She walks onwards.
She doesn’t know why or what she is looking for but still she goes deeper, padding barefoot over the soft-moss carpet in the moonlight. The air is cold and moist and strange but she doesn’t feel it: now she feels nothing but the gentle, overwhelming force pushing her further through the forest.
For three nights she has walked like this; three nights she has abandoned her home and her safe, familiar bed to walk and search in the darkness. And in those three nights she has been filled with the dark shadow of fear, the honey-suckle sweetness of desire and the empty longing of promise only to return to the hollow realities of daylight in the morning. She has all but forsaken her responsibilities; her family, her work seem grey and insignificant now. She has been caught in the languid tendrils of the night and she cannot forget the longing that overtakes her after sundown.
So she waits. Exhausted and distracted from her nocturnal wanderings she barely functions through her daily chores and she longs for the moment she slips under the sheets beside her husband who snores ignorant and indifferent beside her. Outside, night sits dark and heavy and she watches, wide awake, the slither of light seeping in through the edges of the curtains; soon, she knows, the feeling will come.
And it does. She leaves the bedroom and closes the front door behind her. As she walks
down the street the rows of identical houses dissolve around her; they become trees and ferns that brush her ankles with their dewy, dark-purple fronds. And for three nights she has been driven forward like this with her heart leaping in dread and anticipation; for three nights she has abandoned her search at the moment the first hint of light showed behind her shoulder in the east and called for her to return. But tonight — the forth night — the light is to the west.
Filled, consumed and ecstatic, she walks onwards . . .