The Forestwalker

A Fever Dream

When Anya went to bed that night, her stone cot, which had been padded with long wads of straw, tired and sore from a long day of gathering at the very forest, that in the morning and night, concealed and dark entities, was relatively dull in the day.

She had a dream.

At first, it started of simply. She was walking to the forest at night. This was not all that uncommon. She had to be extra careful however.

Her ears were sensitive that at each slight rustle in the wind, or trampling on leaves, she could catch the threat. And if it was, actually a threat, could allow herself to disperse as thin as to fade into the wind. Go where it goes. And stopping, or returning back to her limbs, when she felt weak and dizzy.

In this instance, the night, with its sweeping shadows, encroaching, silent, predators and pale, silent moon - was far more irresistible a challenge than the morning, her mother allowed her.

Then, suddenly Su came into apparition. And, it is one of those things, that in a dream, makes total sense, but in real life, Su materializing from the air would frighten her.

Not only that, she was the only forestwalker, aside from her mother. For him to be one too, was impossible. Of course, forestwalkers and tree nymphs weren't the only forest dwellers. There were more sinister things ...

In any case, she greeted him, as she would in real life. All pleasantries and all. She only ever knew him through Sara. They talked about the damp weather, and the fruits being in season. Never mind that it was the dead of the night. So silent, when his foot shifted awkwardly, as it did every so often, and a twig snapped, it screamed through the silence.

But then, and this was the part of the dream she could not put her finger on, at some point, between talking, and laughing at niceties, she was leaning on a tree, he was on his kneels, and his head was bobbing.

And she moaned feverishly. A sickening kind of refined pleasure coursing through her. As her fingers were intertwined in his dark brown hair. She moaned, and continued to moan.

But at some point, dismissively, when her fingers clutched, to dig deeper in his hair, her hands fell through air.

Disturbed and upset, at being so rudely cut off, she blinked. Traces of that euphoria still sparkled in her, though they were fading.

And fast.

She turned to her right. And as soon as she did, she saw it.

And she hadn't heard it because she had been so preoccupied. She didn't dare look around for Su; she knew she didn't have the time.

But there in the shadows, crouching, giving a menacing, low growl that scared her to her core, the ripples of its strong muscles gliding as it walked, the stripes in its coat formidable - it was only a split second before the tiger lunged at her, she screamed, and in the next moment she sat up - awake and panting.

She turned to the left and right, eyes afraid with horror. Dreams were such that sometimes they felt so so real. And though you were awake, your mind reran what it saw. What you did ... what happened.

With terror, mouth malformed into parting, though she continued to pant and sweat for another ten minutes, she tried to lower herself. Next to her cot, her mother slept in hers, snoring soundly. Tired, herself.

Still, shaken, Anya laid her head to rest. But sleep didn't come easily. How could she know, that tonight was only the beginning of the nightmares to follow ...