made by: carys @intimatopia
began: 14th September 2019
©
In a little house on a hill, there lived a young woman. She lived all alone, with her plant and her cat.
Although she was happy, she was often lonely. One night, when the moon was high and the summer air smelled of fireflies and grass, she decided she would have to find herself a friend.
She put on her blue pyjamas, the ones with little stars printed on them. She told the plant to feed the cat, and asked the cat to water the plant.
Her little family taken care of, she stepped out of the house, heading for...
The forest was dark and deep, and the young woman rarely went there anymore. In her younger days she had often skirted the edge of the woods looking for rare flowers and strange mushrooms, but her interest in the woods had waned as she grew older.
In the forest the trees grew close together. She crept in quietly, aware of danger. There were eyes on her skin, sliding along the seams of her blue pyjamas.
When she had taken no more than twenty steps in, she gathered her courage and asked…
And a voice replied, “It is I, the second son of the third daughter of the fourth bird to find this wood, and the only bird who lived to tell the tale. And who, pray tell, are you?”
The young woman said…
There was a long pause. Then a voice said, “I appear to be stuck in this net. I have been for a while.”
The young woman laughed, but moved in the direction of the voice. Soon, she found tangled among the underbrush a net made of cold wire and red thorns all woven with each other. And in the net, a small pink wolf. She crouched down, gently freeing the animal. He sometimes nipped at her hands but for the most part allowed her to work in peace.
When the little wolf was free, he said, “Thank you. Is there perhaps anything I can do in return?”
To which the young woman said...
“I have never been anyone's friend before,” the voice said. “And I don't even know you. You are a strange little creature, and do not belong here.”
The young woman was saddened by this little speech, but could not argue. She returned home in shame and resentment and silence.
When she came home, she found her little plant with browned leaves, and her little cat with ribs visible through his once-thick fur.
“How could you leave him to feed me?” the plant cried, when they saw the young woman returning from her travels. “He cannot even hold the watering can!”
This was no lie. “I am sorry,” the young woman said humbly. “I'm back now.” She watered the plant.
“I hunt birds,” the cat reflected, watching her. “I'm just not very good at it.”
The young woman fed him too. It was nearing dawn, but she went to bed then. She'd had a long and rather exhausting night. In the afternoon tomorrow, this would all seem like a very strange dream indeed.
“Not me, no,” the little animal told her. “I would make a terrible friend, for I am after all a traitor. But I can tell you where to find a friend.”
“Where can I find a friend?” the young woman asked, curious. “And who did you betray?”
The little wolf laughed, short and shrill. “Most who I know, I betray, and eventually all of them! But a friend, a friend. You will find one in the direction from where you came.”
“I came from home,” the young woman answered, nonplussed. “And I have only a cat and a plant.”
“And do they talk to you, your cat and plant?”
“Sometimes, if they feel like it. I fail to see what that has to do with friendship.”
“Don't ask me,” the wolf advised. “I don't have friends.”
The young woman was starting to like this conversation less and less. “I think I'll go home now.”
“It's all the same to me,” the wolf shrugged.
“Well, then,” she said, and turned back along the road she'd walked. She hadn't taken a step when a heavy weight crashed into her.
“I told you I was a traitor!” the wolf cried.
“This is a lousy betrayal,” the woman replied irritably. “Get off me.” The wolf clambered off of her, although not without ripping her shirt. “My favorite nightshirt,” she noted sadly. “Perhaps it was not such a lousy betrayal after all.”
“I will eat your children,” the wolf hissed.
“You do that,” the woman said. “And have a nice day.” This time she walked home unassaulted. The sun was putting tentative scouting tendrils of light into the eastern sky. At home, her plant was drinking them in with clear joy. Her cat ran out to greet her, holding a dead bird in his mouth. “Oh, dear.”
“It's for you!” her cat said, the bird falling from his mouth. His whiskers were bloody. “I caught it!”
“I bet you did,” she told him tenderly, giving him time to pick up the bird before picking him up herself. She carried them both home, and watered the plant before falling into bed until late evening.
“I know a way through these woods,” the small pink wolf said. “But it might not be the right one. I will come with you.”
The young woman nodded though she had little choice, allowing the little pink wolf to lead her further through the woods until they came to a tree. Its roots rippled the ground around it, and its leaves blocked out the sun, and it teemed with life.
“Is this where you live?” the young woman asked.
“Yes,” the pink wolf said smugly. “It is the most beautiful home for miles around, and my family has lived here ever since the fourth bird, who as you may recall was the only one who lived to tell the tale, made us this home.”
“I see,” the young woman said slowly. “But what about the first three birds?”
“If you live here,” the little pink wolf said, “You will be happy and never again be lonely, for no one is lonely in the shade of the sugar tree. But you must not ask questions.”
And so the young woman, whose name was Elara, was given a home in the trunk of the sugar tree, where she tended a small plot of wild berries. Every day the little wolf came by to see her and brought his friends, who were all loving and gentle animals and were greatly interested in Elara's hands and clothes.
As the months passed and the seasons changed, her mind changed too. She rarely thought of the home she'd left behind or her little cat, or the plant she'd tended to with so much joy.
It didn't matter, because she was happy, and because she was no longer lonely. She had everything she had asked for.
But the little wolf had sharp ears. “If you want to go home, you may,” he said coldly.
“I don't know the way,” the young woman said humbly.
“That is something you'll have to figure out on your own,” the wolf said, and ran to his friends who were waiting for him in the roots. The young woman turned away, retracing her steps, but no matter how she tried she couldn't find her way back to the edge of the forest.
The forest, which was deep and cold and seemingly empty, nothing like the life she had seen elsewhere in the woods. As she ran, fast and then slow and then fast again, she came across a pile of bones.
Someone had stripped the bones very clean indeed, sucking away even the marrow. They rested on a bed of feathery down.
The young woman knew, then, that she wouldn't get home again. No one had taught her to read the entrails of birds, even though her mother and sister had both known. But there was no art at all to reading bones, no great secret to their meaning.
She stopped to weep, and never ran again.
But she got no reply. Eventually she stopped waiting and moved deeper into the wood. Soon she came to a crossroads, and decided to take...
The lefthand road was a pleasant walk, and as she strode along it she picked flowers, fruit and berries and wild mushrooms. Her hands were stained with juice and very soon full, so full she had to stop to tear off her shirt and tie a knot in every hole of it so she could use it as a bag.
But she was now cold, and eventually ended up right on the outskirts of the woods again. “Oh, dear,” she sighed. The moon was still high in the sky, and she had no shirt on, and she wanted to be in bed already, far from this sorry misguided quest.
And her feet, her poor aching feet. Suddenly she began to wonder if one the of many edible plants and fungi she'd collected so far wouldn't do anything for pain.
She rooted through her makeshift bag, and whittled her options down to a few:
She put the little round ball into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. It tasted of marshmallows and itself, a cottony texture that reminded her of cooked but unspiced chicken. “Curious,” she mumbled. The pain in her legs was already fading, and she wanted to keep going again.
Emboldened, she decided to return into the woods, this time wandering off her path.
Although the mushroom had given her a rush of energy and vigor, she found it soon faded, and she began to sense the lack of wisdom in going into the woods late at night, in the dark and unprotected.
The sunberry was raw inside, and she had to spit out the little bite she'd taken. “Urgh,” she said, disappointed.
“Can I have that?” a little voice asked. “I haven't had anything in a while.”
“Well, it's no good to me,” she said. “So you might as well.” As she spoke, she dug another sunberry out of her shirt. “Here you go.”
“Thank you,” the little voice said. A bird hopped out from the grass, so small and green it had been invisible before. “You're very kind. Not many in these woods are.”
“Why, thank you,” she said, surprised.
The bird pecked at the sunberry, making quick work of both of them. “Do you have a name?” it asked.
“Aresa,” Aresa said. She hadn't had one before, she thought, but now she couldn't imagine not having had a name. “It means generous.” Her cheeks warmed.
“How appropriate!” the bird chirped. “I am Caru, the first daughter of the fourth bird who came to these trees, and the only one who lived to tell the tale.”
“That sounds familiar,” Aresa said excitedly. “Another little voice said much the same thing to me.” And she relayed what she had heard before.
The bird was quiet for a long time. “I am glad,” it said at last. “That you did not stick with him. Because the rosewolf my nephew is a traitor and a coward, and brings prey to the sugar tree every week, and we know not where he finds them. My generous one, you have had a most narrow escape.”
At Caru's words, Aresa sat down, and tried to regain her breath. She remembered the danger she had sensed when she walked into the woods first, and felt most keenly her own fragility. “Thank you,” she said at last, not really knowing why she said it. And then, unthinkingly, “I came to these woods to find a friend, because I'm very lonely. Will you be my friend?”
“With great pleasure!” Caru said. “How do we do this?”
Aresa had never expected to come this far. “I think friends go to each other's houses,” she suggested hesitantly.
“Reasonable,” Caru agreed. “But I am homeless. It would have to be your house.”
“Oh,” Aresa blushed. “I'm afraid I have a cat, and even though I feed him he hunts birds.”
Caru shuddered. “Then we will meet here, whenever you want,” it said. “I do not go into the woods, and I do not venture out of the trees. Here is where you will find me, if you call my name. But now the sun is rising, and my dear Aresu should go home.”
“I should,” Aresa said, getting to her feet. She picked the rest of her sunberries out of her shirt, laying them next to Caru. “Until we meet again, friend.” She waved goodbye and started home, warmed by the rays of the orange rising sun and by her newfound friendship.
The righthand road let her into a deepening gorge. Soon there was water trickling through the rocks under her feet, a steep cliff face rising to either side.
A river, she realized, although she did not know where it started or ended. “I wonder if this is the river that feeds the lake,” she said out loud.
“Or is it the lake that feeds the river?” someone asked. She looked around for the voice, but found none.
“Who was that?”
The voice laughed, silvery and sweet. “Wouldn't you like to know!”
“I really, really would, actually,” the young woman muttered. “But fine, if you want to be like that...” And she kept walking.
The water under her feet was getting deeper, almost to her knees now. Her lovely blue pyjamas were soaking and sticking to her calves. “Do you want to know where you're going?” the voice asked suddenly.
“Of course! What kind of question is that,” the woman said crossly.
“Look up,” the voice said, soft and thrilled.
The young woman looked up, and her mouth went dry. What she had assumed was the darkness of the night sky was in fact a cave—and not a cave but a mouth, the gigantic maw of some great beast, and one she had walked right into.
“Am I going to die here?” she asked.
“Without help, everyone dies here,” the voice murmured. It sounded like the water, like the crackle when it boiled. It hadn't sounded like that just minutes earlier.
“That sounds like your problem,” the voice said. “Come closer, little one.”
But the young woman, even in her fear, was no fool. She turned instead and ran, feet splashing in the water and weighed down by her pants.
A beast that large, she reasoned on the fly, would have great trouble shutting its mouth so quickly.
And if it hadn't already, maybe it couldn't. She could see the light up ahead, the rising sun. And perhaps in another time she tripped over rocks that were teeth, skinned her knees or broke bones or failed to run fast enough.
This was not that time.
She ran and ran, and escaped into the freedom of the outskirts of the wood, where she flopped onto the ground, panting like a beached fish. Behind her, she could hear the shuddering screams of the irate voice.
But the sun was rising, and she would be home soon, soon, whenever she could get her watery legs to work.
It took some time, but eventually she could breathe again, her lungs no longer ripped by her racing heart. She got to her feet slowly, and stumbled home.
“That sounds like your problem,” the voice said. “Come closer, little one.”
But the young woman, even in her fear, was no fool. She turned instead and ran, feet splashing in the water and weighed down by her pants.
A beast that large, she reasoned on the fly, would have great trouble shutting its mouth so quickly.
And if it hadn't already, maybe it couldn't. She could see the light up ahead, the rising sun. And perhaps in another time she tripped over rocks that were teeth, skinned her knees or broke bones or failed to run fast enough.
This was not that time.
She ran and ran, and escaped into the freedom of the outskirts of the wood, where she flopped onto the ground, panting like a beached fish. Behind her, she could hear the shuddering screams of the irate voice.
But the sun was rising, and she would be home soon, soon, whenever she could get her watery legs to work.
Her watery...she looked down. Oh, no. No.
Where her feet had been, there was only flesh, loose and strangely-shaped without bones to give it shape. Like pyjamas, pyjamas made of her own legs and about as useful.
There must have been something in the water, she would later think. But for now she could only sob into her hands, waiting for help to arrive.
“Of course I will,” the voice said, seemingly delighted. “There is, if you walk a little further, a small opening. You can go through there, and will find yourself on the road home.”
Comforted by the voice's reassuring advice, she walked further into the darkness. “Where is it?” she asked. “I'm afraid it's too dark for me to see.”
“In a little bit,” the voice said, now akin to the roar of the ocean. “Keep going, and don't look back.”
So the young woman kept walking, for an hour and then another. But no opening materialized, and the voice only coaxed her deeper and deeper.
And she never saw daylight again.
