to look deeper, to look past that barrier in my own mind. There is much more than that one memory hiding behind the veil.

I am behind it.

There are parts of myself that I cannot remember. But I know I am lucky that this knowledge came to me. That I know that plant will help my treasure.

I must have it.

I will have it.

I focus on my goal above as I feel for firm grips and footholds, difficult to feel through the soft cover of slippery moss. But I forget that the beam is old and most likely decayed in spots, sitting in this roofless room. Stupid not to think of it.

Part of it crumbles under my foot as I try to push up. Gritting my teeth, I slide, digging my fingers into the spongy surface of the moss to try and stop my fall.

"Ryuth!" my treasure cries out.

I slide a little further when I glance over at her, her eyes wide as she watches. She is still where I left her. Good. I do not want her near if the beam collapses.

My heartbeats slow as I finally stop sliding. But I cannot stop climbing. I must keep going.

With a grunt, I right myself from the side of the beam where I've ended up, the ground too far for me to land safely. And not far enough away yet for me to catch myself with my wings. My muscles strain as I continue climbing, my wings partially flared for balance. I inch my way up, more careful now, ensuring that every grip, every step is stable before continuing to climb.

If I am hurt, who will care for my treasure? I need to be strong, healthy.

Another tremor begins. Clamping my mouth shut, I hug the beam as I turn to look at my treasure, hoping she understands now the need to remain quiet when the tremors occur. I know they mean danger. And that we must not make any sound when they occur. But she still forgets sometimes, so I cover her mouth to keep her safe.

I cannot cover her mouth from here. My eyes land on her. She stands still, her hands clenched at her sides. Her lips tight, mouth shut. Not making any sound. I feel myself relax somewhat. She understands. She understands she must be silent.

I swallow as the shaking almost dislodges my grip, but I clench my jaw and dig my nails past the moss to the firmness of the beam underneath, holding on.

I will not fall.

Eventually, the tremor passes. I wait another moment to be sure there will not be another. The ground stays still. I must keep moving. I slide my hand up, searching for another grip . . .

But then the beam shakes so hard under me, that my hand is nearly torn from the moist moss. I cry out in surprise as my body skids off the edge, my painful grip on the beam with my left hand the only thing keeping me up.

My treasure cries out too, but I must concentrate if I am going to make her better. I cannot be distracted. Another beam has hit the bottom of the one I am climbing. The tremor most likely dislodged it just enough for it to fall. But it does not matter how it happened.

My hand is slipping.

Taking a deep breath, I start to swing myself, rotating my body under the beam. I need to be able to reach the other side . . . Three forceful and painful swings later, I manage to latch onto the other side from underneath the beam, squeezing it between my knees as well to give me a more secure grip. I need to make my way back to the other side to climb the rest of the way. Slowly, painstakingly, I shuffle my way up the side. My fingers burn as I clutch at the beam, my arms ache as I struggle to maintain my grip.

Careful . . .

Another handgrip.

Another push . . .

And I am back up to the top of the thick beam. I hear my treasure make an exultant sound and I smile. But I am even happier when I look up. The plant is almost within reach! Letting out a breath, I continue my upward climb, determination gritting my teeth together.

I cannot fail.

I need that plant.

I will not stop until I have it in my hands.

I hear movement to my side and turn my head to stare at the dense canopy of leaves near me. There is a rustling in them, but it stops dead when I stare. The plants themselves are not safe. And something even more dangerous could be hiding in them. I need to hurry so I can take my treasure out of this room, out to somewhere I can more easily defend.

I drag myself up the rest of the way, my muscles burning from the effort. The climb was steep and treacherous, but I’ve finally made it to the rich red leaves I need. The almost-black of the delicate veins that run through their flesh is clear in the bright sunlight, along with the moisture gathered near the base of the stems.

The whole plant sparkles under the light, a treasure in itself. Though not nearly as beautiful and perfect as the one waiting for me on the ground. The one who needs this plant.

With that thought in mind, I reach out and carefully pick it up from its nest of shallow soil, gathered in the divot where the beams meet. The leaves are waxy and thick under my hands. Precious. I have what I need. I turn to my treasure, holding up my prize, proud I have managed to reach it. But then I feel my breath stop in my throat.

She is looking up at me, a smile on her face, her attention completely focused on me. So she does not see the movement behind her.

Thick vines, of a green so dark it’s almost black, slowly slither across the floor towards her, their sinuous movements stealthy and silent.

Hunting their prey.

No.

They cannot have her!

There is no time to climb down.

Growling, I throw my arms wide and leap for her, jumping off the beam at the pinnacle of its height.