Chapter Two: Nymphs and Their Ways
I was woken by the distant sound of birds chirping. Rolling over and blinking in the early-morning gloom, I forgot for a moment where I was. The soft fabric of the bedcovers felt like silk against my skin, and I enjoyed the sensation for several minutes before remembering the events that had taken place in the night. I recalled the tree spirits, the frantic dash through the forest, and my discovery of the cave. I rubbed my eyes blearily and sat up, feeling suddenly slightly uneasy. The silence pounded in my ears as I listened hard for any sounds that might indicate a presence in the house. A minute passed. Satisfied, I clambered out of the bed and slowly pushed open the door.
The raided cave looked ten times worse in daylight. I noticed shreds of fabric littering the carpet and a few torn books scattered about. I picked my way across the floor towards the front window. When I reached out to touch the red curtains, they came off in my hand. I sighed and looked over the wreckage with a critical eye. I supposed it would not hurt to tidy it before I left. It seemed wrong to leave such a cosy house in such a terrible state.
First of all, I righted the door and managed to mend the hinges with some nails and a hammer I had found in a drawer. They still creaked a little, but they would do. I picked everything up off the carpet. The books were still readable despite being ripped, so I placed them back on the shelves. One volume, entitled Nymphs and Their Ways, caught my eye, and I became distracted from my task. I spent a good half an hour reading it, laughing heartily at the chapter called Why Water Nymphs are not to be Trusted. By the time I had finished, I realised I was very hungry. I had not eaten for two days.
Being a typical naiad, I immediately gravitated towards the nearest water source and caught a fish. I brought it back to the cave and cooked it over the fire. As I watched the flames crackle and spit, I felt warm and content, and realised that I did not want to leave the cave. Not yet, at least. I liked having somewhere to call home.
With a full stomach, I resumed cleaning the house. I moved the furniture around and chopped up a broken chair for firewood. All the furnishings that were beyond repair I took outside and buried in the soil. A portrait of a Faun with a long grey beard was hanging over the fireplace, but the canvas had been slashed diagonally. I did not know what to do with it. For a moment I considered burning it or burying it along with the other debris, but the Faun's eyes glared at me so accusingly that I did not feel I could bring myself to take the painting down. I left it in its place.
By the time the sun began to set, I had restored the cave to what I supposed had been its normal state before the arrest, minus a few items of furniture and a set of curtains. Nightfall found me sitting in front of the fire with the scarlet curtain fabric on my lap. I had discovered a needle and some thread in the bedroom and was turning the drapes into a dress. After all, I only had the garment I was wearing—the one I had worn at the battle—and it was torn in places, not to mention covered in smudges of dirt.
I spent another night in the cave, and ventured out into the wood the next day to collect more food and firewood. I found a small, cool hollow in the rock at the back of the cave where I stored several fat fish and some edible berries. Soon a day turned into a week, and then two weeks. Before I knew it I had been at the cave for an entire month, and was becoming quite the little homemaker. At first I feared that I was being far too conspicuous—surely a tree spirit or a wandering beast would spot me before long? I also worried that the light from the fireplace would be visible through the little window by the door. But nobody ever came. In fact, I did not encounter another living thing for the full four weeks, apart from the odd deer or watchful owl. As time went on I dropped my guard almost completely.
It was on the last night of the month that I was finally found out.
It must have been almost midnight. The spring air was warm and humid, and I was in a deep, dreamless sleep. Something woke me, and I gazed up at the ceiling through blurry eyes as I tried to work out what had happened. Then I heard a noise outside the cave. I sat up slowly and pushed the bedcovers off me, straining my ears. It was an odd sound, almost like lots of pots clanking together. I tiptoed across the room and pulled open the door a fraction. Through the little window at the front of the cave I could see nothing but darkness, punctuated by the odd shining star. I stood very still, listening as the noise drew nearer.
Clank … clank … rustle …
It sounded like somebody was walking towards the cave. Somebody carrying something heavy. An image of a warrior in armour with a great sword sprung to my mind. Panicked, I slipped on my red dress, darted into the room and grabbed the nearest heavy thing I could find—a saucepan. I hurried over to the door and stood behind it, clutching the handle of the saucepan with trembling hands. The noise grew louder and louder until, with a soft thud, the person outside dropped something to the ground.
There was a moment of silence. I held my breath. Then, the door was pushed open. I briefly glimpsed soft, brown curls and a moonlit profile before I brought the saucepan crashing down onto the intruder's head.