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The Forest
Her name is Mara and she is troubled. It has been over a week since she has heard from her cousin, the woodcutter. Perhaps he has grown ill, she fears. Or perhaps he has been injured in some way. “Silly girl,” she chides herself softly as she shakes her head, “it is likely that he is fine. What good is all this worry?” She attempts to laugh away her concern, to no avail. Something is not right, of this she is sure. She is well along the narrow path that leads to his cabin when she pauses. Normally the dogs would be barking by now. She stiffens. Her arms hang limply at her sides, but her fists clench with such nervous force that her knuckles whiten. Composing herself, she steps forward with a quiet caution, her unease mounting with every step. Her heart quickens as she nears the small clearing only to crash swiftly into a dull and reluctant throbbing as the jumble of splintered boards that were once the walls of her cousin’s home fills her gaze. Her eyes widen and fill with tears. And then she sees him – or better what little remains of him.
And she screams.
[ 02-06-2007, 02:08 AM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]
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