What roamed the Wildes

They said it was ancient. But only the Hesain of old knew just how far back the forest’s creation dawned. It was the kind of place that, once visited, was never forgotten. To the ancient blooded Hesain, it was sacred. To the humans and elven-blooded people of the realm, it was dreaded. Many a wanderer had been lost over the last decades of recorded history. Most only dared venture into the outskirts where it met with the plains of the Outlier horse clans. Mushrooms and other edibles could be foraged there, where it was safer.

Of course, stories and legends arose over time. Fact and fiction blurred, as it did with stories passed between lips across time. Only the very bold and the Hesain had been known to venture into the deepest parts of the forest. The Wildes, the common people called it. Aernstarh, by the Hesain, meaning something akin to ‘void,’ or ‘the unknown.’ Children were told cautionary tales by their elders to avoid venturing into the shade cast by its trees. That was perhaps why Ailith never had any qualms with entering the Wildes with her three brothers all those years ago. Now, they hunted there every Summer, and sometimes sheltered there in the cool months where the snow was thinner on the ground, and the plains winds couldn’t reach them.

The stories of monsters and fearsome beasts never were paid much heed by the four hunters. They were too familiar with the dappled shade, and the twisting labyrinths of privet and cypress. For home was not something to be feared. They knew where to find the best blackberry thickets, and rabbit warrens. They knew where the streams widened enough to bathe and splash on warm days, and the path back to their shelter carved between the roots of ancient trees was always familiar.

They knew that wolves could frequent the forest closer to the mountains, and that the bear-dogs could venture further towards the plains in search of food. Those were known. They were unmysterious. It was a chilly morning when Ailith saw the imprints left by an animal by the stream. They were fresh in the soft mud, and she recognised the beast they belonged. Hoof prints. Single toed, an arrow-like shape pointed in the direction of travel. Horse. While these prints were common on the plains where the nomadic horse clans bred their stock, Ailith had never known the beasts to stray into the Wildes. And even the worst specimens were valuable. Why was it here? And was there a rider... Adjusting the strap of her belt and the sheathed knives at her hip, she picked her way across the water and made to follow the tracks.

Her brothers had gone setting snares for rabbits and foraging for blackberries. So long as she was back before nightfall, they wouldn't miss her. Because of the density of the undergrowth, the trail of disturbance was easy enough to follow. It headed west, towards the border mountains, gradually sloping uphill. That was until midday when the ground grew more damp, wending downwards. Moss made the tree roots slick, and the beast she followed had slipped in places. It grew darker, as the canopy grew closer together. The wind between leaves became more distant, and even the sounds of her soft footsteps became more dull.

The darkness pressed in, although it couldn't have been much after noon, such was the depth of her wanderings. Odd sounds spooked her, as everything became less familiar. The trail became lost. She cursed, turning back. Only she realised too late her fatal mistake in not looking over her shoulder enough to recognise the path back. The hoof prints were nearly invisible in the dim, suddenly looking much more foreign. As foreign as claw prints from some much larger animal.

You have tracked me far, child of the light... The voice was cool like the sudden chill that went down Ailith's spine. A strange breeze that shouldn't have been there caressed her skin. It could have been in her mind. The sound did not seem to come from any direction at all. Ailith twisted around, hand going to her knife hilts. A strangled hissing sound had her sinking to the ground, shielding her head. Somewhere nearby there was a grating and snapping of branches... or a tree trunk. And the grating of something heavy and rigid against rock. And a dark mass of shadows seemed to move all around her.

Such weapons cannot harm me... She had come upon something. Something ancient and dark. If there had been a horse nearby, it was almost certainly dead now. Devoured.

'Who are you?' Ailith called, eyes darting, trying desperately to assess what it was she was faced with. But she was surrounded. Something moved around her, encircling her.

Who am I? What am I? How am I? Each word seemed to etch itself into her mind. Each one lingering like a whisper. What burns hotter than any flame made by man, yet flies like a bird, but is heavy enough to smother a human army.

Her heart beating like a rabbit's, she sucked in breath after breath. The thing wished to riddle her? Some monster from stories of legend? She had heard plenty.

What can shift with the shadows, and trick any beast into believing what it sees? Now it was messing with her... Surely?

"What do you want with me?" Ailith breathed. "To eat me?" Perhaps she ought not to give it ideas.

Eat you, little sparrow? You're not much of a meal... Through the darkness, Ailith could have sworn she saw scales like a snake's. Perhaps if I were a wolf....

"I wish you no harm," Ailith said, as loud as she dared. "I wish to leave in peace."

So often they promise such things.... Your kin.... Ailith cursed inwardly. For as many stories as there were of strange creatures, there were as many about them being hunted down. Killed. Ailith forced herself to breathe out before gulping in another breath.

"I can prove it."

The forest then seemed to grow very still, as Ailith reached for her belt. A gesture of good will. A sacrifice of something precious. For in the world of beasts, of predators and prey. Weakness could not be afforded. Any wound could be fatal. She just prayed it wouldn't cause the beast to kill her right then. There was a shiver around her, as she pressed the blade to her finger. The blood welled forth, along with her tears. Sheathing the knife without so much as wiping it on her clothes, she released it and its pair from her belt and threw them to the ground before her.

The air seemed to hum around her, the shadows shifting.

Not quite a broken wing.... She saw the eyes before anything else, inky black, and shiny. And then the massive scaled head. The colour of slate. She could wrap her arms around it and not reach all the way. The body coiled like a serpent, yet it had powerful legs, feet like an eagle, with claws that rivalled her hunting knives in length and sharpness. If you are to go back, you will need use of your limbs yet.... Her knives disappeared beneath one great foot, that tore the ground beneath leaving deep gouges.

Its head, although monstrous, had the elegant qualities of a horse. But its mouth opened to reveal teeth that put any bear to shame. And this was how she would certainly die, as she saw the white hot welling of flames in the back of its throat.

It was all around her, the blinding light, the flames. They lapped at her skin, but no splitting pain came. Only a fine warmth engulfed her, coming to a focus around her hand. And the darkness sank in again.

Now go, child of the light. Run back. And she did not need further prompting. Just as suddenly as it had descended, the coiling presence around her was gone. And so was she. She could have outrun a hare for how quickly she tore eastwards, only hesitating once when the forest became more clear, and she once again found her path.

And when she finally returned to her brothers, who were at a loss as to her frantic state. Disappointed she had lost her knives, but glad she was safe. They listened to her story, not knowing what to make of it, but relieved for their sister's safe return. When they asked to see her wound, she inspected her hand only to find it unmarked apart from the scars she had gained over the years. Gone. As if she had dreamed the whole thing.

When they retired for the night, Ailith felt drained as one did when defeated. She had lost her precious knives, presumedly to a beast. One surely none could simply dream up. She had felt the air change, smelt the heaviness of it, and the touch of those warm flames... Flames that should have burned her to ash. But didn't. They had left her healed instead.

And so she fell into a deep slumber. She didn't hear the hoofbeats, but she dreamt them. She dreamt as the horse entered the clearing where she and her brothers slept. A dark horse. The preferred form of a shapeshifter that wished to go unnoticed for the creature it truly was. And she dreamt as her precious possessions were returned, albeit a little scratched up.