Fear and the forest

Father had promised her a day of adventure but what did she get? An afternoon at the playground by the woods. Parking the big motorcar he loved so much, he wouldn't even come to push her on the swings. He just lit up another cigarette and read his newspaper, sitting behind the wheel.

"I'll be along in a minute," he had said. But he just stayed in his car, reading and smoking and then snoring away with the paper folded over his face. She was bored playing on her own. None of the other children would play with her. She hugged the thin coat to herself, shivering, as she swung, disconsolately, her feet dangling.

Looking at her Peter Pan watch, she saw that it would be another hour and a half before Father would take her home. At least Granny knew how to cook proper meals instead of just going to McDonald's or ordering a Pizza. Granny would have a nice roaring fire going too, and would run a hot bath for her. Then they would sit by the fire with a cup of hot chocolate each, and marshmallows, and they would read scary stories together until bedtime...

O ~ o ~

She looks at her watch again. It is an hour and 28 minutes still to go.

"I'm bored, bored, bored," she says to nobody in particular. She tries to think of something to amuse herself.

"I know," she says between gritted teeth. "I'll teach him..." And with that, she leaps down from the swing and strides off towards the woods, stamping her feet. She then breaks into a trot. Vaguely, she hears a voice call her name before she bursts into a frantic sprint toward the treeline, laughing like a hyena as she bounds off, careless of the incompetent parent she leaves behind.

On and on, into the woods she goes, until the sound of traffic has ceased and all she can hear is the rustling of trees and the twitter of birds. She hears a crow call from above and, looking up, calls back:

"Craaaaaw, craaaaw, craaaw."

She likes crows, envies their glossy black coats, jealous of their beautiful broad wings. On and on and on she goes, leaping roots and fallen trees, until she reaches a clearing and, halting, breathless, kneels to pick up a fir cone. She breaths deep of the scent of leaf mould and moss, tree bark and brambles. She doesn't hear the approach of a stranger.

O ~ o ~

Deep in the forest, a lone wolf tracks her prey, far from her regular hunting ground, where her attempts at catching a victim have been barren. Onward she pads, following a wavering pattern of scent and sound, building a picture, in her powerful wolf imagination, of the creature she now pursues. She has not eaten for three days and her milk is starting to dry up.

She has many mouths to feed. Her sire is ravenous too and she had to chase him off, lest he should steal one of her pups to break his own fast. She stops, ranging her sensitive snout left to right, sampling the subtle hues. Still, she has no picture before her of what manner of beast she tracks.

Wait! Danger! It is not venison, it is not a hare, it is not game and it most certainly is not bear. Why do I so feel anxious?

All this, she contemplates as she draws deep of the multiplicity of scents that drift before her.

Ah! That's it. I hear two steps instead of many. It has reared up onto its hind legs. Danger.. danger.. danger. Am I wrong? Is it really bear? But no, it is too small. Bear pup? No! The scent is all wrong. This is no bear, though it walks rampant, like a bear with sore ears. Caution. Proceed. Know the danger.

She would have turned away but she has to continue, lest it is indeed a prey animal. She is ravenous and her pups will not live another day without proper nourishment.

The canid continues her considered progress, scent and sounds growing ever stronger. Her course meanders, this way, that way, steps light as a falling feather. She must not reveal herself.

At last, she approaches a gap in the dense bush, finding cover behind a thick outcrop, downwind of her objective. She must not allow the unknown creature to scent her presence.

Now, now I see, yet still it is a mystery to me. What, by Mother Forest, is the creature over there? It has a cruel flat face but it has no stature. It is less than wolf and without fangs. Yet it is unknown, therefore it is danger. I will not permit it. I will order it to leave our forest. It will turn and run and I will take its hind legs down if it is not quick about it.

With this the wolf bounds out into the open clearing, facing the little girl, teeth bared, a low growl growing deep in her throat. The girl stops in her tracks and stands as still as a statue, and almost as silent.

"Grrrrr... Yooowwwll... rrrr... off, off, off," barks the wolf, with blood curdling menace.

Why do you defy me, unknown creature? Why do you not turn and run? Do you mean to harm me? For if you try, I will leap and take you down by the throat.

"Why are you barking at me, ragged pooch? Your fur is all matted but it looks lovely and warm. What kind of dog are you? Alsatian? Husky? You look like a wolf but we are a long way from the wild wolf forest. Do you want to play?"

With this, the girl picks up a stick and waves it about. The wolf starts to back away, fearful of the child who, stick raised, seems now much bigger than she had first perceived.

What is it doing with that stick? Is it going to leap at me and attack? Should I run, now, while I still can?... Wait! What now? It draws back its front leg and casts the stick onto the ground before me. It wants to play? Now I see! Now I understand. It is but a pup. It may, at length, grow into a adult creature unknown to me, fearsome and much greater in stature. Yet it has a calm and nurturing aura about it.

The wolf ceases her fearful tirade and picks up the stick, gently in her mighty jaws. She pads across to the girl and drops it at the creature's hind paws. For a moment, the fierce green eyes of the wolf meet the calm, placid, dark eyes of the child.

I have no time to play with you now, little one, for I have many mouths to feed and precious little time to feed them. Go in peace, and if the forest should spare you, we will meet again. For I know now that you are not a danger to me. Your face is kindly, not cruel.

The girl picks up the stick and throws it again, but the wolf does not move.

"You don't want to play, wolf? Never mind, I must go now."

With this, the girl turns and skips happily away. Looking over her shoulder, she sees the wolf still there, watching but not moving. She carries on her jaunty progress with no more thought for the wolf.

The little girl skips back along the way she came. Confident she will find the path back to father, and his car, to take her home to Granny. He will scold her and threaten her with a smack but she doesn't care.

"I hope you finish that cape you promised me, soon, Granny,” says the girl, though nobody hears her. “To keep me warm this winter... The one with the fur lining and the big red riding hood."

Adapted from an earlier story: Twilight Terror