It is tricky to kill someone, to stab them in the spot which will make them gag and force their tongue to die. To die and never call their daughter's name like they used to. To smell their fear and see their nails breaking in the frustration of crawling out of danger. I wish I could kill them, those who killed him. To see the last teardrop roll out of their bloodshot eyes marked with pain, to hear their last breath escape their chest and smell them rest in peace.
Elar... Run---
He gagged too. I could not hear my name from his mouth ever again and now, as the same fear clawed onto my chest, I felt the pain blur into warmth, warmth into nothing and the cloak of unconscious covered me.
The darkness faded into amber shades of the leaves which have withered in front of my eyes every day since the trauma. My bronze hair strands do not like getting stickier, I need to scrub my head under the fountain inside the oak garden. Every night, sleep brings those screams, gags, slurps, moans and then, the dreams. Among all these evil emotions, the dreams feel comfortable to call goodbye to my brain, but how to say goodbye to your childhood? This was taught to me by the child herself.
Crackle----crackle
The dried leaves cried out under my shoes, breaking the monotony of the silent forest as I strolled through the woods towards the fountain. They have been my mate for the last eighteen years of my life and my eyes are somewhat habituated to looking like the color of rain-wet moss. I saw the green through them and people saw the green in them. Not to blame them, but these orbs are also quite mobile and dangerously flickering when they sense danger. The brushing of semi-dried leaves, slurping of still water is something my ears are accustomed to unless something strange of a sound peeks through my conscious... the plan, game and idea shift in a blink.
There is a difference between sensing danger and feeling endangered, but whenever I felt it approaching me, I made sure to make the opposite crawl back into the woods feeling endangered. The chances of something following a lonely archer in the woods are quite probable, but now, since the last fifteen minutes of my walk, I feel endangered, persistently. However, it feels comfortable to jerk that thought off my shoulders.
The fountain peaked like a phantom from behind the locks of the banyan tree, my lungs burned as I let out the breath of the suspense. "No."
I can't. I need to keep myself alert enough to fight back, but nature seems to have other plans, the glimmering silver drops of water, as if they are calling me. I scanned the treeline meticulously for the last time before slipping out of the clothes and plopping calmly inside the water. The cold air surrounded me like a warning, but the grime on my skin felt suffocating.
A twig snapped. Far, but not accidental.
The conflict between relaxation and alertness was killing me, but I wanted to stand there, underneath the whims of water as the touch of water against my scalp felt like a blessing, breath released in a shaky sigh as the dirt loosened from my ribboned bronze hair. My instincts forced me; I lifted my head slowly, water dripping down my spine, breath held tight in my chest. I hadn't reached for my dagger yet.
Better to let them think I am unaware.
Better to let them come closer.
A sharp, gnawing sensation broke me off my target and I turned towards the rock which was covered by the curtain of water and soon my eyes reached the slit on the curve of my back. It was a small slit and happened by apparent accident(these are common in forests), but as I glanced towards the treeline again, I saw a black mare.
Wet, gorgeous, inside the water. She lifted her head, almost respectfully. I reached for my clothes without breaking her gaze, letting the water drip down my back, my hair clinging to my skin. She watched every movement, unblinking. When I stepped away from the fountain, she stepped out too—hooves barely making a sound on the mossy earth.
I walked on the path towards home, and she quietly followed, sometimes making me doubt her presence just to peak over my shoulder and see her there. For the first time then, the forest felt a little less lonely.
"Glare?"
read her collar. She was certainly not a wild mare, she must have been lost. She needs the intimacy that I need now, and thus it would be okay to let her walk to the hut with me. She was sweet enough to make me forget my instincts to run, jump, flinch, fear and attack on the first go.
By the time I could see the fence, the moon was about to show itself, but then I chose to look behind me just to see the glimmering eyes of Glare.
"You can come closer..."
She did.
Lifted her head to look at my eyes. "You are... Glare?" I squeaked my eyes looking at her, and she exhaled as if giving a huff of agreement. Then, I carefully slipped inside the small door and grabbed what I could: a handful of oats, a bruised apple and a leftover crust of last-night's bread.
"Eat."
After sniffing it, with a clean muzzle, she inhaled it off my palm and moved a little closer. Glare lifted her head, eyes dark and bottomless, as if she understood more than a horse should. A shiver crawled across my spine—not of fear this time, but of recognition.
The forest didn't give gifts lightly.
And it never gave them without reason.
She was its first gift to me. Unannounced, unasked. I was unsure and deciding was a complex task as I trotted towards the edge of the hill which protruded into the dark woods.