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Winona Caverly had always wondered what her death date would be.
An absurd thought that was, that she would die someday. Just like the leaves that danced from the trees in the cool autumn gust, tumbling to the dampened grounds only to sink further and further until someday, they would be replaced. The muggy scent of wet leaves disintegrating into the forest soil was the smell of the end. The end of their cycle, accompanied by the loose bark that had fallen from the high branches. It was all in the formidable woods, the dark and ominous trees that swayed to the mellifluous wind.
Winona sat perched on the largest tree in King County, her knees tucked up to her chest as she peered down at the wildlife. Squirrels leaped over the stream as birds landed gently on the pinnacles of the pine trees. She was just like the frogs hopping from oak to pine, the caterpillars lost in the crevices of the bark and the tadpoles that swam beneath the green, algae covered river. Surrounded by death.
She would die someday, just like the animals that scurried along the forest floors. But they were alive at that moment, deep in the obscure woods with nothing other than their unnerving thoughts. They all seemed untouchable, the wildlife and her, as they were surrounded by the end of a seasonal cycle. It only fed the euphoric feeling inside of her, the pure and utter solitude that consumed her as she roamed the bush.
The cherry red wind breaker clung to her skin as she leaped from the dense oak branch. Feet landing roughly in a pile of leaves, she cursed under her breath for almost squashing an ash colored squirrel. It scurried away and leaped over the river.
The wind had a particular dulcet flow to it that evening, as it gently brushed against her sun kissed skin. She noticed the ravine was strong with her head peered over the edge, the moss covered rocks sitting along the zenith of the narrow waterway. Every evening she traveled to the same spot, sometimes taking the long route to potentially discover new areas. Although she'd been walking the dense forests for nearly eight years, she sometimes came across a new spot, and if she was lucky, she'd find a meadow. But no matter what she discovered, her feet unfailingly always brought her back to the same placid ravine. It was where the oak was planted, which was what she assumed was the thickest tree in King County. She perched herself on the main branch each day after school and watched as the water raged down the narrow path.
But as the clock on her wrist struck five, she started to head back home. Although her grandmother didn't mind her roaming the dimly lit forests unsupervised, she still had a curfew. It was the only thing that kept her from traveling through the ravine and down the length of the bush. To reach the end she'd have to camp out, and she figured it wasn't worth the worry she'd be putting her grandmother through.
Besides, she'd discovered enough of the woods to walk for miles. At least an hour into the bush there were still scattered remains of ribbons and ropes dangling from trees and sinking into the dampened soil. It helped her get around when she didn't know her north from her south. With eight years of experience on her, she could tell where she was just by closing her eyes and listening to the birds shrill screams echo off the trees. The marks weren't of any use, but she kept them there for nostalgic purposes.
