The Wood

The Hunter

I awoke inside. I had a large pelt draped over me, as well as a thick wool blanket. I felt like I was burning, but I realized most of my pain had faded. The scent of freshly baked bread hit me, and I shot up, the pelt sliding off to reveal my bare chest, scratched and bruised with skin stretched thin, but clean. I turned toward the smell and saw a large golden-brown loaf of bread and a ceramic cup with milk. I grabbed the bread and tore into it, taking massive bites and washing down the chunks with milk. Within a minute, half the loaf was already gone, and with it, my appetite. I sank back down and realized I was shaking, goosebumps rising up all over my body as a sudden cold gripped me. I grabbed the pelt and pulled it over me, shivering and curling up under the blanket. The feeling was so deep, it felt as if it sank all the way into my very bones, my whole being consumed by the cold. It slowly began to fade. I waited until the cold spell passed, and then I was began to inspect myself. I had bruising on all along my forearms and my chest and side, plus a collage of blue and purple running up most of my legs. I also sported countless cuts and scrapes. My feet were wrapped up, so I took off the wrappings I saw how badly cut they were. The skin on the bottoms of my feet was shredded and bloody, while my toes had only broken scabs where the nails should have been. My fingers were similar, the palms shredded, fingertips black and crusted over with scabs. I picked the loaf back up and took a bite, savoring the flavor of the fluffy, warm bread. Once I had eaten the final few bites, I gulped down the last of the milk, then curled up and went back to sleep.

hungry

"Oh no, please, no NO! Please, if there's any part of you left that can understand me, I'm begging you, please!"

HUNGRY

"NO!"

I awoke in a cold sweat. The candle was nearly burned out, and the room was dark. I sat up unsteadily, and realized someone had clothed me while I was asleep, in a simple wool tunic and some warm canvas pants. The room was simple. The cot on a wooden frame serving as my bed was the only furnishing. The candle rested on the floor in its simple ceramic holder, its flame burning low, casting only a mute orange light a few feet around, the rest of the room cloaked in shadow. I took my head in my hands and rubbed my temples, wondering how I ended up in a strangers home, feet bloody and head empty. I remember fragments of the forest, vomiting and running and stumbling and collapsing, naked and starving on the muddy earth. The wolves were the sharpest detail, just the thought of their howls making my head hurt and my heart skip a beat. A creak made my head jerk up. There stood the man who had found me, holding a candle.

"Hello, boy. I came to change candle. Are you hunger, or cold?" He still spoke with a strange accent, and mispronounced some of the words. I shook my head.

"That is good. You speak, boy?" I hesitated, then opened my mouth and croaked and coughed. After I recovered, I nodded.

"Yes."

"Good. I am Gavril. Who you are?" He asked me, smiling.

"s." I knew it immediately, the only thing I could remember. He smiled at this as well, and set the candle down next to my cot, then picked up the burned out stub and blew out the flame.

"Well, Mátyás, you lucky that I have found you when I have, else you would be food for wolf." He seemed to find that funny, chuckling lightly. I eyed him uncertainly, unsure if it was a joke or not. He simply kept talking. "Soon you may explain all. Now is far too late, have some sleep." With that, he walked out of the room swiftly and left me to my thoughts. I soon decided thinking was too tiring and once again buried myself under the blanket and pelt and drifted off to sleep.

Dearest little pup, you've grown and shed

The fur of youth, stained with red

You've had your first hunt, first feast, first kill

You've feasted on flesh and had your fill

Red lips, red hands, red mouths, red eyes, red earth, red blood.

feed us

When I came to, the candle was out, and light filtered through the doorway. I attempted to stand, and the lack of pain was surprising, considering it felt like not much time had passed since I ha fallen asleep. I still ached like an old man, but the sharp pains had lost their edge, and I could walk around the room without feeling faint. Gavril walked in, carrying a stool in one hand and a steaming bowl of some thick white substance that smelled heavenly in the other.

"The morning is good, yes?" I nodded, unsteadily walking over to him to take the bowl he offered. Once I had taken it, he dug around in his pocket and produced a carved wooden spoon, handing it to me and winking. "Would not want you eating with the hands." I nodded thankfully and then dug in, shoveling spoonfuls of the stuff into my mouth. It was thick and hot, sweet mush that I barely chewed before swallowing. He chortled at how quickly I ate, then set down his stool next to my bed. "So, Mátyás, tell me how you were in wood like you were." I stopped chewing, my eyes glued to the floor.

"Mátyás?"

"I don't know." I looked up at him, his eyes worried. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. I spooned the last mouthful of porridge into my mouth, swallowed and licked the spoon clean. He watched me quietly the whole time, then cleared his throat as I set the bowl down. "And your hands and feet? What happen to the toes and the fingers?" I glanced at the tips of my fingers, the scabs dark red and brown.

"I don't know." He nodded thoughtfully.

"And why you were naked? Covered in blood and cut, in wood in the night?" I looked up, meeting his eyes.

"I do not know. I woke up half buried in mud. I found the path. I fell many times and must have hurt myself." He seemed to accept that a little more.

"Where do you come from? You talk Hungarian, are you from Kegreye village? Just over mountain?" I looked down, fighting back the urge to hurl the bowl. My lack of memory was deeply disturbing, obviously to both of us.

"I don't know. I don't know, Gavril."

"You have no id-"

"I DO NOT KNOW!" I slammed my fist into the wall, cutting him off. I turned to look at him and saw a look of fear in his eyes. I stammered out an apology. "I am sorry, I am sorry, I am just scared. This has all been a lot for me." His face softened, and he nodded sympathetically.

"I am sorry, boy, I understand now. You are not a liar, I can tell. Would you like more of porridge?" I shook my head. "Alright, well, I will go." He stood and turned to go.

"Thank you for all you have done." My voice was quiet. He stopped, silently standing, facing the doorway.

"It is owed." He walked out and left me to battle with my thoughts.