And The Forest Whispers

2

The early morning forest came alive with the sound of birdsong.

          Nezumi crouched in one of the large tree branches, concealed from view by the thick bushel of emerald leaves. He'd trekked out to the hunting spot well before the sun began to peek above the horizon, painting the sky with splashes of salmon pink and gold. The hunters from the foreign village on the outskirts of the forest didn't come out at this time of day—they preferred to hunt at midday and well into the night, foolishly believing it would provide them with the best catch.

          Nezumi shifted and peered out at the clearing. His vantage point from the crook of the large tree branch gave him a perfect view of anything that wandered within range of his bow and arrows.

          With winter fast approaching, Nezumi had limited time to prepare for another cold season. The Mao village, nestled deep within the heart of the forest and well-hidden from the strange men and women thriving from overseas, had already gathered up their crops and begun work to dehydrate and keep them fresh for when the temperatures dropped.

          The outsider village―Kronos, Nezumi had been told by the Maoese elders—and its inhabitants didn't risk wandering into the heart of the forest, through the patches where the sunlight didn't reach. Too frightened of creatures that lurked in the shadows, they hadn't risked hunting through the dense shadows, and therefore had never stumbled upon the location of the Mao village.

          The Mao village sat on the other side of the shadowed areas, perfectly situated beneath the sunlight and surrounded by fresh, life-giving water. Walled on all four sides by thick tree trunks and tall bushes, the Mao tribe had lived for centuries without fear of raids.

          The arrival of the bizarre men and women from across the ocean had been a bit of a cause for concern, but their superstitions erased any threat they might have caused. The villagers of Kronos feared the mystery of the Mao, so much so that they'd created their own rumors about what creatures thrived in the heart of the forests.

          Nezumi flexed his fingers; his knuckles ached from clenching around his bow, his sharp eyes seeking a flicker of movement in the clearing.

          There were strips of bark missing from the tree trunks, a telltale sign of deer markings. The forests swelled with life—fat does and their fawns danced through the thick branches, and large-horned bucks strutted through the fields in search of food.

          Nezumi shivered as a chill danced down his spine. The winter winds steadily approached, and the frost was not far behind.

          He shoved aside the dread that pooled in his stomach at the inevitable arrival of winter and focused on the task at hand. When the heavy snow coated the land, he'd need to spend much of his time indoors. He'd gone through plenty of winters—eighteen, to be precise—and he knew that, in order to thrive, he'd have to catch and dry enough meat to start him off well.

          His morning trek through the darkness as the sun began to rise had given him a clear indication that today's hunt would prove fruitful. The wail of birds alerted him to the presence of deer not too far away. Nezumi had muttered a brief prayer to the old gods before he'd slung his bow over his shoulder and set off, knowing that it might prove useless but continuing the practice regardless.

          Since childhood, Nezumi had no faith that the old gods cared for him and his tribe. They'd blessed the Mao with a plentiful spot to raise their village, to birth offspring and thrive well into the generations, but nothing more. The old gods removed themselves from the lives of the Mao as quickly as they'd entered it, and yet the elders believed in offering them prayers and sacrifices to keep the peace.