By Chance Or By Choice

By Chance or By Choice: Part 2

Deep in the woods, all was silent.

Sunlight trickled through the trees, filtered green by the dense sky of leaves. Frost glistened on the places it touched like unearthed treasure. The winter air had created a frozen world; nothing stirred.

The gentlest tinkle of a tiny silver bell broke the quiet.

For a moment, Jan didn't move. He remained a statue, crouched, like the winter had caught him and rendered him in ice. When the bells attached to the tripwire jangled again, his fingers curled, slowly, around the nocked arrow. In a single movement, he span out from behind the old oak, raised and drew his bow, and loosed the arrow. It whistled and sunk into the rabbit. His aim was deadly.

Gathering up the limp carcass, the unseeing eyes of the rabbit provoked no emotion. It was survival, nothing more and nothing less – and he had been helping his family survive since his earliest memories began. He'd learned to use a bow, skin a rabbit and name every plant in the woods before he'd so much as learned to write the alphabet.

"Three?" Pip appeared at his shoulder as he lashed the latest rabbit to the makeshift brace hung around his hips. His sister may have been nearly as tall as him, but she moved on silent feet. He gave her half a smile as confirmation; he'd never been one for many words. Maybe the peacefulness of living among trees had made him that way. "What a relief. We'll eat plenty this week." She showed him the armful of roots and mushrooms she had gathered.

Together, they untied the tripwires set around the clearing with deft fingers and began to pick their way through the scrubby plants towards home. The days were at their shortest, with only a watery setting sun lighting their way. Through the canopy, the darkening slate sky hinted at the chance of snow.

"Go on ahead." Jan stopped at the door to their home, untying the brace of rabbits from his belt and holding it out to Pip.

"Are you staying outside?" He nodded at the old oak that grew behind the house in answer. Pip sighed. "Of course. Don't let the cold get into your fingers, though – and don't be staying out until midnight again."

Pausing only to tighten his boots and retie his dark hair in its knot to prevent it falling in his eyes, Jan planted the edge of one foot against the lowest knot of the tree. It was like walking the path towards home – muscle memory kicked in, and he scaled the oak with the ease of climbing a set of steps.

It was made easier still by the bare branches at the top – in summer, he had to scrabble through thick leaves and the insects that made them their home. Now, the thickest, highest boughs made for a comfortable seat. And from here, the entire woods stretched out below him.

In summer, a hundred shades of green formed a sea around him, but now he was surrounded by the quiet browns and beiges of bare trees, and as the sun gave up its watch to the moon, all was bathed in its glow. It was still beautiful to him. And beyond – where the woods dwindled and open land began – he could just about make out ghostlike buildings on the horizon, a palace the tallest of them all.

He came up here, where he could breathe, to think. It was a life of survival and simple means, but his head was filled with stories and colours. As ever, as he looked out to the invisible skyline, dark land meeting black sky, he felt his heart twist, like it was missing some vital part. It was strange, to yearn yet never understand what for.

Was it love he ached for? With a sigh, he dismissed the notion. He'd grown into his twenties but never felt the same interest in girls that his sister had clearly grown to feel for men. He was content, and he couldn't imagine a wife making him happy.

He sighed again, and turned his thoughts away from the emptiness, and onto something that br0ught him peace.

He always kept a sharpened feather tucked inside his clothes, and he drew it out, along with the small clay pot of ink ground from petals and beetle shells. He pushed up his sleeve and, dipping the nib into the ink, he began to carefully etch an impression of the landscape onto his pale skin.