The boy walked a long time in the darkness, tripping on roots, slipping down hillsides that were slick with leafy mould. The smells of the wet night drifted around him. Night-creatures raised their voices somewhere off in the woods. By chance, he came across a reedy pond so brimming with frogs that the sound was deafening. He lingered at the edge of the reeds for a while, listening to the chorus. As he stood there, he looked up at the starry sky, and for the first time in his life he felt free. Afraid, yes. Shivering with cold. That too. But free.
The air was cold. He had a sense that the weather was threatening to turn bad too. Harsh, wet clouds were piling up in the west. They were blacking out the stars behind, and moving like a shapeless mass towards him. It was not a good night to be walking alone in the woods.
The hour must have been near midnight when he noticed the first yawn coming on. Anxious energy had kept him in a state of jittery motion until now, but tiredness was seeping in. He stopped, looked around. There was fallen wood about, but it was all quite damp. There would be no easy way to light a fire. For warmth he had only the thin blanket he used to tie up his belongings in a brindle-sack, and his mother’s scarf. Thinking about the warmth and scratchiness of the wool made him feel a little bit safer, a little bit protected.
After the second yawn, he started to look for a hollow tree to climb inside, or a dry patch under one of the bigger scrubby witch-hazels or blackthorns. It was as he searched in the darkness that he noticed a glimmer peeping through the trees. He squinted. It looked a long way off. Or was it? The light was coming from something bright on the far side of a wide, shallow gully. He studied the glow and flicker for a while before deciding that it must be a fire.
As everyone knows, there are strange things that walk in the woods come nightfall. There would be ordinary folk camped out too–the charcoal burners, the trappers and broom-cutters–but, naturally enough, it was the uncanny things that his mind went to. Tales of weird creatures, haunting spirits, hungry mists and the child-stealing Faer Folk reverberated inside him. The boy had listened to his share over the year.
Should he go stumbling into a strange camp in the middle of the night?
The answer was obvious. No, of course not. It could be a camp of Sorthe slavers. Or Forest Troldes. Or who knows what.
But even as he thought this, his caution and the growing cold were fighting a battle. When he realised he was shivering, the cold won. After all, he reasoned, he could sneak up close and just get a quick look. Whoever was at the camp would be fire-blinded. They wouldn’t see him. And he could creep away again if he didn’t like the looks of whoever–or whatever–it was he found.
Trudging now, feeling sluggish, he inched through the damp undergrowth. He could feel the chill lancing through his thin shoes, soaking into his toes, up his shins and skin. It took much longer than he had anticipated to cross the gully. Worse, the gully turned out to be muddy and full of grasping scrambles of bog aspen. By the time he climbed out the far side of the bog, he was exhausted and shivering uncontrollably. The boy had known many hardships, but he had never been so cold in his life. He had always thought that teeth chattering in the cold was an exaggeration of storytellers, but discovered now that it was a literally true thing. His shivering was so extreme that his jaw snapped and chinked, over and over, as the teeth touched. He had to focus all his willpower to make it stop. The noise of it was too loud. He couldn’t sneak up on anyone making a noise like that.
It was also increasingly obvious to him that he might not even survive the night if he did have to sleep under a tree. He had pushed himself too far. Gotten himself too wet. It was foolish of him. Stupid, really. He had let the thrill of escape carry him away.
The only part of him that felt even a little bit warm was his neck where the scarf wrapped closely comforting.
Edging closer to the fire as quietly as his frozen muscles allowed, he paused to try and make out any shapes or hints. He was able to see the flickering glow and hear the crackle and hiss of the flames. A smell of woodsmoke wafted to him through the thickets.
He moved a little closer, then crouched down. On the other side of some bracken, the fire was roaring, bright and inviting. Do not rush in, he thought. Don’t be foolish. Go carefully, carefully… trying not to trip, he moved around a clump of trees. He was so very close now. Close enough to smell the remnants of an evening meal. Rich, fatty smells. Roasted, hot bready smells. There were two shapes next to the fire. The boy peered hard to try and make them out.
It seemed to be just one person and a horse. Was it a young man? The boy stared. No. A young woman, but she was dressed up like a soldier, with a leather shirt. She had a beautiful cloak of blue and green wrapped over her shoulders. The boy considered his choices. One lone woman might be safe to approach, or she might be a Faer Queen in mortal disguise, or a child-eating witch only pretending to be young and pretty.
His decision was cut short when the woman looked up with a start. Firelight glinted off her eyes. She stared straight at him, got to her feet, and put a hand on her sword hilt. “Who’s that hiding in the darkness? Come out of there.”
Although the boy didn’t really notice, the horse also looked around at him. It gazed and flicked an ear as if it were much more keenly attentive than horses typically are.
“Come out,” she said again, more sternly. She started to draw her sword. A sheen of bronze-red light glanced down it.
He saw no other course of action. Even if he might have sneaked off, she had seen him now. He was too frozen to run. The walk through the marshy gully had been a mistake. Walking and walking in the wet, chill night had been a mistake. He had been too afraid of his father. Too desperate to get away from the village. He ought have bedded himself down under a pine tree hours ago. He had no choice now. With a huff and some twinges of pain in his toes and legs, the boy stepped into the light.
“Hello,” he said, feeling foolish and small.