Pascal finally reached the bottom of the mountain, his small body trembling as he leaned on the rocky base for support. His lips parted in a faint smile despite the pain.
"I'm almost there…" he whispered to himself.
But then, two faint glimmers appeared in the undergrowth behind him.
The boy froze. A chill crawled up his spine. Slowly, he turned his head toward the forest. The shrubs swayed gently in the wind, leaves rustling, but there was nothing there. Nothing but shadows.
He bit down nervously on his lip, convincing himself it was nothing, and reached forward to climb.
It was madness. A child, injured and frail, trying to ascend a mountain was no different than begging for death. Yet grief and innocence pushed him on. Pascal was still too young to understand the depth of loss, too young to know that some wishes could never be answered.
Just as his small hand gripped a jutting rock for leverage, the bushes behind him burst apart.
