Part 7
A red squirrel darts about the pine trees, in search of a very worthwhile target.
Food for the winter.
It hops nimbly from the branches, flying through the air before landing with a quiet thud and sinking its tiny claws into the bark to get a good grip. Then it shimmies down the trunk and comes out on the forest floor.
A single hazelnut sits there, just begging to be taken. The red squirrel, in all politeness, obliges.
It snatches the nut between its paws and then scampers off again, disappearing before a predator might even have the chance to blink.
One day ago, there was a whole pile of food there, placed by a certain Wildebeast. But now, as the red squirrel has just left, Aurora arrives once more. Nothing is on the ground anymore but pine needles and snow that has been scuffed by many animals.
She has no idea what the Wildebeast did yesterday.
And honestly, she has no idea why she is here again today. It is one of those things that you regret doing as soon as you start. It makes you feel sick with a sort of nervousness that is worse because it has been self-inflicted and was avoidable if you'd only taken the sensible route. With her hiding place potentially known to the Wildebeast, returning back here feels like tempting fate.
She peers out towards the clearing. The Wildebeast is not looking her way - it is tossing some seed cones to the doves. But it has a bounty of food in its arms again. Aurora licks her lips subconsciously, not even aware she is doing it.
The beast turns its great head, the towering antlers turning along with it. Their intricate composition strikes a sense of awe into Aurora. Those black eyes, like glowing lumps of coal, scan the trees all around the edge of the clearing. Aurora ducks down, keeping out of sight. What is it doing?
Her curiosity grows, as a moment later, the beast heaves itself to its feet and lumbers out of the clearing. The doves pause for a moment, then flap into the sky to follow it. The animals are gone within a few seconds, and a quietness returns to the air, expanding back into the now-empty space.
Except it is not completely empty. The food remains there, sat on top of the sparkling snow and calling out to Aurora with the attraction of a powerful magnet. She longs to dash out and grab as much as she can, popping one of those crimson red berries into her mouth to see if they taste as sweet as they look.
But fear grips her muscles in a tight vice, paralysing them, and Aurora doesn't move an inch. She knows better than to go into a Wildebeast territory. It might be playing a trick on her. What if this is bait, a trap set to lure her to her doom?
What if she ended up like Elwen...
She clamps her eyes shut and tries to block out the screaming grief in her head.
It is said that humans will do more to avoid pain than they will to gain pleasure. Whether you believe that statement or not, in this case, it is certainly. true. Aurora forces herself to remember what she's trying to do, shutting out the pangs of hunger. She needs to make it to the midwinter moon. Not fall prey to the masters of the forest.
For a second time, the pile of food stays untouched in the snow, left for the forests of the animals to see their oppurtunity and snatch it.
Aurora turns on her heel and flees, chastising herself for ever having come in the first place. She won't come again, that's for sure. It's cruel to tempt herself with the sight of food, and then have to leave it. She feels like a young child who's left their dearest soft toy behind at the park.
There must be other parts of the forest she can forage in. Why keep spooking herself by coming so close to a Wildebeast? What does she care if it kills or helps the doves?
Alone in this forest means safe.
From among the trees, the Wildebeast watches with anticipation, waiting to see what Aurora will do. When she doesn't touch the food, something in its face darkens. I could tell you, reader, what the Wildebeast is thinking, but that would not let the suspense of the story build. Indeed, it will be more interesting if I let your imaginations guess what the meaning might be. The beast makes a quiet rumbling growl, then starts plodding through the snow, eyes fixed on Aurora's path. It follows her steps, large legs covering one pace for every three of hers, leaving giant three-toed tracks in the snow.
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