An Unexpected Destiny (Completed)

Woodcarver's Shop

I cannot find the cottage. Dove had galloped those two miles and a hundred paces in no time and left the company far behind. No doubt they will catching up, but I hardly care. Now, Dove stands behind me, her breaths loud in the quiet patch of forest that is what I think of as a glen: sparse green grass grows amongst trees with plenty of space to ride and run between with high branches. Cool wind rattles the few remaining leaves on the trees. Beyond the glen is the tangled, ominous forest.

Strands of loose hair blow across my face as I jog from one corner of the glen to the next; it is only fifty paces or so wide and twenty long. And there is no cottage, or any sign of civilization. No, no no. There has to be something! There just has to be. Unless...

I remember what the head man said about the witch sensing my approach and vanishing before I could get to her. My eyes begin to sting and I can smell panic behind me. My throat is burning and my voice box trembles. If  I don't find Merida, I am going to lose it.

I think I see something in a far corner behind a thick trunk, and dart for it. I hear Dove trot behind me, my bags thumping against the saddle. When I peek around the tree, there is nothing but vines snaking up an old standing stone with... Oh my God. I backpedal and slam into something so hard the triad of spirals near the top of the standing stone blurs. I must be in the right place.

Before the stone can wield any crazy magical shit on me, I try to shove Dove away. She doesn't budge. And it comes to me that whatever is behind me isn't warm and breathing, but inanimate and rigid. I run a hand on it. Wood?

The stone looms over me and my eyes squeeze themselves shut and my hand scratches against the wood for a weak spot-- anything to get out of here. You shouldn't have come alone. Shut up! All I want is my sister back. My hand grasps something. "Please--" I plead.

The wood gives way and I am falling. I land on my back with a pathetic gasp and dust swirls around me, the sun is in my face; the bow and quiver dig into my spine. I stand up on shaking legs and block out the sun with my hand. Before me lays a green trail inside a tunnel of interlocked trees, which is just wrong because the only sunlight coming through the canopy is through a hole above me and this tunnel wasn't even here when I searched the glen. I reach behind to make sure my bow is okay, and find it is fine. And behind me... I turn around and do not see my horse. Dove is gone. Spikes of fear stab into the back of my neck while wonder and curiosity slow the pounding drum in my chest.

I am in the doorway of a woodcarver's shop. Large and small wood figurines clutter tables and shelves in every space of the cottage and some hang from the low ceiling in mobiles. Where sunlight falls onto them from round, dirty windows, I see bears, birds, rabbits, fish and horses carved with intricate fur, wings, and tales. The smell of freshly cut wood and something else fainter that I can't identify except that it's fruity. I approah the table nearest the door, that had been against my back, and pick up a figurine in the shape of a human. He has long hair and a beard with two braids in it. His eyes glare at some unseen enemy and he holds a huge axe that reminds me of a war axe used by Tolkien's dwarves. The armor on him is incredible in its detail: fur bristles at his shoulders and two belts hold a thick "jacket" of leather on his body. "Wow," I breathe.

"That's a pricey one there, lass," a squeaky yet clear as crystal voice says from further in the cottage. I jump and nearly drop the figurine. I squint into the darker recesses of the cottage to see the owner of the voice. A candle flares up not two inches from my nose. I cry out and stumble back into the closed door.

"Forgive me for frightening ye, lass," a tiny, hunched woman with a crow's beak for a nose and a cliff for a chin says from above me. A wrinkled and gnarled hand reaches down and naturally narrow eyes sparkle with invitation. I breathe out a loud breath of relief and accept her hand. Much stronger than I expected, the woman pulls me to my feet and the bends down and picks up the figurine I had dropped. The woman turns it over in her palm, and I see a crack running horizontal across the beard.