Two Strangers

The forest hums, though most do not know how to hear it. It has always been so obvious to me. The hum is a constant pulse; a thrumming of life forces intertwined with each other. The roots of the ancient oak trees, the winding vines aflush with vibrant blooms, the skittering of animals and insects, the flapping of bird wings, it is all connected.

I revel in the hum, soaking it in before the forest notices me and ceases its music. The hum stops only for me. The moment my presence is sensed, the forest goes silent as death. I do not blame it, for I am an intruder. A monster, some would say. My natural form is unsettling to the creatures in this forest; they are not used to it in this strange land.

In my home, I was one of many of my kind. My forest did not fear me. It never went silent in my presence. Now, I am all alone in this foreign place, a monster who haunts the wood like a ghost. I do not harm them, I feed off the energy the creatures produce, and nothing more. Yet when I step into the clearing to feed, the creatures flee anyway.

I shut my eyes and breathe in the scent of the forest. It smells similar to my home, but not quite the same. There is something sour in this place, something sharp. But I have never been able to find the source. I ignore the smell and focus my senses on the pulsing energy around me.

Once fed, I prepare to slink back into the shadows so that the forest may resume its usual pace. I stop in my tracks when the sour smell returns stronger than before. I tilt my head to the sky and breathe deep, trying to focus on where the smell is coming from. I face the direction where the scent is strongest, straining my eyes to watch the trees.

Something breaks the silence as the scent grows more pungent. Twigs snap and the brush rustles harshly, sending a plume of fleeing birds up into the sky. I hear heavy, panicked breathing before something bursts out of the trees and into the clearing. A small mortal dives into the middle of the clearing and lands with a thud onto the forest floor.

They are looking towards where they ran from, their breathing ragged and their scent filled with acrid fear. The mortal shuffles backwards with their hands, dragging coppery blood across the ground. They are injured, but I can practically taste their thundering adrenaline. Clearly, they are more concerned with escaping whatever they were running from than addressing their wounds.

I watch the human with curiosity as the sour smell begins to fade. Perhaps whatever carried the sour scent became aware of me and decided to abandon its pursuit. Just as the human’s erratic heartbeat begins to slow, I see them stiffen. The hair on the back of the mortal’s neck stands up as they hold completely still. They must have sensed me watching them.

Agonizingly slowly, the human turns around to face me. I do not bother hiding. The human turns and their breath catches in their throat at the sight of me. They do not scream or flee, but fear causes their pupils to enlarge. I return their gaze calmly as I study the human’s features.

They are slight, even for a mortal. Their bones stand starkly against their pallid skin, and their eyes are a watery blue color. Tangled locks of chestnut hair hang over their pointed shoulders. The human certainly appears mortal, but I sense something wild beneath their fearful form.

“Please…,” the human stutters. The voice is musical and light, but trembling. A female voice, I deduce. The human must be a woman, one with perhaps only two decades of time on this Earth.

I tilt my head as I study the fear etched on their delicate features. “Please…what?” I say, my low voice croaked and husky from lack of use.

“Please don’t kill me,” the woman says.

The assumption of my bloodlust does not offend me, nor does it surprise me. I am quite tall, and my eyes glow scarlet red. I appear to be a violent monster on the outside, but my mind is a peaceful one.

“I do not want to kill you, human,” I say. “But I can’t say the same about whatever you were running from.”

The woman glances behind her for a moment before whipping her head to look back at me. She eyes me with suspicion, her brown furrowed and her jaw tense. She still lies on the forest floor propped up on her hands, which are clutching the soil beneath her.

“Do you know what it is? That…monster?” she asks, glancing behind her once more.

“No. It smells of rot.”

The woman nods. “I smelled it before I saw it. I was out foraging when I noticed the smell. Before I could turn around, I felt teeth on my neck. I couldn’t move…I was whipped around like a ragdoll by the thing before it flung me away. I only got one glance at it before I started to run. It’s nearly as tall as you, but thin and pale. It has leathery wings and black eyes…its mouth gaped, and it had rows of serrated teeth that smelled of blood.”

The woman’s voice has lost most of its trembling quality, she sounds sure of herself now. She stands slowly, first hunched over with her hands against her thighs, then upright. Her head tilts as she rakes her eyes over my form, her pose comically similar to my own.

“You’re no monster,” the woman says, though it sounds as if she is speaking to herself.

“I am not from these lands. I am an outsider.”

“So am I,” she replies. “I am a witch. Well, I’m an apprentice for one. I was out finding supplies for her to create a spell that could help me feel more at home.”

“More at home?” I ask, confused. I know of witches, they frequent the forest for supplies or spell circles from time to time, but they never stay long.

“I am from a different country,” she answers. “I look different, and no one speaks my language. Well, I suppose you do, though.”

“I speak all languages. I have been around for a very long time, human.”

The woman nods in understanding, as if this is very normal to her. “I just want to feel…at peace with where I am. The witch said she could help me.”

Silence ensues between us, but not an uncomfortable one. Instead, the silence holds anticipation. I feed on the crackling energy growing between the woman’s form and my own, causing me to grow an inch or two. Her eyes widen in shock, but she does not move from her spot. She tilts her head up and holds my gaze, defiance flashing in her eyes.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“I am no one,” I answer, for I am. I am a ghost, a wanderer, a stranger.

“Everyone is someone.”

“You are someone, I presume?”

“I’m Marigold.”

“You are a flower?” I ask. The woman does not resemble the yellow blooms I know so well.

The woman laughs. The action erases some of the gauntness of her features and lights up her eyes. “No, I am a woman. But my parents named me after a flower. Do you have a name?”

“I do not have one,” I say. I am sure I had a name at some point, but if I did, it was lost to time.

The woman scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. Everyone has a--,”

Her words are cut off by the sound of branches snapping, followed by the putrid sour scent. The woman’s eyes go wide with fear. In an instant, she is behind me, clutching the wiry fur covering my back.

“It’s back,” she whispers, peeking from behind my form.

I do not reply, instead I focus all of my senses on the incoming creature. The smell is truly awful; it is not natural. My gaze catches on the tip of a wing moving through the trees, then the creature itself emerges.

It is something I have never seen before, which is surprising considering my age. The creature does not belong, that much I can tell. Though I do not belong either, I do not have the malicious intent which is oozing off the pale creature in front of me. It curls its lips back and growls, showing me the serrated teeth Marigold spoke of. Blood drips down its chin and onto its leathery chest.

I can feel the human trembling behind me, but she does not run. I approach the bloody monster, Marigold following me as she clings to my hide. The sour smell is nearly too much to handle as we get closer.

Instantly, the creature launches into the air with a whoosh. Flapping its leathery wings, the monster flies and lands behind me. I spin to face it, but not before it snatches Marigold with its unnaturally long arms. She shrieks, and I do not think before I lunge towards her.

The creature has long claws, but mine are longer. I swipe at the thing’s long neck, blood spurting from the wound. The monster screams, causing more birds to flee from the trees at the horrific sound. The monster’s grasp still does not let go of Marigold, who is thrashing wildly in its arms.

I swipe again, this time cutting the creature across its face. Before I can swipe once more, the human hangs her head forward, her neck slumped and her body limp. My ancient heart sinks at the sight. I feel a connection to the mortal, though we had only a brief exchange.

The monster begins to launch upward with its prey, but it is hindered as the human knocks her head back with full force, the back of her skull connecting with the monster’s face with a sickening crack. With another shriek, the monster’s grasp loosens, allowing Marigold to slip away.

As the human runs towards me, I reach for the creature’s neck while it still reels from the blow to the face. With its neck in my hands, I rip into the strange skin covering the creature until it ceases its jerky movements. Dropping the body to the ground, silence washes over the forest once more. I do not feel remorse for what I have done. After all, I have saved the human.

“Thank you,” she says. I turn to look at Marigold, who is looking up at me in awe.

“You did most of the work,” I reply.

Marigold laughs, and I feel the urge to do the same, though I no longer remember how to.

When Marigold returned to the witch, I believed our paths to cross no longer. That is until the human returned days later, a vial of deep green liquid in her hands.

“Drink this,” she said. “It will make you feel at home again.”

I did drink the liquid, and all at once, the forest hummed once more in my presence. I felt the energy of the creatures relax. They were no longer scared of me. I truly did feel at home in the strange forest, an outsider no longer.

The human returned to visit me for many years after our fateful encounter. She even brought her daughter, who I watched grow from a tiny infant to the size of her mother. There came a day when Marigold no longer visited, nor did her daughter. Human lives are so very short, after all.

Yet even now, I make sure to take my time breathing in the air surrounding the forest’s marigold flowers. The smell reminds me of the small human who stumbled upon me, the human who looked upon me like an equal, the human who made me belong. We were but two strangers who wandered into each other, lost but wild. Strange but special. I listen for her in the forest’s hum, and sometimes, I hear her.