The Man In the Forest Part 4

Painting that dowry chest shook something loose inside her, and she fell to painting with such vigor she had to remind herself to do simple things like eat and water the garden. She began taking long, rambling walks through the forest, hauling several canvases, paints, and brushes with her. She would climb over fallen trees, push her way through dense foliage, and come out into gorgeous clearings bruised and scratched, but happy. She attempted to be quiet while pounding through the shrubbery, so as not to disturb wildlife she might like to paint, or (more importantly) attract the attention of some large predator. She knew there were bear in the forest from having seen their scat, as well as other, more mysterious creatures. And while she knew better than to believe her father’s stories about a dragon in the woods (no one had seen a dragon in over 300 years, and that had been on a mountain, not some backwater forest) she couldn’t completely dismiss the tales of an Amarok sighting by hunters deep in the forest. She hoped if there was an Amarok, it wouldn’t find her worth the trouble. Nevertheless, she always carried her gun with her on these outings, just in case.

Her need to find new bits of forest and wildlife to paint became an obsession, and she tried not to think about what she might be avoiding by throwing herself headlong into this mania. To that end, one morning she got up even earlier than usual, slipping out into the still dark to feed the chickens and let out Flora and Ichibod. She performed her usual morning chores as quickly as she could, eager to get to wherever she was going today. She didn’t question this urgency at the time, but let it sweep her up in a heady excitement. Her foot jiggled impatiently as she sat drinking the last of her coffee, her mind going over the list of items she would need to take with her.

The sun was just breaking as she set out on Ichibod, her supplies hanging awkwardly from the saddle. She hadn’t questioned it when she began to saddle Ichibod, though she usually took these trips on foot, alone. She was just settling herself in the saddle when movement caught her eye.

She paused and looked carefully for the source, and was astonished to see the cat for whom she’d left bowls of leftover rabbit staring at her. It was the first time she had ever seen him clearly, for he was usually dashing just out of sight whenever she spotted him in the barn. But now, here he was, looking up at her as if to be certain that she saw him. His fur was a warm golden honey color with black spots, and he was larger than most domestic cats. He flicked his tail once, twice, then turned and walked away, disappearing into the undergrowth. She stared at the spot where he disappeared for a long moment before setting her hands firmly on the reins. She turned Ichibod’s nose toward the rising sun, and set off into the forest.

She traveled for a very long time, never questioning her direction or worrying about getting lost. She was usually quite adept at finding her way in the forest even when the trees were so thick overhead that she couldn’t see the position of the sun, but with every step it seemed her surroundings became less and less familiar, until she was hardly certain she would be able to find her path back home. But still, she went on. Ichibod was a strong horse, but he had not been ridden so much lately, and she kept a careful eye to see that he wasn’t tiring, and made sure to stop several times to let him rest and check his hooves for rocks. At one such break, as she was sitting with her back against a tree chewing a bit of ifgore root (a very tough but nutritious plant), a rustling noise startled her. Her hand reached for her gun instinctively, just as the cat stepped purposefully from the brush. Had he been following them? Or was she following him?

He looked at her with the same measured gaze as before, then looked at the gun lying on the ground beside her, her hand still outstretched as though to grab it. She suddenly felt rather self-conscious, and let her hand fall to her side. The cat sat down and began to clean himself.

He sat with her until it came time to leave. She stood up, brushing the dust from her clothes, and when she turned back she found the cat had gone. What was this game? She wondered, frowning suddenly. What if the cat was not all he appeared to be? There were stories of spirits using innocent creatures to lure unsuspecting people to their deaths. Was the cat a powerful being in disguise who wished to harm her, or was he just hoping she would feed him?

Ryan looked around her, searching the low brush for any sign of the cat, panic beginning to grip her throat. Everything seemed wrong. She fought to determine which way she’d come, staring at the unfamiliar trees as though they would speak to her and tell her where she was going. Did she even know how to find her way back? But if there was some magic here, why hadn’t Ichibod reacted? Horses were usually fairly sensitive to that sort of thing. She clutched her head, shaking away the questions she couldn’t answer. Just a little farther, a voice whispered in her mind.

The panic grew, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Determined to calm herself, she took a deep breath and looked up, searching for the position of the sun. The thick canopy blocked her view of the sun, which might have fed the panic but for the sight of several birds which caught her eye. They were birds of a kind that she had never seen before. She forgot the panic as she reached for a sheet of parchment and piece of charcoal. Drawing the little yellow and red birds calmed her, reminding her why she was out there. And the part of her that knew it was just a little farther also knew that what she would find there would be worth it. Without any more thoughts of spirits and magic, she set out once more.

She heard the water before she saw it. She had been hearing the rushing sounds of a river for some time, but this was the roar of a waterfall, and the air felt wet and sweet on her face as they drew nearer.

At last, they came around an outcropping of rock and saw it.

“Whoa, boy,” she said, bringing Ichibod to a halt. They were on a little rise looking down on a wide, sloping meadow. The river cut the meadow in half diagonally, and at the far left she could see the waterfall. It was not quite as high as she’d thought from the roar it was making, but it was still twice as high as she sat on Ichibod. There were only a smattering of trees in the meadow, so the sun, now almost directly overhead, shone full and bright, catching the spray from the water and turning it into hundreds of prismatic rainbows. The meadow was covered in flowers of every description as well as long golden grass which swayed gently in the breeze. In awe, she dismounted, moving further out from the tree line. Ichibod seemed restless, but he waited for her pull off his saddle and unhook the reins before he headed down into the valley. He tossed his head happily as he cantered away toward the river, and, without slowing down, plunged straight into it. She followed cautiously, leaving the saddle at the edge of the tree line, but taking the saddle bag with her supplies. Ichibod splashed about in the water like he was a newborn colt, the water only coming up to his chest, then paused to drink deeply. She watched him, then, after a moment’s hesitation, she cupped her hands in the water and brought it to her lips.

It tasted sweet and was deliciously cold. She splashed some on her face, gasping with the shock of it. She had no desire to wade in as her horse was doing, so she settled down a little ways from the river on the side of the hill, stretching out to look up at the sky. She was only going to close her eyes for a minute…

“Ranth told me you would be coming today.”

She sat up violently, her pounding heart bringing her fully awake in an instant.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb your nap.”

She looked around and saw a man crouching a few feet away, smiling peacefully at her. She started to scramble to her feet, her hand reaching for the gun she’d stupidly left with the saddle and coming up with only a paintbrush to defend herself. The man didn’t get up. In fact, he looked rather like someone dealing with a frightened (possibly dangerous) animal, and trying to look as unthreatening as possible. From the length of his legs she guessed he would tower over her when he stood up, and was glad that he remained where he was.

“Who are you?” she demanded, the paintbrush in her hand still held out in a sort of defensive pose. Though what she thought she might do with it, she had no idea.

“I live here. There, actually,” he nodded his head toward the other end of the valley where a house she hadn’t noticed before sat in the shade of several trees. It was difficult to tell if the house was very small or if the trees were very large, but from what she could determine, one of the trees appeared to be growing right through the roof.

“Please forgive me,” she said, starting to back away, “I did not realize I was trespassing. If you will let me retrieve my horse, we will go.”

“Oh don’t go,” he said standing quickly. She saw that she had guessed correctly: he was very tall. She swallowed hard as she looked up (and up) at him, for while his manner was very easy, there was something strangely menacing about him. There was power in those large hands, and intelligence in his eyes that did not match the youth of his face.

“Please,” he said softly, “I have no wish to frighten you away; you, who love these woods as I do, who love their quiet and their mystery. You, who paint their wonders with such graceful strokes, and search endlessly for ever more wonders to paint. I would speak with you, and break bread with you, if only you will let me.”

She was staring openmouthed at him, aghast that someone so clearly magical had taken such interest in her. Something bumped her legs, and she gasped and looked down to find the cat rubbing against them. He looked up at her with the most astonishing green eyes and began to purr, as though he, too, were asking her to stay.

“Ranth has told me much of you,” the man said, his eyes on the cat.

“Who are you?” she breathed again. Her head was reeling, face flushed, palms clammy. She felt dizzy, and there was a rushing noise in her ears that had nothing to do with the waterfall. It grew louder and louder so that she could barely hear what he said next.

“I am Laknir,” he said simply.

And with that, she fainted.