~lost~

Chapter 1: 16 years later

"Oak!" I crouch, bracing my muscles and launching myself into the air, catching hold of the lowest branch of the gnarled old willow. A wood nymph sitting braiding willow branches in the crown of the tree looks up, but he doesn't offer a helping hand. Gritting my teeth against the pain of the bark scraping against my arms, i pull myself up into the flattish space at the crown of the willow, hollowed and smooth from years of wear. My father squints at the sun.

"Not bad. You're getting faster," he nods approvingly.

My father looks almost human, except for his large pointed ears and the greenish tinge to his skin and long pale hair. Most people would guess that he is about 25 years old; i know otherwise. Wood nymphs age far slower than humans, and my father used to marvel at how fast i grew. He's not my real father, of course. Oak is the wood nymph who found me in the woods as a baby and raised me as his own. He taught me the common language and the language of the trees and animals, how to sing the song of the wind, how to leap from tree to tree like a squirrel. I am practicing at getting faster - so far i can cross the whole forest between sundown and moonhigh. Oak is still unimpressed by my 'human clumsiness' but then again, Oak is rarely impressed by anything.
"Again," he orders. "Be back by dawn."
I sigh.
"But Oak, i haven't even caught my breath and—"
"Go."
I groan and turn away. There is no arguing with Oak. I grab hold of a flexible willow branch and swing to the ground, ignoring Oak's yells that i am hurting it. I break into a sprint, leaping nimbly over roots and pebbles. I know these trails like the back of my hand.

Chest heaving for breath, i collapse at the edge of the stream. I am too tired to go any further. I cup water in my hands and slurp my fill. I can just make out my reflection in the light of the moon on the water - short, slight, covered in mud and tiny scars, with long dark hair painstakingly braided by Oak to avoid it getting tangled in branches. I am wearing a dress that i sewed out of rabbit skin last week, with whittled tools and flint dangling from my belt. My feet are bare and black with dirt. In the reflection in the water, everything is in shades of silver and blue so my eyes look almost normal. Oak says my eyes are beautiful and i should not be ashamed of them, but i've heard enough from the human woodcutters to know that mismatched eyes are bad luck. I am bad luck.
I am startled out of my thoughts by a flurry of sparrows streaking across my head, chirping their shrill alarm cry. I frown and squint into the darkness - all the birds should be roosting this time of night, so what scared them? A roaming fox or badger, perhaps?
Then i hear it - a voice on the breeze. Thickly accented, but unmistakably human; it has none of the lilting music of the nymphs or elves, and is too high-pitched for a dwarf. A cry of fear.
I hurdle the stream without a second thought and follow the sound of the scream, leaping from tree to tree, following the sound of the screams.