accidental kitten mage

In the shadows of tall buildings and grand cathedrals, a country lad used to trees and haystacks could get awfully tired of craning his neck up and about to see it all. Of course, even a farmer who had been visiting the city every spring and summer month from the time he could lift a melon could still find things to fascinate and distract him, so it was extra important that he keep his head on his shoulders and see to his duties. It just wouldn’t do for him to let his family down by failing to sell their wares, or losing it in a bar or an alley, or letting anything happen to their produce. Still, it was always a challenge to get into and out of the grand city walls without letting this or that pull Cero away. 

 If it hadn’t been for the presence of his father, sturdy and solid beside him on the cart, the lad might even be tempted to stray to some of the more alluring places in the city that drew him every time he came. Bakeries around the edge of the market district put out such a sweet, light perfume of sugary pastries and sweet sour loaves, and there were many more than just the few that the cart passed on its way to set up for sales. There were grand stone buildings further into the town, where the bigger business was done and the richer men lived their lives, that peasants and poor farmers might still wander through to feel a sliver of the grandeur of the architects of the past. 

 The grandest of such buildings could have held anyone’s attention for weeks on end, and Cero had always been wistfully curious about what it might look like to wander the halls and explore the lovingly curated gardens and paths under her shadows. His family was as devout as any, but such grand cathedrals as Our Beloved Lady existed far outside of a farmer’s world no matter how much he felt its call. 

 At least, this is what the boy’s father told him anytime he thought to venture a suggestion that they take a peek inside, or try to attend a service after market. It was always a ‘No, and who’s going to watch the cart while you’re in their talking to the gods?’ or a ‘You don’t need fancy walls to say your prayers.’ It didn’t seem right to correct his father that Cero was as deeply entranced by the sheer physical grandeur of the black and gold towers and spires as he was curious about the religious devotees that called it home. You weren’t supposed to just be ‘curious’ about the gods’ home; that was as rude as asking a neighbor if you could nose around their houses just for the sake of it. 

 So Cero stayed obedient to his father, and stayed a wistful, starry-eyed dreamer when they rode their solid old cart through the Lady’s gentle shadows. One more simple farmer, drawn to and intimidated by the intricate workings of the orders who served the gods, unable to cross the lines that lay in the ruts of the roads in and out of town.

Except one day, the lines in the sand and the ruts in the road led the boy astray, away from the paths he had always known and followed and into a world to which he had never given a single serious thought. In one dreadful moment, he was pulled into a dark embrace in the very shadow of the Lady that put him forever out of her reach. 

 It was a market day, as it always was—and as he though it always would be. Today was unique though in that it was to be the first day that the young man was to go to town alone,  to sell their wares and to bring home the necessities that would keep the family another month. In the end of the hot summer months, they had baskets of dark green squashes heaped in their cart, along with warty orange pumpkins, sacks of golden onions, and the heads of fat, seed-heavy sunflowers that Cero’s mother liked to grow for the beans to climb. It was time to start clearing the fields of the last of the harvest, so there was not as much variety of produce or quite the sheer volume to move today. It was decided that Cero was to be entrusted with the cart and the old horse to bring the wares to market and to purchase seed corn, green thread for his mother, and a block of bees wax to bring with him on his way back. He had also been given leave to see if the bakers had any sweet pastries left at the end of the day, and to purchase enough to share with his parents and sisters if there were.

No one had been particularly concerned about the safety of getting into or out of the city, not even for a single young man with a horse and a cart. Though they lived outside the walls, and away from the shadow of the Lady and the buildings that clustered around her feet like chicks under a grand dame of a hen, there were plenty of safe roads that led in from the gentle hills and farmland. Even with the sun sinking lower in the sky as autumn came slipping in, it remained safe for a lone traveler to move into and out of the city as long as he didn’t tarry too long after sundown. 

 The thought of safety was hardly a worry in the young man’s pretty blond head though, as full as it was with the responsibilities he had been given. He knew how to stock the cart to make a fine display, and how to hawk the squashes and sunflowers to anyone who came past, and his easy smile and cheerful demeanor made him easy for men to trust and pleasant for women to tease. He had a strong back and a dutiful speed when it came time to pack up the last of the vegetables, and by the time the sun dipped into the delicate architecture of the ornate cathedral, he had already found his bag of sweets to share and readied the old mare for the return home. It had been a most successful day, and he looked forward to nothing more than sharing his tale of the day with his family, and basking in the warmth of their trust and affection. He was a simple lad, with simple dreams, and there wasn’t the wisp of a cloud in his sky as he fed the horse one more apple for the road. 

 “Good sir, a moment of your time….” 

 The youth looked up to find a young woman standing a few paces back from his cart, and he immediately hopped down from the driver’s bench.

“Of course, Mum—what can I do for you?” It wasn’t unheard of for latecomers to the market to seek out lower prices on the last of the day’s offerings, and Cero knew better than to offer disrespect to a lady. Especially one such as this; he was almost captivated by the startling grace about her, from the way her hair shone even in the waning light to the soft cant of her head and the delicate lilt to her voice. He was not unused to easy conversation with the fairer sex, but the woman was nigh on intoxicating to even behold. 

 “Are you, perchance, traveling out through the north gate?” she asked, clutching her hands together at her breast. “I lost my cousin in the bustle of the market today, but she knew I know the road back to her home, and must have left earlier in the day. If it’s no trouble, if you’re going that way anyway…might I ride with you, so far as the river?” She looked so hopeful, Cero thought; if his parents heard that he had denied a young woman a safe escort to her home, they’d never be able to look at him without shame again.

“Of course, Mum—I’m taking that road anyway, and I wouldn’t mind even if I wasn’t. I couldn’t leave a fine lady to travel alone after sundown.” He pulled a crate off the back of the cart and set it beside the bench, offering her a hand to assist her up. 

 “You’re awfully kind; I don’t want to impose, but I am ever so grateful. My family will be appreciative to hear of your kindness.” She rested her dainty palm in his, paying no mind to the dirt under his fingernails, and stepped up into the cart. Her touch was as light as a bird, as though she didn’t need him at all, and already chilled from the cooling evening air.

Cero was quick to reload the back of the wagon and hop up beside her, keeping a respectful distance so as not to assume and stain either of their dignities. He introduced himself as he turned the old mare north, and she did the same. Her name was Safine, and she was visiting with her family in town, from the next town down the road. Her father worked to support the church in that town; he was the youngest brother, and would never inherit the farm, so he moved to the city, she said. Her hands were fine enough, Cero had noticed immediately; she was obviously no farmer’s daughter with soft hands like that, and it made him straighten up and mind his manners to be graced with her favor and trust in his honest intentions. 

 She described a home Cero had never seen as her destination, off the main path and out of Cero’s familiarity with the hamlet just before the river, but he assured her it was no trouble to turn down one little extra road to see her safely to her people. She gave him a smile, and he found himself flustered by the fullness of her lips and the delicate rose of her lips in such a fair face. 

 They turned onto the road out of the city, and left the shadow of the high gate behind. The trees were hardly so thick as to be a forest, this close to town, but they were pleasantly shady on a hot day as one came up the road. Now they cast a lovely purple dusk, dark enough that Cero paused to climb down and light a lantern for the corner of the cart. Fireflies began winking as the travelers passed, emerging to enjoy these last warm nights of autumn before winter came with their demise and darkness.

There was no reason at all to suspect that there was anything on the road that would try to harm them, and so it was with the element of utter surprise that Cero felt himself abruptly and viciously yanked out of the cart. It happened so fast that he actually found himself moving in slow motion, and had the time to wonder with a sense of dumbstruck awe how something could have reached past the passenger beside him to haul him out of the other side of the cart. Time moved slow, then flipped and moved extra fast to adjust for the discrepancy and he found himself hitting…well, not the ground, but something awfully hard. In his dazed state he realized belatedly that he was still upright, and not beside the cart at all—in fact, he was clasped in the young woman’s arms. 

 “Did you catch me?” In hindsight, he would look back and feel like the worst kind of fool for his naivety. Now, catching his feet under him and realizing he was held fast, it seemed reasonable to think that he had fallen, and she had caught him. He could still hear the satisfied purr in her sweet voice in his memories, and to this day it made him shudder with a trickle of icy, primal fear. 

 “I did, sweet boy.” Her lips were at his ear, and her one hand held both of his behind his back, with the other clasped around his chest. Puzzled struggles became startled fear, and the tugs against her hold became frantic, if futile, thrashing. 

 “I’ve caught you, and now you are my little mouse to play with.” 

 The lad’s feet were pulled out from under him as she dragged him backwards, away from the road and the disappearing glow of his cart’s lantern. The solid old plow horse, steady and as set in her route as a wheel in a rut, continued on with barely a startled toss of her mane. The road fell away entirely as the pair withdrew into the shadows of the trees.

“Please, take the money!” The purse he carried would be important to his family, but it was nothing they couldn’t recover from, and it was nothing next to his life. Cero was cut off with a soft, strong hand across his mouth, silencing him with a frightening iron grip. 

 “Your money is no use to me, little mouse. I want the gold of your hair, not your pockets. I want the jewels you carry in your breast.” His heart was pounding like a frightened rabbit’s as the woman’s hand squeezed gently, caressing his face with fingertips that drew tickling lines with sharp nails over his cheeks. 

“Sweet little fool, I don’t need your stinking horse or your rattling cart—I came for you.” They were in a clearing in the woods, far enough from the road that Cero could no longer see the lights of passing travelers or hear the sound of hooves or feet. They should have still been within sight of the road—it had only been a moment since he felt the jerk on the back of his neck that pulled him off the cart, but he realized with a lurch in his gut that he could see no sign in the waning light of so much as the direction of the road, let alone the well-worn road. There was a chill in his limbs now that had nothing to do with the cold hands clasping him close to a startlingly cold body. Whatever had happened, he had found himself utterly without power in an instant, caught by a woman who meant him no goodwill and was tickling at the superstitions he had been told as a young, gullible child. Things worse than bandits and unscrupulous men lurked in the shadows of the world, every child ‘knew’—there were monsters, things that looked and sounded like humans who would eat you up and spit your bones out if you didn’t obey your parents or finish your chores. Never had he given thought to the tales as something that would ever happen to him—

Time moved as though through molasses as fear turned the farmer lad’s guts to jelly and sapped the strength from his limbs. His knees gave out beneath him—or did she effortlessly pull him down?—and he found himself kneeling in the soft leaf mulch of the forest, under a faint circle of sky that was just beginning to show the sprinkle of stars. The hands released his and cupped his chin, tilting his face up towards Safine’s. She was pale in the darkness, a marble mask with black shadows for eyes that peered down at him with an intensity he could feel despite his blindness. 

 “You know better than to squeak, don’t you little mouse,” she purred in a voice full of teeth. “You know I can whip your pretty little head around and snap your neck like a bird wing, if I wish.” Knowing it and hearing it said were two horrifying levels of understanding, and Cero felt himself descend down into the horrified shock that was the realization that she spoke the truth. 

 “If you are sweet, you won’t have to suffer that. You needn’t suffer ever again. All you must do is give me a kiss. One kiss, little mouse, and you won’t be hurt.” Her words in the darkness slithered around the young man’s back and curled over his skin like snakes. One kiss? It seemed unexpectedly simple, for so dire a trap he found himself balanced upon. In this moment, he was prepared to offer it immediately, to safe his life, and he tried to tell her as much with a dreadful stammer and the choked up inelegance of a young man on the verge of tears.

The lovely face came close enough to his that he could see her smile, even through the darkness and his watering eyes. She was terrifyingly beautiful, and now there was something more that made her seem....well, inhuman. He was beginning to suspect as much anyway, much as his mind was flapping about for anything else to be the cause of the superhuman strength and speed and allure. But she was beautiful enough to make his heart ache even as it fought to break free from his chest, and he tilted his head up to kiss her. 

 Her lips were cold enough to steal the breath from the young man, but she held him by the face and held him close and wouldn't let him pull away. She seemed to draw the warmth out of him through the embrace, sending icy trickles down his back and arms as she drew in a slow breath against Cero's lips. One hand slipped up into his hair, never minding the sweat of a hard day's work that made the unruly fluff stiff and grimy, and curled around the back of his head. Cero, minding her threat to snap his neck if he cried out, shuddered and closed his eyes. It took an age for her to draw back from him, and only then by a handspan or so as she sifted through his hair. He wasn't looking now; he didn't want to see his death coming if she made good her threat. He didn't see the soft tongue come out to lick her lips, or the curl at the corner of her mouth like the grin of a cat who had caught the canary. 

 He also didn't see the horrifying sight of her mouth opening as though in a silent scream as she leaned in, and the fangs that peeked out from under her upper lip. The only warning he got before the searing pain exploded at his throat was a wisp of icy breath over his skin immediately before she tightened her grip in his hair and jerked his head back hard.

The spell that had held the boy locked in place crumbled as the vampire sawed her teeth into his freckled throat. He tried to throw himself backwards, to bring his hands up to push her away or fight, somehow, against the monster that was latched onto him with the strength of a steel trap. He could feel the softness of her skin against his own, but it was a distant and useless observation as he found it impossible to pry her away from him. They fell back together onto the soft loam of the forest floor, he below and she on top, squeezing with her thighs around his hips to ride out his frantic thrashing. 

 The pain was spreading now, traveling down from where the leech was latched onto his throat and settling further into his chest--his heart felt like it was punching against his ribs in an effort to flee the horror happening to him. Faster and faster he could hear his pulse getting, and the faster it beat, the quieter the roar of blood in his ears got. Everything was going cold, and he could do naught but slap weakly at the body tangled around his. Even the stars were going faint where they flickered above him, fading out as the light left the farmer boy's eyes. He thought of his family, and how they would hopefully find the trusty horse as she wandered her way back down the familiar road...but what if she didn't? What if he had cost the family their work horse? Now he wouldn't be going home, and they would never get the thread, or the beeswax, or the seed corn...they would never know what happened to him, or that he had done everything they had asked of him that day. His father would never know how proud Cero was to represent the family's farm, or how many pumpkins he had sold.... He would never get to shop for pastries or hear the great bronze bells of Our Beloved Lady tolling the noon hour from the market.

Everything was fuzzy and distant. Cero couldn't see, he felt only cold and pain. Pain in his chest, pain in his tingling fingers, pain where his lifeblood had been pulled from his slashed throat. He was faintly aware of the cessation of the pressure at his throat, but he wasn't thinking about her anymore. He was still trying to focus on the image of his mother's face and the sound of the bells when something was forced into his mouth, making him choke and cough weakly. It gagged him with a harsh iron flavor, and burned like fire against his cold tongue, but it lit another fire deep in his belly, under the cold and the darkness and the pain. 

 This new fire came clawing up through his chest like a starving wolf, pushing aside thoughts of family and the face of the god in the grand cathedral. It pushed aside the sight of the stars and even the last breath of air in his chest, and it latched onto the taste of blood in his mouth. 

 Strength surged from the deepest part of Cero's soul and pulled him back from the brink. Another taste of rich iron brought back the piercing glare of starlight above him, and he bit down on whatever it was in his mouth that was forcing blood onto his tongue. With each drop that he sucked, his strength came back. Drops became mouthfuls as he clamped his teeth into...a wrist? The young woman held her forearm between his teeth, and he seized it and held it fast so that she couldn't try to pull away and deny him the lifeblood that was surging back into him. All thoughts were beyond him--all that mattered was pulling his blood back from her, taking what had been taken.

He didn't know how long they lay like this, with him nursing from her veins on the forest floor while the stars gazed down indifferently. At some point, the woman pushed Cero's head back with a growl, overpowering his grasping fingers curled into claws. She climbed off of him and left him on the ground, and stood there watching as he thrashed and growled and howled in pain. The fire in his belly that had rushed up to take the blood from his tongue was burning him, forcing the coldness out of his joints and limbs and eyes and tongue with a heat that felt like it would consume him from within. It faded so slowly that the boy didn't realize how long he had been lying still on the forest floor, only that he finally--blessedly--felt no pain. He felt no cold, no fire, no tingling in his fingers or burning at his throat. When he lifted his fingers to the wound, shaking and afraid of what they might feel, he found...nothing. Well, there was dirt and a stickiness that smelled of salt and iron, but there was no ragged flesh, no pain. He couldn't even feel shock to find himself whole. 

 And when he raised his eyes in the darkness--the darkness that was no longer a curtain over his eyes, but a rich and beautiful hue of blacks and blues and browns that revealed every intricate detail of the trees surrounding him--he found the woman, standing against a tree, watching him. Safine, he remembered--her name was Safine. Her mouth was smeared with blood--his blood--and when she saw him seeing her, really seeing her, she smiled. Where before it had felt like trying to gaze adoringly up at the very sun, now he felt no agonizing throb in his chest to gaze upon her beauty. Now she was simply wonderous, and he could see every tiny detail that made her lovely without feeling the need to weep at the sight of it.

I was in the forest, first of all. It is the time of year when the sun hangs low in the sky, and the birds make the trees sing with their calls as they flit about hunting for food. All of the animals are out in great numbers, gorging themselves on the abundance of the summer before the short days of autumn set upon us. I like to go out among them; it can be very peaceful in the late afternoon, when the air is warm and the shadows are growing long as the sun moves south in the sky. Those shadows are more threatening to me now than they have ever been, and I fear them again like I have not feared them in years. It was not only the animals and myself out today, and I am certain that I have seen an outsider.

There has been no one this deep into our forest in years--ten years, although I dread remembering that time. Sometimes I see the evidence of careless hunters who cannot kill with a single shot, but it is only ever in the form of wounded deer or wolves that I put out of their misery, and the closest I come to the hunter is to take their arrows for myself. They are often good quality, though they need to be fletched again after the animal breaks the arrow shaft off in its attempt to save itself. I have no fear of a single arrow in a dying buck, though.

What I fear very much is the realization that, crossing a petite field between the oaks, I could hear no birds. There ought to have been hundreds of them singing praises to the fruits and nuts on which they fatten themselves, but I was shamefully distracted by the trail left by a family of boar and failed to notice the cessation of song. I froze in the golden grasses, sinking as low as I could in them, but my shadow lay long before me and I made an easy target. The silence was terrifying; even a wolf will not trouble the birds so. My heart was as a rabbit in my throat, trying to escape and pounding hard all the while.

Something must have startled a flock at the end of the field, because half a dozen of little song birds took off all at once and made for safety in taller trees, but my gaze immediately went to from whence they had fled, and I saw a movement. Deep in the shadows, obscured by thick branches and a fallen grandfather of a tree, there was a shape that was not animal in nature, though it was close to the ground and shaggy with fur. I saw the faintest shine of gold, as off of a thread or button, and the shape resolved itself in my eye to be that of a man. I knew it at once--the man was kneeling or perhaps crouching low, trying to hide, but once I saw a portion of the shape I could see the whole of it clearly.

And my dear confidant, is it foolish of me to swear that I have seen this man before? My hand shakes as I pen this, but I believe I have seen that gold before. One man in the past had eyes like the setting sun, and today I am certain that I once again laid my own eyes on his, and was seen in turn. There is a hunter in my woods, and he once took something very dear from me, and I fear his presence more than I have ever feared anything.

I will stay close to home for some days now, and hope that the woods will discourage him from seeking to explore further. The trees have a way of turning aside and defeating travelers and interlopers, and I am not ashamed to say that I hope that man breaks his ankles in roots and is eaten by wolves, though it sounds cruel of me to say so. It has been many years since I have so feared observation from anyone but bear cubs and wild red foxes, but once more I feel the presence of a stranger in my home, and try as I might to remain optimistic of his demise by the wild woods, I am not convinced of my safe passage through my own forest anymore.

I hope for the blessing of being able to tell you that there is no more sign of travelers in my trees. For now, anon.

He remembered being in the forest, and being further out than he was supposedb to roam—there were wolves in the forest, but there were also birds and squirrels and baby deer to watch, and patches of berries in the dappled light where the forest gave begrudgingly to a few rays of sunlight. All he had wanted were the berries...and so it was that he had snuck out of the garden, away from his nurse, to where he could feel the leaves and soft loam beneath his paws. He loved being out here, even if it got him scruffed or chastised if he got caught—it was worth it for the adventure, the treasure of sweet bramble berries and warm little bird eggs to hold.

He could hear the nurse calling him as he ran, laughing to himself at his cleverness. He ran and ran through the woods, leaping over logs and diving between twisted tree trunks, squirming his way between dense thickets until they gave way to open clearings—

The child skidded to a halt on all fours and froze. There was something else in his berries today...someONE else. He rose onto his feet slowly, wiping dirt from his fingers onto the dirty red linen of his little suit. He had never seen a man like this before—for it had to be a man, even if it looked nothing like his father. His father was tall and the color of leaves in the fall, with glossy fur he kept well brushed and horns that curled down low over his forehead. This man was smooth, covered in furs and leather and parts of animals.

They stared at one another for a long moment where not even birds sang above them, until the child sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. The stranger sank to one knee slowly, hand extended, offering out a slow smile that warmed his dark skin and made his honey-gold eyes crinkle at the edges. They were beautiful, and his strange dress captured the youth's curiosity enough that he was enticed to step forward in turn, watching warily. One little hand reached out, covered in a fine layer of fur the color of wheat fields in the rosy glow of sunset, each dirty finger tipped with the baby nub of a young claw, and lit slowly on the outstretched thumb. His fur was such a bright contrast to the black leather, even in the dim forest light, and dwarfed by the size of the broad palm.

Their two hands moved carefully around each other's, like two birds each afraid to move too fast lest they startle the other. The softly furred fingers moved over the worn, warm leather that felt so much like the pads of his own toes, and the young lord remembered wondering in that moment what the long fingers looked like under the gloves. The child's wide, trusting eyes looked up just in time to see the kind eyes harden, and before he could recoil the stranger snatched for the boy's shoulder.

The first instinct was to shove the hand away and wriggle out of the stranger's grip, to turn back to the protective thicket of brambles and flee back to his home again. Hackles up, teeth bared in a startled snarl, the lad twisted in the grip that had immediately tightened to a painful iron hold and refused to release him. Now he could see that the stranger held one hand behind his back, hidden under his cloak, and the child's ears flattened against his head as fear made icy prickles run down the back of his neck. He braced his feet and tried again to shrug out of the fierce hand on his shoulder, looking up at the dark smirk with a child's growl--

But what came out of the child was bigger than his body, bigger than the thicket they stood in, and it shook the silent birds out of their hiding places in the trees above the pair. The boy's father burst through the thorny vines behind him, exploding through the brambles to land on all fours with a roar that would have loosened the bowels of weak men. The boy took advantage of the moment to throw himself backwards out of the black gloved grip, hitting the ground with a yelp but never so relieved to be in trouble with his parents before in his life. He would never go so far out of sight again, he would be the most obedient child in the provinces, whatever they asked for.

Another harsh grip seized him by the back of his neck, jerking him off the ground by his soft scruff as his father bellowed "Take him!" The boy's mother clutched him to her chest, and he could hear her heartbeat from the run through the forest and the adrenaline of the confrontation. He dug his fists into her clothes and tried to see around her, to watch the facedown between his father and the stranger. Now there was a glint of metal in the stranger's hand, the one that had been behind his back--a long curved blade that hooked wickedly through the air as the hunter made a feint towards the mother and child. That was all the boy got the chance to see as his mother turned and fled, crashing back through the brush towards home and safety. A crack echoed behind them, ringing sharply through the forest as a whip snapped through the air. The boy had heard whips crack before, but this one had teeth in its sound, a vicious bite that rattled in his ears like the air itself had snapped its teeth in his face. Thunder rumbled behind them--hoofbeats?--but did not pursue. The sound of confrontation faded under the pounding of the boy's own heart in his ears, until his mother paused for a brief moment to release her grip on him and give him a swat to get him running on his own.

And then she stopped, and the frightened boy turned to look back at her. She stood upright, chest heaving with fear and fury, soft honey-golden ears turned towards the fray they had just fled. The thunderous hoofs were far fainter now, but the crash and crack of fighting was still easy enough to hear even at a distance--his father was roaring furiously, and the snapping cracks sounded off like breaking tree branches, and then it stopped too abruptly. Both mother and child waited with baited breath for a long and painful moment, and still his father did not follow.

The boy was startled when his mother whipped around and grabbed him by the face, pulling him close.

"You turn around and you run, do you hear me? You run home, and you run fast, and you do not look back. Run. Run, now!" She pressed a kiss to his forehead and spun him around, and he was too frightened to disobey. What else could he do but run? He dropped to all fours and ran like the rabbit through the trees and bushes, not stopping when he cut his paw on a rock or when briars snagged the collar of his suit and tore. He couldn't hear anything but his mother's order echoing in his ears, urging him on and giving him strength.

He burst into the garden through the gate, scaring the servants nearly witless as he did, but his nurse was there and he ran right to her skirts and clung to them as he gasped for air. They stooped to check his scratches, to ask him questions, but he was panting too hard to answer and could only stare back into the woods, waiting for the trees to yield his parents back to him. They would follow him home, and beat him for his idiocy, and he would be grateful for it because they would all be safe. The hunter wouldn't follow them, and they would have their little forest kingdom back again.

Except the woods were peaceful behind him, and eventually even the birds began to sing again. There were no cracking branches or rustling leaves, no movement save the slow shift of sunlight through the dappled leaves as the household watched and waited. Eventually the boy caught his breath and could tell them what had happened, what he had seen, what his mother had told him. His nurse made the sign of the gods against her chest and hugged him closer, and still they waited.

Light grew rosy as the sun slowly sank into the trees, and some of the assembled servants slipped away to see to the necessary running of the house. There were still meals to make, and surely the master and mistress would not want the house ground to a halt when they returned. Except they did not return, not that night. And not the next morning when the boy woke from where he had fallen asleep in the open window, because his nurse could not convince him to sleep in his bed. They still had not returned upon the following sundown either, and the servants conferred with whispered voices where they thought the boy could not hear them about what they were to do now. With no master or mistress to lead them, it fell to the child to become the Master of the House, although he would refuse the responsibility of it for a long time, certain that his parents had only gotten lost in the woods, and would yet return.

“It was said that there were monsters lurking in the darkness in there. The stories told to scare the children were of lumbering beasts, monsters with the teeth of wolves and the claws of lynx, but with the monstrous size of a full grown brown bear. There was always an old man somewhere who swore that his cousin's brother's friend had seen one with his own eyes and barely escaped to tell the tale, but for most of the surrounding towns, tales like that were as tall as the highest oak and much less believable. Still...the same naysayers refused to boldly wander into the trees if they were ever challenged to show their doubt.

“Even without monsters to threaten death or dismemberment, the forest itself was not friendly to the human element, or even to the animals that served them. The trees grew so dense that an arrow would not fly straight without hitting a branch or trunk before the end of its arc, and the sun's rays had to struggle to reach through the dense canopy of cool, rustling leaves. Horses were not at ease in the tight quarters, for reaching, gnarled roots lifted themselves above the soft forest floor to snag at boots and trip anything that was not already aware of their presence. It was an impassable maze of bramble vines, dense thickets, and ancient trunks twined around boulders and each other. Only the small game of the forest and the natural denizens of the forest could find passage through; a bear might know how to move safely, but a human, horse, or dog would find themselves tripped by roots, scratched by thorns, and boxed in by mossy outcroppings before they could move one hundred yards.

“Some wary folks said that the forest would even change paths, move trees and rocks around to confuse and lead astray. One could never be certain if this was the clearing you made it to last time, or one entirely different--or if you had even traveled as far as you thought you had. There was just no way to tell; the forest must keep its secrets, after all.”

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