The Arena

Prologue

The rays of the setting sun casted the man in orange light as he walked through a stand of trees, dragging a cart behind him. He'd been out in the wilderness since morning, cutting wood to bring back to his shop, where he made all manner of things for other townsfolk.

As the trees began to thin, he paused, setting down the cart to catch his breath. He took a few paces forward, hands on hips as he gazed out at the valley. He smiled. If only the rest of the town could see this view.

But the townspeople feared the wildlands, as they were right to. Treacherous land and murderous animals were the least of the dangers out there. There were whispers on the wind; rumors of tribes of savage people with sky blue hair who populated the untamed lands to the South. The townsfolk told children tales of what happened to those that strayed into their territory: legends of little girls and boys who had gone out alone into the woods, never to return.

Unlike the rest of the town, he wasn't afraid. He'd been going out into the wilds for years, and the only trouble he ever had was with animals. He humored the locals, but the man had seen more of the wood than all of them combined. There were no blue-haired tribespeople out here.

The man took in a deep breath and turned back to his cart. He'd barely taken a step, however, when a piercing wail stopped him in his tracks. He jumped, and cast a hurried glance over either shoulder. Silence. His brow furrowed and he took another step towards his cart. Another cry. He whirled around. The high, piercing scream fell into a low whimper. He cast around for a few moments before closing his eyes and following the sound. He veered to the right, swerving around several trees until, finally, he located it.

At the base of an oak, tucked among the roots, was a bundle of patched brown fabric. He kneeled down next to the bundle as his ears were met with another high pitched wail. He pulled back the edge of the blanket to see the squished, round face of a baby girl. Her skin flushed red as she screamed once again, one pudgy, tiny arm held out towards him.

He reached down and lifted the baby up in his arms, making quiet shushing noises as he cradled the girl against his chest. He straightened back up slowly as her crying faded. He looked down at her as the red drained from her face. She grabbed his shirt with her little fingers and stared up at him, eyes a pale, dazzling green. He smiled.

He brought two fingers up to the baby's forehead, where he pushed back the blanket to show a tuft of bright blue hair. His eyes widened. He looked up at the trees around him, as if searching for something, then back down at the baby girl.

Some time later, the woodsman was seen coming back into town, dragging a cart behind him stacked full of wood, on top of which sat a bundle of fabric. As he walked, he stopped periodically to look back into his cart, then would turn and keep going. When he arrived back at town, instead of stopping by his workshop to drop off the wood, as he normally did, he went directly to his house and brought the bundle inside, leaving the cart forgotten.

A day or so later, the man was seen buying a crib and carrying it through the town back to his house. A few weeks after that, construction started around his home. It appeared the man, who shared a tiny, one-bedroom house with his wife, wanted some more space. In a year, he'd built a living room next to the kitchen and bedroom, and another year after that there was a second floor, just big enough for a nursery.