Snow in the Woods

Ice crunched under the tiny feet of a child almost as pale as the frost. The forest loomed over the child and her companion, trees shaking shaggy heads in dismay. The man led the child by the hand. He had a sharp boulder of a face, and barely a glint of humanity in his little pebble eyes. The girl was cold. She wore only her nightgown, made of the finest white linen and embroidered with gold thread. The royal crest graced her collar, but she was yet too young to know what that meant. The man yanked on her, pulling her farther into the shadowed woods.

"Move, you little rodent," he groused. "Stop that sniveling."

The child was indeed sniffing a runny little nose, but she wasn't crying. She did not comprehend what was happening well enough to be sad about it. Quite the opposite, actually. She had rarely seen much of the world outside her gold-and-purple bedroom, and she was finding this to be quite an excellent adventure. If only she had brought her shoes, and if only the man would slow down.

"Oo!" She cried, pointing into the brush. "Ticky!"

"Gods, it won't shut up," the man cursed to himself, although this was the first thing the child had said in over an hour.

The "ticky" was not, in fact, a kitty cat. It was a little red fox, cowering in a bush, for it knew exactly what the long black sheath on the man's belt meant. But the child did not, and so she trotted along behind him, towed by one fat little arm, feet numb and nightdress torn.

The man looked over his shoulder, gauging how far they had come. In a shadowy clearing, he halted. He was satisfied.

"It's time." He drew his knife. His form, dark and imposing, overshadowed the tiny, pale, girl, and for the first time since he had marched her from her nursery, she cowered.

"Hold still." He bent over her, meaty fist clenching the dagger.

The little girl closed her eyes, too afraid to scream. She waited for pain.

Cold metal touched her face. She flinched. With a metallic schwish, the blade severed something. Her heart raced.

"Go South, Princess," the man said, straightening. He tucked the lock of shadow-black hair he'd cut from her head into a pocket of his leather coat. He placed his knife back in its sheath, the last grain of humanity in his stony eyes glinting. "I promised your father I would always watch out for you, so I will not harm you. But I cannot protect you now. The forest will take care of you."

He turned and strode off into the woods, his stride eating up the path and leaving nothing but branches and shadows behind him.

The little girl shivered in the clearing, too afraid to try to follow him. She looked around, searching for another grown-up. At home, one was always about, lurking in pantries or around corners just when she'd found some good mischief to get up to.

"Nonny!" She cried, but her nurse didn't pop up from behind a stump, or bustle in through a hidden doorway. "Nonny! Opie!" She toddled through the clearing, as if one of her attendants might yet be playing a game with her.

Something rustled in the bushes. A cold wind blew past her, ruffling the short hairs the man had cut. There was something scary in the bushes, something dangerous. She could feel it.

"Mamma?" The girl whispered, creeping forward.

But nothing in these dark woods, no matter how vicious or predatory, could compare to her terrifying Mamma.

The creature did not reply.

Soon, what little light the winter sun provided began to dim. Pools of pallid light receded, slurped up by thirsty shadows. The little girl walked in the direction the man had shown her. At least, she thought it was the right way, but the air grew colder with every step, and she did not know where she was going. She tripped over exposed roots and stumbled over rocks. Bloody footprints in the snow trailed behind her, from little feet too cold to feel their cuts.

Inside the warm cave, the creature slept. The fire in her belly warmed the cave, seeping into the rocks. Her ruby chest rose and fell with deep breaths that sent billows of smoke from her nostrils.

A noise outside her bedchamber penetrated her deep slumber. She stirred, nosing over the treasure in her cave. Her hoard was safe, every precious piece of it accounted for. She moved her wings across her jewels, shuffling them closer to her protective fire. Her enormous eyes began to close again.

There it came once more— a pitiful sound, a wailing. She snorted in frustration, blowing smoke rings. It was unmistakable now, the reedy sound of some dying animal piping out its final breath. It continued longer than a dying animal usually did, though. Half out of curiosity, half annoyance, the majestic beast levered herself up and made her way to the cave entrance. She peered out of her cave, amber eyes blazing through the Winter night. She sniffed the air, catching the scents of pine and snow and blood. Her head, longer than a man’s torso, cocked as she turned an ear to the wind.

A few moments later, the wailing wandered into the clearing, and the dragon spied its source. A human child, clothed in rags and trailing blood. She smelled wolves not far behind, tracking it. The child froze, staring up at the colossal creature with tiny, glittering eyes. She did not scream, or run.

The dragon regarded the child, who was barely more than an infant. She took in the long obsidian hair, the pale skin, the helpless little hands, devoid of claws or weapons. The fire in the dragon’s eyes burned brighter, and she bent her mighty head over the tiny human. Come, she seemed to say, shepherding the girl with a nudge of her snout.

In the cave, the girl huddled against the dragon, seeking her warmth. The dragon laid down again, and her treasure sparkled all around her. The girl watched with bright, curious eyes, as the hoard inspected her. The dragon’s treasure, gleaming like gems, sapphire and emerald and tiger’s eye. Tiny dragons, seven of them. They sniffed the girl, nipped at her outstretched fingers, and looked at their mother. She inclined her head in a slow, massive, nod of affirmation. The little dragons raced around the cave, twisting and wrestling with unbridled excitement. One of them licked the girl’s face, lapping away the salty tears, until she began to laugh. Delighted, the dragons opened their own mouths and tried to laugh, themselves. Two of them managed to cough out tiny flames, eliciting a chuckle from their mother and peals of laughter from the girl.

That night, all eight slept curled against their mother’s warm belly, the girl snuggled up with the draclings. Their bellies were full of rabbit, roasted by the dragon’s fire. Across the dark woods, past the hungry wolves and the bloodstained snow, a man in a castle was assuring his queen that her daughter was quite dead.

“The forest will have taken care of her by now,” he promised, and her truth-charm glowed a comforting orange, because it was the truth. The forest had taken care of the child, and it would continue to take care of her for all her days.

The End