After the war, walking through the forest was easy. Crunching twigs beneath your feet was child's play. Before it had been a dangerous game, walking into territory infested with hidden fae that were waiting to pounce on a small, golden-haired girl or perhaps a legion of sword wielding villagers, whichever happened to come first. But the war was over. Any fae who'd been forgotten by their troop, any who'd been left to fend for themselves, had long since been slaughtered. There was no forgiveness in a village like this. So close to the wall, only the strong survived the war, but the weak weren't forgotten. I walked by the remnants of their homes today, heading home with a lifeless rabbit in my hands. Some vagabonds tried to rebuild the lost estates, wandering from village to village until they found a home burnt to the ground or flooded beyond repair, smashed to bits or even just completely gone, only the stone foundation left behind. They were heartless, the drifters. They didn't care for those who'd inhabited the home once. They didn't care that the Jackle's were burned alive for using their home as a base for human soldiers, or that the Penn's were tortured for information on battle plans, plans that the vicious fae knew they didn't have. They just pissed on the land and called it their own. They had no respect at all. It was Nesta who hated them the most, her face twisting into a menacing glare whenever one dared to cross her path in the square. Most had learned to keep their distance from her by now, as she wasn't afraid to speak her thoughts concerning their disrespectful nature.

I understood her feelings. In the years before the war our town had been quiet, not quite friendly, but calm. There wasn't any animosity between homes. But once the war began each family had to very much fend for themselves, only trading useful goods or services when absolutely necessary. There was always a silent hope, though, that after the fighting, after the death and the sorrow, we would be calm again. Quiet and calm. The drifters didn't live here during the war, they didn't endure what we did, so why should they claim land and houses that they had absolutely no right to?

It could be hard to think about those years, so I always figured it was in my best interest to try and forget. I preferred to just live how I could; hunting, maybe fishing in the brook every once in awhile, and going home with my hands raw and calloused in time for Nesta to glare and my father to whine. Today is no different. Marching out of the woods that day was, I liked to tell myself, as easy as falling asleep. I did everything in my power not to think about the time a Naga had crouched behind the red-budded bush I was walking past, tried not to think about how it had grabbed onto my shoulder and scratched and bit until I bled. Instead I focused on the sounds of my footsteps, soft and light, as to not terrify the animals I wished to kill. Autumn wasn't a bad season, and we had enough to eat, but I wasn't going to get too cocky. I remembered the winters where it seemed skin stuck to bone and the cold burrowed straight into your chest and never left. If I could preserve enough, or build up a small amount of money, maybe, then we could live this winter, instead of merely surviving.

This, however, was merely a hopeful wish of mine, for I knew that nothing was going to change as long as I remained the sole provider for my family. I will always wonder how I allowed myself to become the most responsible, but then I remember my mother on her deathbed. I wish she had never asked this of me. I wish she had never asked me to take care of them, of Elain, of Nesta, of my father. I was the one who was supposed to be cared for, being the youngest, but no. Instead, I had to be the one doing the caring.

Caring, I thought. As if I actually cared about their fate at this point. I took care of them because of my promise to my mother. Had it not been for that promise, I do not know if I would have stayed with them for so long. I always wondered that if I had indeed chosen to leave at some point, would father step back up to take care of Elain and Nesta? Or would he simply still sit by the fireplace and complain about not having enough food while they all slowly starved? Not that it matters, because my promise to my mother is one that I intend to keep. That promise is what constantly leads me back to these woods.

I consider the woods to be both my saving grace and my own personal hell. In one way, they granted me the solitude that I did not have at home. When sitting beneath the trees, or possibly up in their branches, waiting for whatever unsuspecting creature would become our dinner, I had time to think. Think of the way the war had forced me into these woods to find food, as every other scrap was being sent to the soldiers. I used to fear these woods, since they were so close to fae territory, but fear becomes second to the hunger that I have now grown accustomed to. As much as I enjoyed the solitude and silence at times, the quiet could sometimes become deafening. Silence usually meant that no creatures were around, therefore meaning that there would again be nothing for me to bring home to feed my family. If they had nothing, then I for certain had nothing, since they all got their pick of the meat first. Truth be told, I was not quite sure how much longer we could survive like this.

I shook my head of the thoughts, trying to clear my mind of, well, everything. I didn't really have any bright spot in this life, I had nothing to look forward to but falling asleep. In my dreams, I saw stars brighter than the sun and heard music that could only be made by blissful, lovely people. My dreams were vastly preferable to my life, as sad as that was. But I had food for the night, and the next, so I couldn't complain. I was almost home by then, passing only a few more dirt roads until I was back at my family's hovel.

Walking up to it, it looked so sad, so empty. The walls were worn and crumbling in some spots, it was just a ghost of a house. It suited me, though, as I was a ghost of a girl. Today, however, there was an oddity. Today, with the sun starting to set into a pretty pinkish sky, there was a man. A man with a mop of black hair so dark, that it seemed to simply swallow the light. A man wearing plain clothing, a slightly worn tunic and pants that although old, were perfectly matched. A man with strange, violet eyes, eyes that were looking directly at me.

As he noticed me approaching, he stood and grinned at me, as if he had a million secrets stuck in his heart that I would never know.

I definitely didn't recognize this man, but something about him felt oddly familiar. "Can I help you?" I asked, tone biting and indicating that I very much wouldn't like to help him.

His mouth turned up at the end in a smirk, as if my icy tone egged him on. "Well I sure as hell hope so, the girl inside was rude as balls," he purred.