Chapter Text
Mountain always felt like part of him was dying in the winter. His magic couldn’t stop the way of the world, and he was forced to watch in silent terror as the flowers died and leaves wilted. Even the evergreen trees seemed sad, boughs weighed down under piles of snow. His heart ached for them all.
He couldn’t even keep his window open anymore, subzero gusts and snow meaning it had to be closed tight or risk killing all the plants in his room. He felt like he was slowly suffocating.
He started to eat less, sleep less. He would spend countless hours staring at the plants in his bedroom, or hiding out in the greenhouse where the humid air almost convinced his brain that everything was fine. And the others definitely noticed.
Suddenly they were bringing him food and tea much more often than normal, dragging him down onto the couch for cuddles and more. Someone had clearly told Primo as well, because almost every day like clockwork the old man would appear to show Mountain something in a book or ask a question about a plant.
And Mountain tried his best, he really did. He wanted so desperately to feel whole again. He appreciated the gestures of kindness from his ghouls and the distractions from Primo. Tried to eat the food they brought him and listen to Primo without getting distracted.
But every time he looked outside it was like someone was tightening a rope around his heart. He didn’t understand why he felt like this. The world was beautiful in winter, and there was plenty still alive in the forest. The greenhouse still needed tending to. But he just felt so… empty.
He knew it was getting bad when he caught a look at himself in the mirror. He tried to avoid the mirrors during winter, knowing that the dead plants, hibernating animals and frosted earth took a toll on his appearance. He didn’t know if it had ever been this bad.
His normally bright green eyes were dulled, faded. They looked almost lifeless. He had always been tall and thin, but there was a gauntness in his face now. His collarbones looked like they were about to pierce through his skin. There was nothing growing in his hair, no flowers or mushrooms or vines curling around his horns. He stared until he no longer recognized himself and went back to bed.
Things will be better when spring arrives.
That was his mantra. It’s what he told himself every day, and every time one of his beloved ghouls came worrying. It was getting harder not to snap at them now.
And then, spring came.
Mountain woke up one morning to a clear blue sky and wasn’t sure how the days had turned like this without his noticing. He realized with a start that he couldn’t remember much of the past week at all. It was like the blue sky cut through a haze.
He stood, moving to the window. Just from here he could see bluebells and snowdrops. When had they grown?
What day was it?
His feet carried him outside, onto soft grass. He walked until he was standing in the middle of the gardens. There were tulips. Pink and white and yellow, they were beautiful. Little daisies were growing up through the grass. He breathed in the fresh air and tilted his head back to stare at the blue sky.
He stood for a long time. Taking in the smells, the colours. Waiting for the heavy feeling in his heart to dissipate.
It didn’t.
He spent the whole day out there, walking in circles, to the orchard and back, round the greenhouses, past the tulips until he was sick of looking at them. Eventually the sky darkened and Mountain found himself sitting, knees to his chest and bare feet buried in the grass. He stared into nothingness as his mind raced. What is wrong with me?
Suddenly there was so much to do. Seeds needed sowing, new fruit trees were due to be planted. The greenhouses needed almost constant attention as all the different plants came out of winter dormancy. Normally he’d be so excited for all of this, but this year he just couldn’t bring himself to care. On top of all of that, rehearsals had started again. Copia wanted a summer tour. All the other ghouls seemed so excited, chatting about new cities and adoring fans.
They seemed to be floating, high on the excitement and adrenaline that came with preparing for a new tour. Mountain felt like he was being crushed under the weight of it all. He was trying so hard. He kept going, sitting in silence behind his drums and trying not to notice the worried glances Cirrus and Cumulus shared over his head. All of his focus went to trying to get through each day, doing what everyone needed him to do. He went to bed earlier every night, and ignored the hair that fell out and covered his pillows in the morning.
The weather turned nicer with each passing day. One morning, Sunshine burst into his room in a whirlwind of excitement, shouting something about fawns in the forest. He stared at her from the bed and tried to work out if this was something he should also be excited about, but only felt a stab of guilt when her excitement was replaced with a look of worry.
“Don’t you want to come and see them?” she had asked, and he hadn’t had an answer for her.
One of the plants in his room was dead. He couldn’t remember what it had been. Just that he probably should feel something other than numb emptiness as he dumped the withered leaves into the garbage.
Primo had stopped coming to see him. Mountain wasn’t sure if it was because he was fed up trying to talk to a ghoul with as much to converse about as a brick wall, or if he was just inundated with all the spring garden work. Possibly both. Mountain hadn’t been in the greenhouse for a week. He thought the guilt would eat him alive. This had never happened before, where the winter sadness hadn’t been lifted by the coming of spring. He didn’t know what to do.
He forced himself out the next day, weak legs carrying him across the grass to an open greenhouse. He tried to feel anything other than empty as Primo’s face lit up, the old man suddenly animated. He looked around, trying to take in the smell of damp earth and fresh leaves. Trying to find the magic he knew should be singing just from being in the vicinity of the plants. It wasn’t there. He managed to stay for half an hour before the unbearable weight forced him to abandon Primo. He shut his bedroom window, turned off the lights, locked the door and crawled under the covers. The exhaustion had already sent him to sleep by the time Primo knocked softly at the door.
When he woke up it was late. The moon shone in, covering his room in shades of grey. He stumbled to the window, staring out with dull eyes. The grounds of the abbey looked so peaceful. Still and quiet. He looked at the ground for a while, watching a fox slink through the grass. He followed it with his eyes as it ran back to the forest, disappearing into the trees. His gaze kept travelling, up and over the treeline to the mountains in the distance.
His heart jumped as he looked at them and he frowned, rubbing his chest. There was a strange feeling under his sternum, curled around his ribs. A tugging. It was strange to be feeling anything at all. It only increased the longer he stared at the mountains, far off in the distance. It would take about a couple of days to walk there, maybe three if he slept.
Where did that come from? Why would I walk over there?
Mountain growled softly as the feeling got more insistent. He forced himself away from the window, buried his head under blankets. He lay there with his chest pounding until morning came and sounds in the corridor told him his ghouls were awake.
The feeling persisted all day. Through rehearsals, through dinner where he picked at bits of food and barely put any of it in his mouth. Then all of a sudden it was dark and he was standing at his window again, hands braced on the ledge and forehead pressed against the glass. His breath fogged it up as he stared into the distance. He would need water bottles; he could steal them from the fridge in the kitchen. Foraging would be easy for food, he knew what mushrooms and berries to eat. For extra warmth he should take – Stop it!
The next day was awful. He kept mishearing things and forgetting to answer people out loud. Copia gently asked him to please try and keep time during rehearsals, they were all relying on him to hold the band together. He dropped his sticks on the floor and walked out of the rehearsal room, deaf to the worried shouts behind him.
Cirrus caught up with him, Dew not far behind. They clung onto his arms. They were speaking to him, asking him something. He looked at them blankly. It’s like they weren’t even speaking a language he understood. He shook them off.
Copia was at the door. He was glad now that he’d locked it. The man was pleading with him, apologizing. Why was he apologizing? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Asking a drummer to keep in time wasn’t a big request. It was the whole job. Mountain didn’t know why he couldn’t do it all of a sudden. Copia left after half an hour.
There was a backpack on his bed. He didn’t know where it came from, or who it belonged to. He supposed it didn’t matter. There were already water bottles in it, and a thick sweater for the cool nights.
Cumulus was on the other side of his door. She was crying. He knew he should comfort her, to find out what was wrong. But every time he tried to take a step towards the door it was like he was frozen in place, constantly being turned back to the window. To the mountains. He thought he might burst if the insistent tugging under his sternum got any worse.
He went that night. The bag slung over his shoulders, a note in his hand. His eyes were stinging. He left it on the dinner table with his phone. Easier for them to know they couldn’t contact him than waste their energy trying.
The earth ghoul slipped out, noticed by nobody. Soft steps carried him across the grass, past the tulips. The forest swallowed him whole.