Hollis hefted the generously filled basket of plump blackberries higher against her chest, the thorny branches a familiar prickle against her worn tunic. The morning had been a fruitful one, the sun dappling through the leaves as she navigated the familiar paths. Blackberry pies were her weakness, a sweet indulgence she rarely denied herself, and this bounty promised several.
A small pang of guilt nipped at her excitement. She had slipped out before dawn, her stomach rumbling with emptiness, a fact her older brother Brandon would undoubtedly seize upon. He fussed over her like she was still a child, a habit that grated on her nerves. At twenty-four, she was well past needing constant supervision.
Most of the girls her age were already wives and mothers, their lives intertwined with husbands and the patter of small feet. Not that Hollis yearned for such a life – especially not with any of the predictable, small-minded men in their village. They were all so... her height. She longed for someone taller, someone she could truly lose herself in a comforting embrace with. At this point, it felt like a fanciful daydream. The only man who even remotely met her impossible standards was Rune, and he harbored a deep-seated disdain for their village, ensuring he remained a distant figure.
Finally, the familiar thatched roofs of her village came into view. Just as she breathed a sigh of relief, a figure materialized from behind a large oak tree, making her jump.
"You can't just disappear like that, Hollis!" Brandon's voice was a low growl, his brow furrowed in a familiar scowl.
"I went berry picking," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
Brandon snatched the heavy basket from her grasp, his concern overriding his annoyance. He carried it towards their small cottage, leaving Hollis to pout and trail after him.
"Making pie?" he asked, the scent of ripe berries already filling the air.
"People are willing to buy them from me," she said, a hint of pride in her voice. Her pies were becoming quite popular.
"Look at you, all grown up," Brandon murmured, a flicker of genuine affection softening his features.
"I'm twenty-four, Brandon," she reminded him, rolling her eyes playfully.
"You'll always be my little sister," he declared, ruffling her hair.
A smile tugged at her lips. She set about preparing her pies, the rhythmic mashing and stirring a soothing ritual. Brandon, ever the helpful brother despite his nagging, washed and dried the remaining berries before heading out, presumably to "bother some poor girl," as Hollis fondly thought.
Hours later, the sweet aroma of baking pies filled the cottage. Hollis surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction. Tomorrow, she would bake more. But tonight, dinner required a different ingredient: mushrooms.
She informed her mother about the pies cooling on the windowsill, grabbed her smaller woven basket, and set off towards the woods. She loathed mushrooms. Their earthy smell and slimy texture made her stomach churn. But her father adored them, so she would brave the forest for his sake.
If her memory served her correctly, the particular kind her father favored grew near the larger river. She usually stuck to the smaller stream closer to the village, never venturing towards the deeper woods.
As she walked, she spotted a few late-blooming blackberries clinging to a thorny bush. Might as well pick them, she thought, adding them to her basket. No point in wasting perfectly good berries.
She reached the familiar fork in the path and took the less-traveled route towards the larger river. The air grew cooler and damper as she ventured deeper into the woods. Finally, she heard the rush of water and emerged onto the riverbank. And there they were – clusters of the distinctive, slightly speckled mushrooms her father loved.
She grimaced inwardly but began diligently picking, filling her small basket as quickly as possible before the encroaching twilight deepened the shadows. She wanted to gather enough so she wouldn't have to make this unpleasant trip again anytime soon.
Her attention drifted to the smooth, dark surface of the water as she caught a flicker of movement. She turned fully, her breath catching in her throat. Two intense eyes were watching her from the river.
The eyes belonged to Rune. The very same Rune who was the subject of hushed whispers and fearful glances in their village. The one man no one dared to cross.
He rose silently from the water, and Hollis's gaze involuntarily dropped to the rivulets cascading down his broad chest, the water clinging to his sculpted muscles.
How can someone not like him? she thought, a strange sense of bewilderment washing over her. She didn't understand the fear and animosity directed towards him. He simply looked... like a normal, albeit unusually large and undeniably handsome, man to her.
"Hi! Sorry if I interrupted your bath," she blurted out, her cheeks flushing slightly.
He settled onto a large, moss-covered boulder at the edge of the river, his dark eyes fixed on her, unreadable.
An awkward silence stretched between them. "Bye!" Hollis finally said, turning abruptly and starting to make her way back towards the familiar path to her village, her heart suddenly thumping a little faster.
How bad can Rune be exactly? she wondered, her mind replaying the image of his intense gaze and the way the water had glistened on his skin. He looked like a normal, unusually large guy to her.
Maybe, just maybe, she would see him again. The thought, surprisingly, didn't fill her with dread.
YOU ARE READING
The Beast (SHORT STORY) (EDITED)
FantasyHe was a monster to everyone. He was the outcast yet no one dare to say anything bad to his face. She was the one who always have a smile on her face. She was the only one who love the monster that he is. ...... "You're my monster."
