The Fickle Winds of Autumn

Kira’s stomach rumbled in angry emptiness. Her rain-soaked robes clung hungrily to her weakened body; the cold hard log she sat on offered no comfort as the constant rain pattered on the trees above. A dim, endless tangle of lost and bewildered forest engulfed her; the bedraggled, miserable rat’s tails of her drenched hair hung limply down on her aching, sodden shoulders.

She hugged her knees up to her chest, trying to retain a glimmer of meagre body heat, but at some point in her fleeing panic, she had lost her shawl and now sorely missed its warmth and comfort.

The last few lonely days of trying to survive in the unknown tangle of branches and foliage, wandering aimlessly without hope or direction in the unending forest, had been a wretched and chastening experience.

Even worse, the sharp nagging tones of Sister Amelia Constance rang incessantly through her troubled mind and rebuked her from the slough of her despair:From NôvelDrama.Org.

“The Surrounder has a plan and a place for us all - no matter how disagreeable and how stubbornly we refuse to see it. So stop complaining and start fulfilling His Great Purpose!”

And the damp forest had agreed with Sister Amelia, forcing Kira to snap out of her torpor and learn to take responsibility for her own survival.

It had been a novel and unwelcome experience - as far back as her memory stretched, everything had always been thought out for her: what to eat and when to eat it; what to study and which rooms to be in at certain times; what robes to wear and for which occasion; when to pray; when to light a candle, and when its meagre flame should be extinguished - the convent had fastidiously planned her days out for her down to the last tiny detail - for, as the Sisterhood knew, demons were certain to inhabit and corrupt idle hands or minds of the young novicellae.

When she reflected on it, Kira realised that the Church had consciously mapped out, not just her present days and nights and meals, but the whole of her future life as it stretched away before her.

She did not know if she welcomed this idea.

At the time, she had been enormously frustrated by the petty rules and regulations of the convent, somehow always managing to fall foul of them in one way or another - to the obvious and great displeasure of the attendant nuns - so she could never have believed she might ever feel differently. But now, strangely, deprived of her prison bars, she began to appreciate and perhaps even to miss them.

The regularity, the daily certainty, the company, the warm sweet pikelets for feast-day breakfasts.

Her stomach growled at her again, aggravated by her comforting thoughts of food; the chill wet of the forest roused her once more.

The noise of the rain had stopped and had been replaced by a gentle drip from the high yellow leaves down onto the soft mud.

She would have to push on if she was to have any hope of rescue or survival; she stood and trudged cautiously through the soggy moss and earth, scanning for any signs of danger, or of salvation.

Through the deepening gloom of the tree canopy above, it was apparent that evening was falling. It would be dark again soon. She shuddered at the thought of what that would bring - a huddled loneliness spent cowering in the endless unknowing night.

She should at least look for somewhere less exposed before the darkness brought out its strange sounds and terrors and cold.

The fearful isolation of the vast solitary forest had prevented her from sleeping properly for the last two nights; numbing exhaustion weighed heavily across her body and clouded her head as she slogged on.

How cold the bitter nights had been!

Yesterday had even brought down a thick mist with it; it curled across the forest floor and twisted around the trees and bracken, swirling up into phantom shapes, disguising the terrified alarm cries of distant animals and birds, and sapping her meagre confidence to the core.

She had hidden as best she could behind a fallen tree trunk, in the forlorn hope that this decaying moss-covered barricade might protect her in some way.

She had not even dared to think about the hundreds of spiders and snakes and creepy crawlies and the Surrounder-only-knew-what-else, which had no doubt been slithering and scuttling all about her all through the dreadful long darkness.

She rubbed her arms about her to try to warm and dry herself. Her feet slopped and crunched through the mud and leaves and twigs. In between the dark looming shadows of the trees, Autumn’s rich bounty of mushrooms peeped out, low in the debris of the undergrowth - but she did not dare to try them without knowing which were poisonous and which were good to eat. And besides, without a fire, a pan and some butter to fry them in, as Sister Hilda always used to prepare them, what use were they anyway?

Her stomach grumbled loudly at these warming memories, which only made her situation seem even more bleak and cold and hopeless in the dark meandering forest.

Her feet were sore from the endless drudgery of walking, and hurt where her boots were rubbing at them; her body shivered with the damp evening chill; the shadows around her darkened; soon the creeping fears of the forsaken night would be upon her.

She stopped to scan the twilight distance for shelter, hopelessly, aimlessly lost in the vast depths of the dark forest. Her keen eyes strained against the dimming light.

Glinting far off in the murky distance, she noticed a flickering orange glow - a strange spot of intense colour against the monochrome backdrop of the tainted evening.

Perhaps it was a fire of some sort?

Or was it some other unknown danger she had yet to encounter - perhaps even the witches? Or a trap set by them to catch her?

But if it was a fire, this might be her chance of rescue from this miserable and lonely sojourn.

Someone might be there who could help her, and get her back to the safety of the convent walls.

She headed cautiously towards the glow; slowly placing her feet as she brushed through the undergrowth, keeping behind the dark shadows of the towering trees, trying to approach without a sound, so she could investigate without giving herself away.

The charred acrid smell of smoke drifted through the twilight.

It must be a fire.

Hungrily, she could almost sense the luxurious drying warmth that the flames must be producing. She stalked on slowly, through the rustling tangle of branches and scrub, pausing to strain her ears for any indication of whose fire it might be, and to make sure she remained undetected.

Closer still, and she could pick out the occasional crack of the burning wood as it spat and split. The glowing reds and oranges threw out dancing shadows which played on the silent trees.

Her racing mind filled with hopes - perhaps she might not die out here all alone with only the taciturn forest for company?

She could be warm by a fire.

Perhaps there might even be food and a way back to the convent?

She was safe!

But it could still be something else, something dangerous.

On the journey there, the other girls had entertained themselves with chilling stories of the great woods which surrounded the Grove, and how they were filled with notorious cut-throats and thieves and murderous monsters of all description.

She crouched low behind a tree while she decided what to do; she rubbed her fingertips into the rough bark as she listened for clues and pondered her next move.

Dare she risk it?

If she continued towards the fire she would be warm - but whoever had made it might kill her - or eat her - or worse.

But if she did not take this chance of warmth and food and rescue, she could be lost out in the unending, unfeeling forest forever.

She would die there, cold and hungry and alone. No-one would ever even bother to look for her - they would probably just assume that she had perished at the Grove along with all the others.

And besides, apart from Amber, who was there really that cared enough to even miss her anyway?

She huddled down motionless behind the tree as she weighed up her options, stuck in a mire of indecision.

The plume of her breath billowed out before her as a harsh evening chill descended. It was certain to be another bleak night.

Her wet body trembled from hunger and cold and the weary prospect of another night alone and the fear of not knowing what to do.

Perhaps she could risk going to the fire?

It was probably just a group of woodsmen out gathering logs.

But what if they really were murderers - or worse?

But alone in the forest for a few more days, she would surely die anyway. Perhaps she had nothing to lose?

But her doubting instincts demanded that she held back, beyond the flickering shadows, out of sight of the glowing camp-fire.

Her body shivered; her jaw began to vibrate - whether from cold or nerves or lack of sustenance, she could no longer tell.

She looked up through the occasional gaps that Autumn had made in the tree canopy above.

The moon was already making herself known, and the curious stars gazed down blankly on her from the black of the vast sky.

She stared back at them, and hoped that they might somehow inspire her to make a decision.

In the distance, a wolf let out a plaintive, guttural howl at the empty evening air, summoning on the friendless dark of the night.

Kira jumped at the sound, and her skin shuddered at the danger of her own lonely predicament.

“That settles it then,” she announced to herself.

“Even if they are cut-throats and murderers, I might as well get it over and done with quickly rather than starve or freeze to death out here and be food for the wolves.”

She stood up from her hiding place.

“Courage!” she whispered to her jangling nerves, and walked through the dark trees towards the flickering orange glow.