She could not remember the last time she had a proper night's sleep. The days are filled by walking and looking after her child, and the nights are filled by keeping watch over her. The conviction she used to have that her baby would die the moment her eyes closed had worn off for the most part, yet no matter how exhausted she was, how heavy every part of her body felt, sleep would not come.

She would sit against the trunk of a tree, a fir or an oak or an aspen. Her child would sleep at her side or in her arms, soft face pressed against fabric, long eyelashes fanning out. At night, the forest was blue. Silhouettes of trees and leaves and bushes were drawn apart from the darkness by thread-thin lines of blue. During nights with a full moon, it was as bright as during the day. She hated those, the white spectre visible from behind her eyelids like a lantern.

All light was too bright, yellowed sun rays always somehow managing to beam right in her face. If they walked between the intertwined canopies of trees, it was a full-on light show.

"Mommy! Mommy!" Her child ran up to her, holding a small bouquet of pink flowers in her chubby fist.

She smiled, soft cheeks crinkling her weathered eyes. "Oh, is it for me?" She said, putting a theatrical inflection in her voice. "Thank youuu!" She took the flowers and kissed her forehead.

They walked through a very pretty meadow, the trees allowing a window to the sky. Her child ran back and forth, never tired, picking flowers and ferns, bringing them to her mother to carry. She was very steady on her feet, but sometimes she would skip around like she was about to tumble, somewhere between a baby deer and a marrionette.

As they entered again into thicker woodland, she, very well-behaved, returned to her mother's side and took hold of her hand. The little thing used to only wrap around two or three fingers, but now her short digits and tiny nails poked from either side of her palm. Her mother squeezed her hand and held it tight, loving her so much her chest stung.

As the sun went down and the yellowed forest turned back into shades of blue, they stopped for a moment so she could look through her large backpack. Without it, her shoulders felt so light they almost flew upwards.

"Mommy, I want something."

"What do you want, sweetheart?"

"Something... yummy."

"What do you want? Spit it out!"

"Somethiiing... sweet."

"Somethiiing... with chocolate?"

Her child giggled like a fox.

She dug through the backpack, in the pockets where she usually put the snacks, but they were empty.

"What the heck?" She thought out loud. "I knew we still had some."

Her child looked down into the backpack too, bumping her mother's forehead.

"No chocolate?" She pouted, greatly disappointed.

"We'll buy some more as soon as we can, sweetie." She said with a smile, but still felt odd about the situation. She knew for a fact she put a bar of chocolate there. She hadn't opened that pocket for a whole day and a whole night. She shook her head.

They walked between towering pines, blocking the light for other plants to grow on the ground. The branches were like saloon doors with needles. Her child walked forward, head down and covering her eyes with her hands, while she guided her from behind, doing her best to dodge being whipped in the face. Her arms and legs could bear it.

A little distance away was a small camp, with what looked like pretty young people, girls and a boy. They had a fire pit and a big box of food, like a treasure chest. The boy waved at them. She didn't like his face. Her child waved back and she only nodded in acknowledgement. They set up their own camp further away from the youth, for safety.

Night fell all at once. Before you realised it, it was pitch-dark, bugs and crickets singing like the scratchy static of a TV channel without signal. She wrapped her child in a soft blanket like a burrito, giggling together all the while. Her kid's favourite part was being rolled around the forest floor.

"There, tucked like a baby!" She said and tapped where her belly would be.

"I am not a baby!" She piped up.

"Babyyy!" She pretended to tickle and her child squeaked. "How old are you?"

"3 years old!"

She gasped. "Goodness, how big you've gotten!"

"How old are you?" She asked back.

"I am 27. Ohhh, I'm so old!"

"You're not old, mommy."

"I'm not?"

"You're a young lady!"

"My, thank you very much!"

She held her coccooned child in her arms, resting her head against her breast.

"Mommy, I want stories." She said, eyes already drifting closed.

"What would you like me to tell you about?"

"About grandma!"

"Ohhhh... She was a mean old lady. She spat everywhere, burped like a pig and got into fights with boys! She was always getting in trouble. I had to run to her and pull her back, tell her to calm down. If someone ticked her off, she would go 'RAAAAAHH-" her child giggled, "-and go crazy on them. Maaan, she was a menace. She wouldn't let anybody mess with her, which was good. But... it was scary too. She would steal and beat other people in the forest for bread and clothes. But we don't have to do that anymore."

Her child yawned, her pressed up cheek making her look like a small baby again.

"When I was little we would dance together and sing all night. I never felt tired and it was a pain for mom to get me to settle down for sleep. I guess that didn't really change."

"Why?"

"I still stay awake for a long time after you go to sleep."

"Go to sleep, mommy." She snuck a hand out of her burrito and touched her cheek, the way she did to her too.

"I will, sweetie." She smiled softly.

Her child fell asleep and she closed her eyes too. Hours passed and her body ached from sitting in one place, she put her child down and changed how she lay, more hours passed, yet it was still night and she was still awake, her temples pulsating from how active her mind was, thinking aimlessly about everything. The forest, the youths, the chocolate, the food they had left, the supplies, her period, her child's future period, her future first love, her future grandchild, her late mother, her big wide smile, her warm hug, her grunts, the forest, the trees - they bounced around her head like flies in a jar. Looking at her kid slowed it down only temporarily, as the fear she would be gone would creep back in and she had to mentally fight it off, keeping her awake for even longer.

When she herself was a child she would whine and even cry, and her mother would tell her to just sleep already, but she just couldn't. Was that when it started?

She closed her eyes and when she opened them a second later it was day, periwinkle light peeking dreamily through the branches above. Her hair was a mess under her head and her child's cheek was stained with drool.

She pushed herself up with a groan, her arms and hands protesting with pain.

"Good morning, mommy!" Her child said.

"Good morning, sweetie..." She smiled.

She opened the backpack and they brushed their teeth. Her kid spat and a minty droplet dangled from her mouth. "Don't be gross." She scolded, earning a giggle.

They ate a tin of sardines in tomato sauce spread on slices of black bread. As she searched for a napkin at the bottom of the backpack, she pulled several things closer to the surface. A roll of toilet paper, a roll of bandages, a knife in a leather sheath her child put a flower sticker on, and... bars of chocolate. Dozens of them.

"We do have chocolate!" Her child smiled from ear to ear.

She blinked, staring at the plastic wrapper in her hand. Her child tugged at it like an impatient kitten. "Hold on." She said, ripping the package open and snapping the bar in half, handing her giddy kid the left side and the right side to herself.

They passed by the youth's camp again, catching sight of them near a small stream. The boy, the young man they waved at the day before, had an awful bruise on his eye and a cloth around his head.

As he washed his hands he looked up and his good eye opened wide. Her child wanted to greet him again, but he scrambled away like a dog, almost running on all fours too.

"Why did he run?" Her child asked.

"I don't know..." She said. "Let's go."

They covered quite a distance. She breathed in deeply, her nostrils filled with cold green air. Birds sang around their heads and her child spotted a rabbit hopping around the bushes. Her delight was infectious and her mother hugged her. She told herself to focus on the beautiful things, the green and wonderful parts of the forest that, though endlessly tiring to walk through, still made her happy in an odd, primordial way. They chased each-other, circled trees, she dramatically fell to the floor and made her child try with all her might to pull her up.

"Mommy, look!" She pointed to a tree with a hollow. A spider weaved its web over the mouth, and rain droplets filled it with beads that shone in the light.

"It's so pretty, isn't it?" She said. "Spiders are very hardworking."

They met a travelling caravan at one point, who gave them children's books. One of them was about fairies, who slept inside trees and stumps and under moss blankets, who had entire houses inside them, with kitchens and fridges and showers.

Her child, too short to reach the hollow, begged her to check. She smiled and walked up to the tree, peeking through the spider's web.

It was dark like a well, but in the faint light she could see a pigeon. It was dead, lying belly-up and with maggots crawling through its soft feathers.

She suddenly felt very cold and took a step back.

"What is it?" Her child asked.

"Nothing." She said. "It's empty. Let's go."

When the games and fun stopped, all the exhaustion came rushing back. There were times her eyelids felt so heavy, she would walk for a few steps with her eyes closed, sunlight dyeing her vision alternately black and red. She would blink and the scenery would be completely different, miles lapsing in seconds. She would wake up from these fugues with a start and look down, thankfully finding her child still at her side, holding her hand and swinging it.

"Mommy, let's fly!" She would reach for her other hand too.

"1, 2, 3, goooo!" She would hold her child up by both hands and keep walking, mimicking a great big jump over puddles and patches of clovers. They didn't do it too much, a worry worming in her head that her shoulders may pop out of place.

They passed another group of stingy travellers, a cart pulled by a mule over uneven ground that rocked like crazy. They saw grey smoke from a village's chimneys, and, far off between the trees, what looked like a big square factory. The wind coming from that direction smelled like blood.

They would politely chat and even exchange items if the people seemed nice, but they would never stay long, always on the move, always wandering. She told her child it was better this way, that you never know how dangerous someone may be. It was the same reason they didn't pet every dog they came across.

It was a solitary existence, but she told her child it was safer that way.

"Oh, grandma did not care about danger at all!" She huffed. "She got in so much trouble." That was how she died too, but she omitted talking to her child about that part for now.

"Why?"

"That's how she was."

"How?"

"Brash, and angry, and restless..." She stifled a yawn. "It's not nice being like that. We have to be nice."

"Why?"

"It's better like that."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Why?"

"Because or else, I'll pinch your butt."

Her child squeaked and ran ahead, and she gave chase, holding her hands like crab pinchers.

As the Sun went down they could hear music in the distance. Her face turned severe and she guided her child to walk low to the ground, close to bushes. They stalked along the edges of a camp, bright orange flames lighting the darkness, hoarse laughter and breaking bottles that stabbed at her ears. There were some women too, but too many men for her liking, too drunk.

Somehow, one of them heard the rustle of foliage and stood up like a big drunk bear and waddled closer. She held her jaws tight and pushed her child to hide in the dark. She really looked like a baby deer, lying on the ground with big shiny eyes, completely quiet.

"Hey theeere, cutie!" The drunk man said, stumbling backwards as she straightened her back. "Woah, ain'tcha a tall glass of watah..."

He was shorter than her - most people were - but the look in those cloudy eyes and the tongue moving over wet lips still made her skin crawl.

"Get the fuck out of my face or I'll snap your neck." She said.

Her child's hands shot to cover her ears.

"Woah, woah, no need for thaaat..." He pouted, starting to lean backwards but stopping himself before he fell. "S'was just a compliment..."

She rolled her eyes and quickly picked up her child in her arms, walking away with fast steps.

"Oh, don't leave! C'mon, I'm sorry! Y'can party with us! Just keep yer kid away from my buddy, heh. He really likes blondes."

She walked away faster, feeling bile and fire rise up to her face.

It was not a good idea to walk around the forest at night when you couldn't see all the things you could trip over, but she took them far enough to no longer hear that damned music.

"Mommy, is somebody coming?" Her child asked.

"No, sweetheart, everything is okay." She smiled and pet her hair. "They won't find us. You saw him too, he was so drunk he could barely stand." She copied the wobbly movements, twisting from side to side as if pushed by wind while going "ooooh, wooooh", which made her child laugh a lot.

They settled for sleep. "Sorry for cussing, sweetie. It's not nice to cuss, but, well, neither is drinking and being creepy. If you meet people like that, you should avoid them as much as you can."

"Can I cuss them?"

"No, no, cussing is not nice. And it doesn't do much. It's better to just leave, walk away. They're just some drunks, they don't know any better, especially after 5 or 6 bottles. There's no point in getting angry or causing trouble with them. Let's not think about them anymore. Look, there's fireflies! Do you want to count them?"

"Mommy counts." She yawned.

"Alright. I see 1, 2, 3, 5..."

"No, mommy! 4 comes after 5!"

"Oh my goodness, I forgot! Let me try again. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8..."

"Nooo!"

The worst part about her insomnia was the boredom. Her mind was either a bubbling cauldron or far too quiet. Is it possible to be too bored to sleep? Waiting for unconsciousness to finally claim her was a monotonous game of twisting from side to side, being careful to not wake up her child too, staring at the back of her eyelids. She would be so tired all day, then suddenly be unable to lay down still. That drunk riled her up too. It was his fault.

She rubbed her face hard, trying to banish those thoughts. The forest was grand and endless, they'll probably never see them again. She should be an example for her child on how to behave and stay safe, especially as a girl. That drunk made her break her own rules, that piece of shit. Stop it, stop thinking, nothing will happen, just sleep.

She opened her eyes and it was morning, and her mouth felt full of gunk. She brought a hand to her front teeth and felt them coated in a layer of crust. When she looked at her fingers, not just they were covered in dry brown blood, but her whole palm.

"What the hell...?!" Her head snapped in fear towards her child, but she was serenely asleep, perfectly clean.

She twisted herself to grab her backpack, toppling it over as she dug for the toilet paper. Her mouth and hands were full of the foul slime. Aside from inflammation on her knuckles, there was no cut or wound for it to come from.

"What the hell..." She kept muttering to herself.

"Mommy?" Her child stirred awake.

"Yes, baby?" She asked, still staying with her back to her and trying to put on a soft voice. "I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"

"No..." She yawned and rubbed her eyes with her fists. Her messed up hair stood up like little goat horns.

They kept walking, continued on their endless trudge through the endless forest. She heard there is no end to it and she wasn't purposefully testing that theory, but that's just how she had lived her entire life.

Her mother attacked boys, men, women, anybody who tempted her ire any given day. They called her a beast and eventually drove her out of any village she tried to settle in, small daughter in tow. They became bandits, or rather a bandit and her travelling companion. She and her own daughter were no bandits, just nomads.

Walking was the simplest thing in the world, just put one foot in front of the other, but even that became a chore. Her body tilted left and right, pulled by unbalanced weights. It made her child giggle, thinking she was still playing like the previous night, and she smiled in confirmation.

"Sweetie, let's play mummy." She said.

"Okay!"

She closed her eyes, allowing some respite, and held her hands up like a risen undead. She made the most convincing ancient Egyptian groans and babbles she could muster, while her child, holding her thumb and index finger in place of a monocle, made gasps of horror tinged with academic curiosity. "Oh, great Heavens above! Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph!"

After what felt like hours and 5 minutes at the same time, their attention was caught by the barking of a dog. It was the incessant kind of a small annoying dog, and underneath it the rattle of a chain. Her child perked up, standing on her tippy-toes and stretching her neck to see the village ahead.

"Let's go, mommy!" Her child said.

She really didn't want to deal with people at that moment, but she kept tugging at her hand and she could never say "no" to her child. And they needed supplies anyway.

It was a plain little village nestled between pines, or of the countless pockets of humanity, with wooden fences and wooden houses, clothes and blankets drying in yards and dogs howling at the strangers as they traversed the dirt streets. A small child peeked over one fence, but otherwise nobody paid them any attention. It was quiet along the edges and it smelled like manure and fireplace smoke. Her child didn't seem to notice, picking daffodils from ditches. In the center of the village was a small square where most of the residents had gathered, with tables full of goods and trinkets and flower garlands.

"Oh, must be Sunday..." She thought out loud, realising she forgot to keep track of the time again.

People of all ages with ruddy faces and filthy clothes were bartering, chit-chatting and laughing. It was the kind of village where everybody knew each-other for generations. She and her child stood out sorely. One of the merchants was more than glad to welcome them, showing his wares with a grand gesture.

"No, thank you, good Sir!" She smiled. "We are just passing through."

"Suit yourself!" He said playfully. She wanted to punch him, but kept walking, pulling her child after her.

Night fell sooner than she would have liked and they hid underneath a weeping willow. The light of the moon peeked through the canopy and milky-white rectangular lines shone down to them. She watched her child's hand pretend to play them like the strings of an instrument until she dozed off, then painfully waited to doze off as well. That dog was yelping and howling long into the night, rallying other dogs too. In the long silence she could faintly hear a door creaking or a chicken ruffling its own feathers, and there goes that stupid dog again, right when she thought she could finally rest. All she wanted was to rest, so she could look after her baby. Was that so much to ask? Was that why it started?

When did it start? She tried to remember sometimes during her sleepless nights, gather back what her tired mind was stacking aside for when she could focus, but that time was pushed later and later, again and again. Her insomnia got worse after her baby was born, that's for sure. After her mother's death and her child's birth. She had to keep walking, keep moving, and her child's father was tired of it. She could not remember their last fight, no matter how hard she tried. She could not remember when she went to sleep that evening. She suddenly woke up with her baby securely in her arms, and it was morning. She looked around for her father, and found him lying in the grass. It would be a lie to say she was distraught. She already did everything on her own. Her child didn't seem to miss him either, never turned her little face around to look for him. By the time she learned how to speak, she forgot him. As far as her little mind knew, everybody has a mom and that's it. Grandma, mother, baby.

She reminded herself she was not a baby anymore, although even when her child would be 90 years old she would still be her little baby.

Both of them woke up in the morning to the sounds of wailing coming from the village. Her child's features twisting in fear made her eyes water too.

"Stay here! Mommy will check!"

She snuck through the foliage until she could see the village again. There was a small crowd gathered around a tree, and the screaming cries were coming from the middle of it. It was the voice of a child, and her heart sank to the floor. The people were trying to pull a branch down low enough to cut a rope, and as it bobbed in their clumsy hands she would get peeks of a dog's head.

She sighed in relief.

"Mommy, what was it?" Her child asked.

"Nothing, sweetheart. A, uh, a kid fell down and got hurt, scraping his knee really badly."

"Mommy, he's crying..." She sniffled, ever the empathetic child.

"I know, but her mommy is with him too and it will be alright." She said, quickly gathering their things and taking her hand. "Let's go."

Eventually her child forgot about the cries, and she was back to playing and running around her mother like a little baby boar, circling her as she was deciding which way to head next. She would try to swing from her mother's tired arms or climb into them, and she would wince or tell her to stay calm for 5 minutes, but never with malice. She could never be mad at her own child.

They came across a river, growing wider and deeper as they followed along its shore. It was cold and so clean they could see all the pebbles underneath. After some splashing and rock-skipping lessons, she gave her child a quick bath and dried her with her blanket before she started sneezing. She didn't know what she would do if her child got sick.

To her chagrin, they came across another village. Adults and children were standing by the rocky shore, with meat grilling on a big fire pit. Her child happily dashed forward, mixing with the other kids like they had always been friends. She sighed and stepped closer to a group of what looked like mothers. The kids looked like them, the way her child looked like her, so her tired mind decided it was probably correct.

They welcomed her kindly enough, with sweet smiles and soft hair. Her own greasy hair started itching almost on queue.

"Where are you heading, traveller?" One of them asked.

"No place in particular." She replied, rubbing her face. Her eyelids felt so sore. Everything felt sore.

"I used to have a brother who explored the forest." Another said. "He would be gone for weeks at a time, then come back with all sorts of trinkets and scary stories!"

"Did you see anything scary?"

"I'm the scariest thing, usually." She replied.

"Ahahaha!"

"Lily, stop pushing the other kids! Play nice!"

"Goodness, I can't imagine traversing these woods with a small child..."

"You get used to it." She replied, rubbing her eyes again.

"All the things that lurk in the trees..."

"One time I went berry-picking and saw a bear with cubs. I never ran so fast in my life!"

"I've seen people mauled by bears." She replied, stifling a yawn.

"Ahahaha..."

"One time, while I was travelling with my father, we saw a ghost!"

"Oh, stop it with that story!"

"It's true! I swear on whatever you want! They talked to us!"

"Ghosts aren't real, girl!"

"Dead people don't talk anymore." She said, swaying slightly.

"Especially if they've been mauled by bears, hahah."

"I've seen other corpses too." She said. "There's nothing in there."

"Ah... haha..."

There was a shrill cry coming from the group of children. Her head snapped towards them, instantly awake, eyes wide. A child, Lily or something, was down on the ground with her cheek very red. Her own child was standing in front of her, her arm red and scraped at the elbow.

She ran towards her child, ice cold fear filling her chest. "Are you okay, sweetie?!"

"She pushed me!" She sniffled as she pointed to Lily.

"She hit me! She hit me!" Lily shrieked, tears and snot on her face.

"Oh, honey! What happened?!" Her mother ran over as well, voice as high-pitched as her offspring's.

She could barely breathe from the sound of their voices and the bad kid's red face and all the other broads staring at them and the smoke coming from the fire and the blood beading at her baby's skin.

She stood up with a start and carried her away, disappearing back into the forest. Her child, peering over her mother's shoulder, gave a nasty glare to the other little girl.

The tall grass and twigs crunched under her stomping feet. It felt as if fire was coming out her nostrils. It was just a child, there was no reason to be so mad at a child, there was no reason to be mad at any of those random women, and she cursed herself in her head to stop it already.

"Stupid girl..." She growled through her teeth. "And stupid loud-ass mom... stupid bitch..."

"Mommy!" Her child scolded.

"S-Sorry! Sorry!"

She carried her child for miles, until her legs hurt too much to keep walking. They were probably far enough. They stopped at a tree and she tugged out the bandages from her backpack.

"Mommy..." Her child quietly said.

"It's alright, sweetie. It's going to be fine. It's just a little scratch."

"Are you upset, mommy?"

"No! Of course not, honey! Forget that girl, we'll play here among ourselves."

"Okay..."

When dreaded night fell, she bundled up her child and told her stories until her little snore could be heard. She kissed her forehead and rocked the two of them together from side to side. Her body felt so heavy, every bone ached, her skin itched and she could smell her own armpits stink. Just sleep, just fucking sleep. She'll get clean tomorrow, everything will be better tomorrow. As long as her child was fast asleep, everything would be fine.

Her mom struck at night. Countless times over the years she would see her mom rise from sleep, eyes still closed, face peacefully serene, and she would head blindly towards a target. People who cursed at her, who shooed her away like a dog, who stole from her, who threatened her child, every leer, every whistle, every passing glare - no transgression was small enough. She would find a stick or a bat, once a hammer, and wail on them. The only sounds her mother would make were grunts of exertion from raising her arms above her head, then throwing them back down. She learned this the first and only time she followed to see what she was doing.

Whenever her mom would rise and walk away, she knew great violence was about to happen. She would lay frozen in place, heart like a sparrow thrashing in her chest, eyes glued to the darkness where her mother ought to reappear from. She would come back with her clothes and hair disheveled, splattered with blood, and lie back down, eyes closed the whole time. Her own eyes would be wide open and watery until morning. That was when it started, wasn't it?

She was woken up from these spiraling thoughts by her child. She rose to a sitting position in her arms. Her eyes were still closed, she was still asleep, and her little brows were furrowed.

"Sweetheart?" She asked, barely able to keep her own eyes open.

"Stupid girl..." Her child whispered.

She laughed drowsily in her exhaustion, pulling her baby's head back down against her chest, shushing her when she grumbled.

"Don't worry about that stupid girl anymore. I will always look after you. I love you so, so much. You will grow up big, and happy, and nothing like me."