Disclaimer: "The Lord of the Rings" and all related items belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This is merely an excursion into Middle Earth as it transitions from a land of hobbits and elves to the domain of man.
The Dark Forest – Part VII
I do not believe that anyone has heard of last night's happenings yet. Our neighbours greeted me normally as I rushed through the streets; they asked me if my mother was well and if my father had begun work on any of Lord de Marinty's new furniture yet. I put on a smile and swallowed my tears as they asked me that. William is adding a new wing on to his old home to celebrate his upcoming marriage to Melin. I shall miss her. I miss Father now.
Why, why would my father leave? Gods, I need the answer to that question! I have been through the village from top to bottom, and there is not a trace of the man who calls himself my father. That leaves only the forest; a place to which I dread going. I do not dread entering the darkness so much as I do leaving it.
I should return home and give Mother word of my whereabouts, but I cannot bear to face her again. I was wrong to speak to her as such, and I realize that, but I do not think that this is the time to make amends. Mother will, by my estimation, already be ending her second stage, and perhaps…it might be best, then? But I cannot; I cannot. I am afraid to speak to her. I should leave a note for Melin. To tell her that both Father and I are safe. Gods, I hope that you see the foresight in my words and bring them to some semblance of truth.
It would be best to enter the Dark Forest with some sort of preparation, a satchel of food, or warm clothing. But I have not the patience to go back. Neither do I have the courage. Besides, I am already standing at the entrance.
The forest glowers at me from beneath its heavily laden boughs, cones and needles dripping down onto the forest floor to make a soft carpet that absorbs any sounds, any screams…I take a step forward and my shoes bury themselves in the thick layer of green. Something smells sickly sweet, as though the trees and underbrush are rotting from the inside out. Quickly I spot the path that I have traveled with my Mother. I hurry to it.
Father must be in here somewhere; yet he has had the full night to travel, and I have only been inside the boundaries of trees for several minutes. Yet I have been told that I have a keen eye for tracking and would have made a wonderful hunter if not for the fact that I am a girl – a woman, maybe – and loathe killing anything. Plants I am fine with. They do not feel. My younger brother made a kill last month and had me skin the rabbit for him. I nearly retched as I touched its still-warm fur. Though I have no fear of creatures and creepy-crawlies, I am not capable of such indifference. Meat is well enough if I am not the one killing and cooking it. In that sense I am different than some of the sworn meat-scorners in my village.
Each step I take may draw me closer to Father, and I know that it draws me farther and farther away from my home and my family.
But secretly, I cannot help but hope –- that it brings me closer to him.