Rule Number Four

The path to the Atlantic Forest is soft in the pre-dawn light. The birds are rousing and one of the calls is not like the other. It's deeper, scratchier, and as it crescendos I can feel it settle into my bones, even over the vast distance. I shiver at the warning. Today of all days I yearn for the Forest's favor, but the Forest is a fickle thing. The wind picks up, rustling the trees, and the gentle calling is edged today, like so many other things. I pick at the wooden fence I'm leaning on, wincing as a splinter lodges itself in my nail bed. Gravel crunches behind me, and I take a deep breath as the two sets of feet stop. When they don't say anything I turn towards them and remove the splinter, then shake my hand. Dad stands a little behind Mom, not looking at me. Mom frowns, taking my hand I hers, and meets my eyes.

"What's the main rule?"

"Come home. No matter what happens, I come home."

She nods, and her grip tightens. "That's right. You come back in one piece. And don't forget: whatever happens, don't listen to the Forest. It'll try to lead you astray." She lets go of my hands and grabs my biceps, grip close to bruising. Her eyes bore into mine and I shiver again, leaning away from their intensity. "Whatever you do, don't get lost. Promise me, Hobbes."

"I promise."

She relaxes and hugs me, pressing me close. "Good luck darling. Be safe."

My chest tightens. How many others have hugged their loved ones on this spot? How many of those never returned? How many have been lost in the endless Forest, lost to the undulating branches? It's no uncommon occurrence. The Forest is harsh and unrelenting, as tameless and timeless as the sky.

Mom backs away, her eyes red-rimmed. She nods again, squeezing my shoulders once more before walking back towards the farm. She doesn't look behind her. Dad moves from where he'd been quietly standing and hugs me long and hard.

"You'll do fine. You're smart and brave, and everyone back at the farm is rooting for you. We love you, son."

He lets me go and ruffles my hair. I try to smile but it feels wobbly. "Where's Gwen?"

Dad chuckles and shakes his head. "Your sister is too stubborn for her own good. Your mother and I tried to get her down here to say goodbye, but she wouldn't budge."

I snort. Typical Gwen. "Tell her I understand, okay? No hard feelings."

He clasps me on the shoulder. "I will. You just remember to come back home. That's your only worry right now." He sniffs and turns away without looking back. Though it would mean bad luck if he did, I want him to. One last acknowledgement that should I die someone will remember me.

I watch his retreating back until the sky is lighter, and the first rays of sunlight are just reaching over the horizon. I take another deep breath, picking my backpack up from the ground and swinging it over my shoulders. As I adjust the straps, the rules of walking in the Forest, ingrained from years and years of repetition, now play like a broken record in my head. I almost laugh. Nine rules and luck are all that stand between me and dying in the Forest.

The gate swings open and closed with a sharp clack. I can't look back; this journey is too fraught without me jinxing myself so early on. Better to save the inevitable screw-ups for later, when all I have left to do is go forward.

My steps are heavy on the dirt path, and small white wildflowers brush my ankles. The grass is dewy, and as the clearing gives way to woods my pants become damp with it. From the gate, it's only a half-mile to the beginning of the woods, the same distance it is from the gate to the farm. With the sun rising, the woods become bright enough that my wariness gives way, and I walk without glancing around me, not wanting to see if something tries to attack me. The woods are not nearly as dangerous as the Forest, but that doesn't mean they are docile.