Chapter 2- The Stories They Tell About the Woods
768 Words
The rain followed her out of the village, soaking her hair, rolling down her cloak and through her sleeves, turning the narrow path to mud beneath her feet.
Kael was too warm in her arms. Too still. His breathing shallow against her shoulder.
No one stopped her.
No one asked where she was going or what she was doing.
Some things did not need to be spoken.
The village watched from behind shuttered windows and half-open doors, from candlelit kitchens and darkened porches where old women stood with folded hands and knowing eyes.
They saw the flickering lantern in her grip.
They saw the child in her arms.
And they knew.
Elen kept walking, each step sinking deeper into the muddy path.
She passed Old Bram's orchard, the trees heavy with rain and silence.
She passed the riverbank where Kael had once insisted he could outrun the current if he just picked the right stones.
Passed the crooked fence where he used to leave bits of bread for birds he claimed were spies for the moon.
Every step felt like goodbye.
She hated that.
Hated the unknowing of what was to come.
At the edge of the village, where the lantern light ended and the tree line began, Elen stopped.
The old forest stood before her.
Dark.
Still.
Waiting.
It rose like a wall against the night, the trees too close together, their branches tangled like hands clasped in prayer—or warning.
Even now, standing at its edge, she could feel it.
Not magic.
Attention.
As though something deep inside the woods had already turned its head toward her.
Watching.
Waiting.
Her grip tightened around Kael.
She remembered what the old women used to say when children wandered too close to the woods.
The forest never hunted.
It only waited.
It let hunger drive men to its edge. Let sickness make mothers desperate. Let grief loosen the hands of those clinging too tightly to the world.
Then, when they came begging—
it listened.
And everything came with a price.
Elen had laughed at those stories once.
Tonight, standing at the tree line with her dying son in her arms, they no longer felt like stories.
They felt like warnings.
Behind her, footsteps approached softly.
She didn't turn.
She couldn't.
"I thought you'd be gone already," Mara said.
Elen stared into the trees, unable to meet her sister's gaze.
"I was trying to decide if I was brave or just desperate."
Mara stepped beside her, rain darkening her braid, her hands clenched tightly at her sides.
"There's not much difference tonight."
A bitter smile touched Elen's mouth.
"No."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The forest seemed to breathe in front of them.
Slow.
Patient.
Like it was watching its next prey.
Like it had all the time in the world.
Mara reached into her pocket and pressed something cold into Elen's palm.
An iron charm.
Elen looked down at it.
"I thought you stopped believing in these."
Mara shrugged, though her voice was tight.
"I stopped believing they were enough."
Elen closed her fingers around it, running her thumb across the smooth edges.
For a second, she wanted to break.
To turn around.
To stay home.
To be someone whose child would wake tomorrow asking for breakfast, complaining about chores, leaving muddy footprints on the floor.
But love did not care about fairness.
It only asked.
And asked.
And asked.
Mara's voice was quieter when she spoke again.
"If the stories are true…"
Elen swallowed.
"Yes."
"If they ask for something?"
She looked down at her son.
At his pale face. His damp hair. The impossible softness of him. The sunlight he brought into every corner of her life.
Her answer came easy.
Unwavering.
"They can have it."
Mara's breath caught.
"Elen—"
"No."
Her voice was calm now.
Strong.
Certain.
"If there is a price, I will pay it."
Rain ran down her face like tears she refused to shed.
"I will not bury my son because something ancient decided he was owed."
The wind moved through the trees.
Low.
Almost like laughter.
Mara stepped back.
Not because she agreed.
Because she understood.
Some choices were made long before words reached them.
She touched Kael's hair once.
Gentle.
Almost like goodbye.
Then she stepped away from the tree line.
Elen stood alone.
The forest before her.
The village behind her.
And her son between them.
She lifted the lantern.
Tightened her grip on Kael, pulling him closer against her chest.
Took one deep breath.
Then crossed the boundary.
And stepped into the dark.
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