Into the Woods

Where it ends

The child remained nestled in the covering that his mother had placed on him before she had left. Fire scorched the forest floor around him and there was a strange smell in the air that spoke of violent death and burnt wood, although he was too young to realise that. He was scared and uncertain of what was happening but tears did not come. He lay and soon, he was approached, the shadow of the figure shrouding him in darkness. He looked up as it bent towards him and waited.

Where it begins

The dragon stirred. It was intuitive and alert. It was waiting. The presence of the two had been sensed a long, long time before their departure from the village, but the scent of them was now in the air. He let out a murmur of acknowledgement and his eyes flared, along with a small spurt of fire that illuminated his lair. He was pleased and closed his eyes.

***

She stepped out into the night, one hand on her bundle and closing the roughly-hewn wooden door to her home as best she could with one of her free fingers. It creaked and she was wary as the sound carried across the night and the bundle stirred. She stopped still, waiting, the weight of her possessions and provisions heavy in her hand, but nothing else moved other than the wind skittering leaves along the path in front of her.

The sky was clear, cloudless, small wisps of wood smoke permeating the air from the fires of the village. Her breath was visible in the crisp coldness but she was warmed by the potential discovery of her endeavour as well as the warmth from the snug bundle close to her. Her heart pounded. Carefully, adjusting her grip on the few possessions she held, she pulled her shawl around her as she started along the path, securing it as best she could around her face to disguise her features and praying that nobody else was abroad tonight at this late hour. The soft snores of the villagers hinted of comfort and care and a safe community but she knew differently; that the people of this village were not always community minded or caring, or, at least, where she was concerned. She was sure that what she was doing was for the best although she had not taken the decision lightly.

The thought of the separation between her and her father made her steps falter and her stomach clench: maybe it would be alright? Maybe the village would be accepting? But then she remembered the exchange only that very morning between them and continued with purpose.

***

"He's not right, is he?" Her father was dipping his hands in the bucket that she had drawn from the well, attempting to clear the deep black of the forge which was as much a part of him as his kind eyes and his broad shoulders. He picked up a rag and dried them off whilst looking at his daughter who was sweeping the step.

The toddler's head was poking out from the sling that she had fashioned so that he could be with her while she did her jobs and not be wandering out of the house to explore. It hurt her back and made her weary but the thought of him being scrutinised at close quarters lent her resolve. Luckily, her boy was docile a lot of the time and loved to be this close to her, but she knew that soon he would be eager for independence from her clutches and it filled her with dread.

"Beth?" Her father put the rag to dry on the side of the bucket and looked steadily at his daughter as she avoided his gaze. So beautiful a girl and so timid. Just like him when he was a younger man before life experience gave him confidence, a calling to the forge, a standing in the village and the responsibility of a family. But he hadn't had to face what she had ahead of her and he was fearful for her.

He looked around to ensure that they were not overheard.

"I've seen him, Beth."

Her head snapped up from her sweeping and her gaze met his eyes. He saw the flash of fear there in that instant but also something else. Defiance? It was definitely built from fire, whatever it was. A mother's protective instinct, he thought later.

"What are you going to do, love?"

His voice was soft but the implication was clear. Despite the love that he had for his daughter, he knew that there was no place for the boy here. He knew that the villagers were suspicious of the foundling story, where Beth had recovered the babe whilst mushroom picking in the forest. No-one had ever questioned him directly but he had seen the glancing looks and heard the stifled whispers that like a parting sea, diminished as he got closer. And there was no doubt in his mind that the babe was hers, not some child abandoned or some faery trick. The way she doted, it was her boy, for sure.

He had had no idea she had been pregnant. How could he have not seen her state? He blamed himself for leaving her so often on her own but the lure of Matilda Price had been beguiling for a lonely man, like himself and he had spent many a night of pleasure in her arms, away from his daughter, sometimes against his better nature. But there was something about Matilda: even when he felt resolved to spend the night at home, he often found himself waking in her bed, sated and loose, like he had been sedated into a deep dreamless sleep. It was a powerful draw, the pull strong. He felt a pang of guilt. Had someone taken Beth while he was ravishing Matilda? He did not think so as she had shown no signs of being stricken at all. In fact, if he examined his memories about the year before the babe was born, he remembered that there had been a buoyancy about Beth, more than he had ever known, or certainly, she was the happiest she had been in the years since her mother died. There had been a lightness about her, the irony not lost on him that she must have been heavy with child the whole time.

He prayed that it was joy which had altered her so, made her withdraw into herself and show quiet satisfaction, and not a disturbance of the mind from terror inflicted, making her less. But no, he shrugged this off as he could see from her eyes searching his now that she was strong, not damaged.

"I can only do so much. I might not..." He tailed off and then felt compelled to continue. "I might not be able to protect you." He paused again. "Or him," nodding to the boy's barely visible head. He gulped at the truth of what he said and what her future may hold for her if she stayed.

Beth's face showed a flurry of emotions at his words. Worry, fear, resignation, determination.

And now? Well, he had seen the boy unswaddled and he was scared. Scared for the babe and scared for his daughter. He hoped that it had not been seen by others but it was only a matter of time. There had already been comments about her muteness. Not that she had ever been a garrulous girl but now? Never a word passed her lips. No, the rumours were gaining pace and the babe and its uniqueness couldn't be kept hidden forever.

***

It was during this conversation that Beth resolved to leave. She didn't resent her father. She knew how hard he had worked for his standing in the village and how important it was to him. He had been a good father to her after her mother had died. As a young girl, she had not been aware of his mourning as he had always presented a strong, safe face to her, who would try to protect and shield and nurture. But as she had become more cognisant as a young woman, she had heard his quiet sobbing in the night and seen the smallness of his eyes in the morning. She knew that he was not as strong as he appeared and she determined that her burden was hers and hers alone. He had been supportive of her, not asking any questions or passing judgement in these first crucial months but now she had to make her own way.

Navigating a path through the darkness of the night into the woods, Beth thought back to how she had come to be here, leaving the only home she had ever known and allowed herself to retreat into her memories, to the days before she had the babe. Entering into the trees and its rougher ground, the village was behind them now and her initial trepidation was receding under the cover of the dark canopy and the distortion and shadows it provided. The density of blackness of the trees held no fear for her. These tall sentinels had watched over her during the happiest days of her life and it was no surprise to her that the first place of refuge that came to mind was the woods. This was her safe place, where she retreated and belonged. She would be fine here.

But she was not alone in the woods. For besides the creatures who inhabit the glades and the undergrowth, the branches and the niches, the blooming and the rotten, there was one who knew of her departure, had been waiting for it and was creeping stealthily after Beth, with an eagerness in their heart, fired by bad intent.

***

Beth had been gathering berries when she had first met him or rather when he had first made himself known to her. She had sensed that he was there for some days before he approached her. A glimpse here, a blur there. Like a fiery streamer through the dense of the trunks and leaves. Swift and strong, like he was in flight.

He finally came to her on the third day when she was washing her hands from the stains of the fruit she had picked. The water was cold and rushing and it felt fresh. Her fingers were still coloured from the juice of the berries but she was allowing the water to push past her fingers and was absorbing the noise of it over the pebbles, eyes closed and focused on the sensations.

"What will you do with the fruit you've picked?" His voice was deep and gravelly, like it needed smoothing, like unfinished wood before it has been planed and sanded; it spoke of potential, and suggested a lack of use. It was soothing but not lilting, strong but rough.

Startled, she opened her eyes and turned towards the voice, emanating from the young-looking man sat on a boulder near to her and gazing intently at her.

"I'm not sure yet. A pie maybe?" She felt no fear but she was nervous in her gut. The man continued to look at her, and he smiled when she said, "Would you like some?"

"No, I don't eat fruit." He leant over from where he was seated to put his hand into the water upstream from Beth and she was shocked when it became suddenly warmer. He noticed her small gasp and smiled again.

Intrigued, Beth looked at him again. "You should try some. It is delicious this year. Sweet and..." She paused, conscious of something unseen between them, hidden in the words, his sudden presence and their aloneness in the woods. "Juicy," she finished, looking away as she said it, not able to maintain the intensity of his gaze and feeling her inexperience like a scorch mark.

"I can see that," he said again, a playful smile in his voice. He paused again, watching as her face reddened with embarrassed heat, the underlying suggestion hanging between them. He liked the effect that he was having on her but could sense her innocence. He nodded his head to where her hands were still under the stream. "Your hands are stained purple."

Beth was grateful for the deflection and laughed lightly. This did not stop her from feeling exposed and conflicted as she tried to make sense of her emotions. She was enjoying the exchange but she also felt wary; she was on the cusp of something and she was not sure if she was ready for it. However, the sense of excitement and anticipation she felt was completely new; she had had male attention before from the village boys but they had never approached her with such assuredness. There was a solidity about this man which was both alluring and fierce.

She scrabbled through her mind for something to say when he stood and said, "I must go." He stood from his rock with a lightness of effort and moved towards where she was sitting.

"What is your name?" he asked, extending his hand to her. She looked up at him, the sun behind his head putting his face in shadow and she marvelled at how he appeared to have a corona of fire. A trick of the dying light, she thought as she took his fingers in her own. Rough skin touched hers and she felt the effortless tug of him helping her rise to her feet.

Now face-to-face with him, she examined his features in the fading light. He was very attractive, angular but not sculpted. No stubble but his skin was not smooth. She wanted to touch it but did not dare for fear where it would take her. He felt older than his appearance suggested and there were little shards of metallic colour in his hair. She shivered just a little and he felt it, she knew as she saw a small smirk manifest itself to the side of his mouth.

"Beth,' she said. "My name is Beth."

"Beth", he repeated. "Beth," he said again, thoughtful, savouring it. "I will see you again?" Still holding her hand, he gently rubbed the top of her hand with his thumb and for the first time, she was able to see the amber of his eyes.

"Yes," she said, hoping with all her heart that it would be true.

He smiled again and dropped her fingers. Bending, he picked up the basket of fruit and handed it to her.

"Enjoy your fruit", he said and added, "See you again, my Beth."

He strode away from her into the trees and soon, he disappeared.

She realised that she had not asked his name but he was nowhere to be seen.

Later, reflecting on her day in the privacy of her room, she questioned if she had heard him properly but there was no doubting her ears: he had named her his.

***

The dragon's awareness of the approaching villagers was steadily intensifying. He relished the warmth radiating from them both, letting it seep into his old bones. It was unlike anything he had experienced in his long life. They were coming closer. And he would savour their presence. He closed his eyes again to patiently wait, his sense attuned to Beth and her boy. He was tired now but soon the replenishment of youth would be his and he would live on, with vigour and energy.

***

Spite drove her. The uneven terrain of the forest was hindering and tripping her to its best effect and she was tired but determined. The outline of Beth was still ahead of her and she kept her eyes on the prize, being careful to remain in the densest dark while she continued her pursuit. This was not the first time that she had followed Beth into the woods.

***

Beth was still drifting in her mind as she strode with purpose, unaware of her surroundings and the trees, other than the peace that she felt in their proximity. She re-conjured the days spent here last summer as she walked and one in particular full of music she loved, now associated with the love of another. If she could have hummed it, she would have but that was lost to her now. But so much more had been gained.

She was playing a flute when he visited her again two days later. She had visited the stream the following day, hoping that he would appear and when he hadn't, she was bitterly disappointed and filled with a yearning which unsettled her and preoccupied every thought. She had no-one to talk to about it, having no real female friends in the village and her father, if he was there after work, wasn't a suitable listener for the way that she was currently feeling. Music always soothed her, entwined with memories of her mother and so, in her favourite glade where the height of the canopy allowed the dappled light to penetrate the brown of the woods, she sat on a mossy log to play.

Again, as she closed her eyes to savour the music, he spoke, she not having been aware of his presence.

"I thought you were a woman, Beth but maybe you are a wood nymph, come to charm me?"

She pulled the flute from her lips and opened her eyes. He was leaning against a tree in front of her and smiling quizzically, bemusement and delight competing on his face.

It took all of her composure not to leap to her feet.

She shrugged as casually as she could, her heart beating extremely quickly as she shyly peered at him through her hair. "I like to play. This is my favourite place to do it."

"You are good." He moved towards her and she stiffened, uncertain of how to react. "Can I sit with you?" He asked as he sat down on the same log, a small distance between them as Beth nodded her agreement.

He leant forward, his arms resting on his knees and looked ahead. She glanced at him through her hair, her hand tight around the flute, knuckles white. She desperately wanted to ask him where he was yesterday but didn't want to appear needy and so, waited. He didn't take long to speak.

"Sorry I didn't come yesterday. I was..." He stopped. "Thinking." He turned his head to look at her and then looked ahead once more. His expression was more serious, she could see and concern prompted her to say,

"What were you thinking about?"

He answered, looking at her again but turning his body slightly to face her.

"You," and smiled his beguiling half smile again.

Her heart jumped and her head pounded.

"I like you, Beth, you see. Yes. Very much. But..."

She watched him as he spoke and he positioned himself again forward so eye contact was broken. She felt a reserve in him and she was frightened that he was likely to disappear again.

"I like you too," and then, more boldly, "I was sad that I didn't see you yesterday."

He said, with suppressed pain, "I know," adding, "I was here. I just didn't...show myself."

He glanced at her again.

Again, a jolt of excitement went through her but her consciousness warned her that she was dealing with something unknown here, like a wild creature that would need coaxing into trust, that if she moved too quickly even though she wanted to with every fibre of her being, he would be tempted to bolt and that would be that. How to show him her desire but keep him here?

She waited. "I did not know. That you were here." She examined her flute, her hand looser now and as if noticing that she was less tense, the man allowed himself to speak.

"I was with you all day. I am sorry I did not approach. Yesterday, I was conflicted and...I kept away. But seeing you today, again, I..." He trailed off and stood quickly, startling Beth with his movement. He began pacing in the clearing as if gaining momentum for his words, to expel them.

"I had to talk to you. I was compelled to. I wanted to, more than anything. But...it is difficult." And he stopped. He turned and he looked at her. "I don't want to hurt you."

This was a speech that to Beth's ears was both eagerly heard and confusing. What was difficult about it? She sensed that there was depth to this man and she desperately wanted to explore it but she could also see the truth of his words - that he perceived a difficulty and that it was weighty, whatever it was. Did he already have a wife? A family? Was he a traveller, moving on? She realised that despite a strong attraction, she knew nothing about him, that her body was reacting to his presence because of desire and that she could leap towards him and regret it forever. But there was also something that was propelling her towards him despite these logical reservations and this was on an instinctual level - there was something "right" about him that she was drawn to and wanted.

With confidence, she spoke: "If it is difficult, maybe that is for me to decide? Not you."

He searched her face and saw the strength there. Could he tell her the truth? He wanted to, so much it hurt. To share with someone, to be with someone, to love someone. But he knew the consequences of their union and he was not sure that he could inflict this on her, his Beth. But he, too, sensed the rightness between them and looking into her eyes and the frank intelligence and warmth that he saw there, he decided to take a chance.

***

Matilda Price was lifting her skirts now to traverse the thick, uneven surface of the forest floor, sweat moistening her hair and breath escaping her in strong gasps as she strove to keep her prize in sight the whole time. She, like Beth, was reflecting on her encounter with the man of the woods but she, unlike Beth, was not remembering it with such fondness.

***

It was a misty morning when Matilda had headed into the forest for the mushrooms for a potion she was making. She had been stooping down, reaching into the hollow opening of a rotten log, when he had spoken to her.

"What are you reaching for in there?"

She had turned to find a man, handsome and rugged, standing looking at her. Her attraction to him was instant. The sun glinted off the silver slivers in his hair and as a woman of experience and also a knowledge of the magical properties of the world around her which most could not see, she could sense that he was different. Instantly, she wanted to know how.

She flashed her finest smile at him and said, "You frightened me! Where did you come from?" She stood from where she was stooped and placed her mushrooms on the floor whilst brushing the debris acquired from the trunk off her hands and smoothing her apron. Involuntary movements for her but ones which were not lost on the man, whose smile waned slightly at her self-awareness.

Putting her hand to her hair to brush it back from her face, she gestured to the mushrooms and said, "I was gathering these to take home." She didn't mention the potion as she had a feeling that he would not have liked to hear the purpose of her foraging. And she would have been right.

"I see. Well, I wouldn't want to hold you up from whatever you need to do with them." He began to back away, something about the quickness of her gestures to improve her appearance telling him that she was not the one that he had been told would appear in the woods.

"Oh, you are not holding me up at all!" She laughed prettily, in the way that the blacksmith found so attractive and said, "Why don't you sit awhile here? There's no need to rush off." She sat on the rotten trunk and dipped her torso forward so that he had a clear downward view of her cleavage. "The mushrooms can wait...if you can't." She smiled up at him again and he held her gaze.

His eyes were flashing, with what she wasn't sure but she could see fire in their amberness. Matilda wouldn't consider herself wanton but she did have a healthy attitude towards sex in that she enjoyed it and didn't want to live without it. She had a good relationship with the blacksmith but there was something about this stranger that she found beguiling and the chance to get to know him better was one which she very much wanted to experience.

Breaking his gaze from her eyes to pointedly look at her chest and then back to her eyes, he spoke: "No, I must go. And so should you, as they, " here, he nodded towards the mushrooms that were already wrinkling, "will spoil."

His face was no longer smiling as he turned abruptly and walked through the trees, disappearing soon after.

Matilda felt insulted and spurned. She was not one to take rejection lightly as it was rarely presented to her. She was used to getting what she wanted and would use any means possible to get it. She wanted him and she resolved to get him. She would not pursue him now but would return to the forest the next day. He obviously liked someone a little more coy. Well, she could do coy and would. Tomorrow.

It was with this in mind that she found them. She had been resolute in visiting the forest every day but had never encountered him. It was starting to frustrate her, his absence. Then, one day, she noticed that Beth had also been heading into the forest every day which was, in itself, not unusual. But, this day Matilda's instincts told her to tail her; she lost her at times but caught an occasional glimpse through the green. When she thought that Beth had eluded her, she had heard rustling and murmuring as she walked through the undergrowth and if there was one thing that she could recognise, it was the sound of a tryst. She stopped in her tracks and then, with every care and knowledge of movement, crept closer to where the noises were emanating.

There they were, Beth and him. It was an act of passion, of love, she could see that. She stood, fascinated and repulsed as they indulged their desire for each other on the forest floor. But overwhelmingly, she felt enraged, furious that he had chosen her instead. If she had had a knife then, she would have stabbed them both as the red mist descended but, she realised that that would have to wait. Leaving them there to their copulating, she retreated to lick her wounds and brew her vengeance.

If she had stood a little longer and peered through the anger that skewed her perception, she may have noticed the strange prominence of the backbone of Beth's lover, like the rugged ridges of a dragon's back, the same markings on the boy that Beth's father, too, had noticed.

***

Beth needed to rest. She had walked hard and fast and her back was aching with the effort. She felt like she was sufficiently far into the forest to stop. She unwrapped her boy and lay him on the ground, covering him loosely with her shawl. Steadily, she gazed at his peacefully sleeping head. She allowed the peace of safe escape to settle over her as she put her lips to the top of his head and kissed him. She wanted to tell him that this was where she had met his father and where she had given birth to him, her baby but she no longer had a voice.

She had known that this was the price to pay for her love. He had explained before they had joined together: that he was a dragon-made-man for a brief time according to ancient lore; that his love would be found in the forest; that the woman he loved would bear him a child; that the cost of this love would be the loss of her voice forever; that once he returned to his dragon form, in order to keep her safe, he must not see her. He told her this, again repeating that he did not want to hurt her but she had known that nothing would have prevented her from being with him, deep in her bones. Their connection, however brief, had been all-consuming, all-encompassing, all-enveloping. She would not have changed her circumstances for something different at all.

It was at this point that Matilda, her eyes flashing with scorn, struck, the knife penetrating Beth's back with all the venom that she had been harbouring, thrusting it deep. Beth threw her head back in a silent scream, her hands reaching to shield her son, as the knife sheared her flesh.

And the dragon became enraged.

***

Matilda withdrew her knife and moved around to where the babe lay, an ever present reminder of her rejection. But she hesitated. In the pause before she decided his fate, the landscape began to shake and a shriek, a roar, a piercing wrenched open the night in the woods and Matilda realised that she was right about the man she had met here, that he had indeed been otherworldly, as he appeared before her.

He was terrible and magnificent, she thought, retreating back from him and the boy, in the moments before he, the dragon opened his mouth and engulfed her in fire, incinerating her instantly.