The Spirits of the Forest

Chapter 4

Sirius

I probably owe you some explanations for my actions, don't I?

3 years ago:

I died. I know I did die because, for three days, eagles pounced on my body. Every time my blurry eyes decided to clear up, I would see them. Still, strangely, I never felt them. The beaks did not meet my skin, not even once.

But on day four, my eyes closed. The world was black. And in the darkness, there were tears. Water invaded my nose, and it became harder and harder to breathe. My body gave up, but my soul, which was changing itself every minute in order to survive, somehow resisted.

I mutilated myself, and on day five - or maybe it was day six - I was reborn. It was a painfully slow process, but after a few hours, I managed to move my fingers. Then, my whole body became functional again. I checked the ropes. Eaten by mice, they gave up quickly. Couldn't say the same about the thorns. They were embedded too deep in my skin for me to could remove them. I didn't find a better option than to let them settle inside me.

Still weakened, I checked my legs, moving my weight from one to the other. I ignored the dizziness behind my eyes, and I continued to repeat this action until I felt sure on my own two feet. It seemed like the blood I've lost made my body slower, but not impossible to control.

With this pleasant realization still fresh in mind, I looked around me. To the west, my home. To the east, the unknown. I went east.

Only when I began to walk did I realize what had happened: I had been given another chance to live. I was no longer worthy to be called a spirit. The nickname "half human" seemed inappropriate, too. What was I then? A deity? Or a monster? I didn't know the answer. I still don't know it. However, it didn't take me long to figure out that I needed to take advantage of this second chance. To do something big enough to raise me above the ones that killed me.

The first thing that came through my mind was killing Arabelle. Surprisingly, I realized that I was, in fact, not mad at her. In the end, it wasn't her fault that I was born different.

Thousands of years ago:

Let me tell you a story:

We, spirits, always had only one place, one home: our forest. We knew there was trading at the sea, great cities in the east. We knew about the powerful alliance between witchers and humans. We expected that, someday, we would be obligated to join them. But we were never ready for that day. We spoke about it, concerned. We felt sorry for the future generations who would catch the war. However, inside us, we knew that that fear was only a mask. We were proud of our freedom. At night, we slept deeply. That's why, when we were the ones who caught the battle, we watched it all helplessly.

And just as we were about to offer them our heads on plates willingly, we noticed something: we couldn't be killed. It was a strange, new realization. The swords cut our bodies, but our inner plants healed us. They appeared on our bodies like an inexhaustible river, closing our wounds. Not even the sharpest blade could dry that river.

That angered the witchers even more. We were, after all, the only ones not rotting under their shoes. Our forest could've been a perfect shortcut for them to reach their other territories. And as if all this weren't already enough reasons, our calm force determined the humans to reconsider their alliance.