Midwinter Moon🌙 (Part 1)

This tale begins in a distant land, where a dense forest lies thick all around, like a carpet. This forest was the sort of forest that I could tell a million stories about, for it had more than its fair share of captivating inhabitants, and every day there was some new happening or story. Indeed, I might spend hours recounting the terrors of serpentines clashing in frozen underwater battles or arachnids laying webs for unsuspecting snowy owls. But the story I am going to tell begins a lot more modestly. Have no doubt, it will be just as exciting as any of those other tales. But it is much more deservi of being heard by listeners like you. Read on! And if you reach the end, you will understand why...

It begins with a single snowflake, drifting lazily down from its mother cloud. The snowflake is rather like you or I would be on a quiet Sunday; relaxed and carefree, with all the time in the world to complete its journey. The wind buffets it from one side to the other as it descends past the clouds and through the air. Soon it is surrounded by the dense canopy of pine trees, which stand as tall and straight as children who are on their very best behaviour, and have been threatened with the strike of the cane. This is a much more treacherous path for the snowflake now; woody branches and needle leaves jut out in all angles and directions, eager to snatch it out of gravity’s downward pull. Many of its fellow snowflakes fall victim to this danger, and their corpses settle on the branches as a fine white dust. But our dear snowflake manages to escape their clutches, through no more than a favourable dose of sheer luck. Alas, it passes the trees and sees the home straight - the last few metres until the ground. And after such a fortunate journey, it seems cruel that our snowflake should fail at the last hurdle and not reach its end destination. But there is something in the way that stops the snowflake from uniting with the metre-deep layer of snow on the forest floor. I say something, but what I really should say, is someone. 

The snowflake lands, with surprise, on the cinnamon coloured hair of a girl called Aurora. There it remains for a moment, nestled amongst the thick strands of her hair, until more snowflakes amble down to join it, and they begin to create their familiar white dust pattern. They are so light and delicate that Aurora doesn’t even notice them.

She is too busy staring straight ahead, her mouth hanging slightly open and a dreadful sinking feeling working its way through her chest. You might be surprised that she should have such a reaction at the beauty of the first snow, but the first snow is not what she is thinking about. Before her eyes is the destruction of an old tree that, during the last ferocious windy storm, gave up on the will to live anymore. Its roots creaked and moaned as the giant was toppled and came smashing down on the forest floor, laying there like a great slain beast. Underneath its trunk, whose girth is wider than Aurora, are the smashed remains of what used to be a very cosy den, nestled in between large boulders and hidden by a wall of branches that Aurora herself had heaved into place a few years past. 

She takes a step closer. It isn’t so much that she can’t believe her eyes, but more that she doesn’t want to. All the time she spent creating that safe shelter - finding a perfect spot, covering it with branches and leaves, brushing the leaf litter from the floor - all that time has gone to waste. The den is flattened and irretrievable. Aurora knows that trying to move the tree would be like a mouse trying to move a mountain; not even worth an attempt. 

At that moment she feels such a stab of injustice and frustration that tears spring to her eyes and she stamps one foot down in the loose, powdery snow.  But before she has time to think any further, a sound comes from the trees around her. A sound that makes her ears twitch, her eyes sharpen and goosebumps ripple out across her skin. 

There, lurking among the standing army of pine trunks, is a creature called a Wildebeast. Aurora ducks to the ground while her heart rate does the opposite, shooting up. She lets out a few quick pants, which steam into baby clouds as soon as they pass her lips. 

Wildebeast don’t look scary at first sight. But then I guess the scariest things never do. If you find this hard to believe, think about a child that is afraid of the dark. It is not the lack of light which is frightening, but the thought of what could be lurking in that lack of light. The first seeds of terror are born in the thought of something petrifying, and the knowledge of what it might do to you. So you might think that a Wildebeast would be nothing to be afraid of, even if it is at least double the height of a human, and crowned by a majestic set of antlers. There is nothing outwardly threatening in its two big eyes, black like lumps of coal, or the shaggy coat of fur which covers its body like that of a bear’s. 

But at that sight, Aurora forgets all the mournful thoughts of her ruined shelter, dropping them quicker than if they were a hot potato that burned her hands. Icy snowflakes no longer just settle in her hair - they course through her bloodstream, too, chilling it. As quietly as possible, she edges away from the beast, keeping low to the ground. Perhaps it won’t notice her...

Those dark eyes turn in her direction and lock onto her movement. As it lets out another knee-trembling growl, Aurora springs to her feet and runs. She runs like her life depends on it - because her life depends on it. She runs like a bird let free from a cage, like a convict escaped from prison. She runs like it is easy to run through snowy powder, when in actual fact it is very difficult. She runs, and runs, and runs. 

There is no thought of where she is running to, except that it is away from the Wildebeast. She wants to look back to see if it has followed her, but she daren’t take her eyes off the tangled obstacle course of tree trunks and branches that crisscross her path. She has to duck under them, swerve past them, and - if all else fails - give the branches a firm shove to batter them out the way. 

Finally, when she has fled for a good few minutes and her lungs are screaming out to stop, she slows her pace to a canter. Surely the Wildebeast wouldn’t have chased her this far?

With a ragged breath, Aurora glances behind. 

All is quiet in the wood. A furtive wind blows through the trees, but nothing stirs. It’s as if the forest itself and all the animals in it have taken the collective decision to take a break from the usual bustle of the day and have a short nap. A twig crackles under Aurora’s fur boots as she takes a tentative step forward.

She is alone. 

And alone in this forest means safe.