When She Walked With Crows

The Forest That Guides

Chapter Eight — The Forest That Guides

Silas left Anwen’s house with a full stomach and a strange lightness in his chest. The soup had been simple — herbs, potatoes, something warm and earthy — but it tasted better than anything he’d eaten in weeks. Maybe it was the company. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the way she laughed when Ink tried to steal a piece of bread from his bowl.

He didn’t know.

He only knew he didn’t want to leave.

But the sky was dimming, and Anwen insisted he shouldn’t walk home in the dark. So he stepped off her porch, promising he’d come back tomorrow, and the forest swallowed him up.

Except… not in the way it had before.

The trees seemed to shift around him, subtly, gently — branches leaning aside, undergrowth parting just enough for his feet to find the right places. The air felt warmer, the shadows less sharp. He didn’t stumble once.

It was like the forest wanted him to get home safely.

He reached the edge of the woods far faster than he expected. The lights of his house glowed through the trees, soft and familiar.

Silas paused, glancing back.

The forest rustled — a low, approving sound.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

He wasn’t sure who he was thanking. But the forest seemed to hear him.

He barely slept.

Every time he closed his eyes, he heard her laugh — that soft, startled sound that made something warm bloom in his chest. He saw the way her eyes sparkled when she teased him about chopping wood too loudly. The way she crinkled her nose when Ink tried to land on his head again.

He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

This was ridiculous.

He didn’t even know her. Not really.

But he wanted to.

He wanted to hear her laugh again. He wanted to see her smile again. He wanted to fix that porch step before she tripped on it.

Eventually, sleep dragged him under — thin, restless, but enough.

Silas woke before dawn.

He dressed quickly, tugging on his shirt inside‑out at first, then fixing it with a muttered curse. He padded into the kitchen where his dad was already making coffee.

“Morning,” his dad said, smiling that soft, tired smile Silas still didn’t know how to read.

“Morning,” Silas mumbled, grabbing a piece of toast.

He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Hey, Dad… if a house has, um… steps. And one is broken. How would you fix it?”

His dad blinked. “A step?”

“Yeah. Like… hypothetically.”

A slow grin spread across his father’s face. “Hypothetically, huh?”

Silas flushed. “Just—how would you fix it?”

“Well,” his dad said, leaning back, “depends on the damage. If the board’s cracked, you replace it. If the support’s loose, you reinforce it. You’ll need a hammer, some nails, maybe a pry bar. And patience.”

Silas nodded quickly. “Right. Okay. Thanks.”

His dad raised an eyebrow. “You planning to fix something?”

“Nope,” Silas said too fast. “Just curious.”

His dad laughed — a warm, genuine sound that made Silas’s chest ache in a way he didn’t want to think about.

“Well,” his dad said, “tools are in the shed. Just bring them back.”

Silas inhaled sharply. “Okay.”

He finished his toast in two bites, grabbed the tools, and bolted for the door.

“Shoes!” his dad called after him.

Silas jammed his feet into them as he ran, hopping awkwardly down the porch steps.

He didn’t slow down.

The forest waited for him — he could feel it — and as soon as he stepped beneath the trees, the world shifted again.

Branches lifted. Roots eased aside. The path unfolded like it had been expecting him.

Silas grinned despite himself.

“Alright,” he murmured. “I’m coming.”

And the forest seemed to hum in approval.