The Fallen

The Fallen -- a snippet, a short story, similar in feel to Four Words, and Raven. They may join up to form a story at some later point. A warning that this story does contain a smidge of gruesomeness *******

A man and his dog, slog through the forest. They've been by each other's side and there is no doubt there is an unspoken connection between them. The dog can pick up on the man's emotions, and it would appear to outsiders that he could read the man's mind, being so attuned to him. It was just the two of them these days. A man and his dog. Other dogs had come and gone, over the years, but they were usually lost to the forest. A few women had come and gone over the years. But, they had been lost to the town or the big city.

They were not seeking anything in particular on this walk. Their Autumn stores were already well stocked. The meat was being cured or have had already been buried in the cold storeroom. A bounty of bony rabbits that pleased the dog, and chewy deer meat for the man. Still, their hunting lifestyle had them out on this fine afternoon and both, as always, were aware of the sounds of a forest. The distinct patter of game, the quick alight of feathers of certain birds, the smell of fresh scat. They felt at ease in the forest, and this they believed was their domain.

A sound captured their attention. Whether the man's senses had become so highly sensitive that he could hear what a regular man couldn't, or whether he just knew his dog so well, is irrelevant. He could sense what his dog could. What then passed between them was a decision; 'let's!'. It was a deer, and at this time of year, it would be one of the big males, that had yet to move on. The meat would be gamey and the antlers impressive. They were about to give chase when something in the forest made them stop.

Dog was alert. This wasn't a sound he knew. This was not a smell he was familiar with. The hair on the back of his neck bristled involuntarily. The man looked to the dog, realising he was not yet aware of what had stopped the dog dead in his tracks, but only aware that something was amiss. Dog who only ever stopped at direction, or sense, or to stalk, was warily still, his eyes and ears wandering the area in an attempt to ascertain where and what. Dog sat down at the man's feet and bowed his head.

The forest was alive with wings. It would seem that every bird in the forest that could fly was suddenly at wing. The sudden cacophony of wing and panicked call, in the usual semi-stillness of a forest, was disorientating. In all directions, but North, birds flew, and flew at pace.

The man shivered, and for the first time in his life feel unsure of his place in the forest. A place he had come to call, 'His Forest'. It was only a matter of moments until there was not any sight of the birds, and their caws and calls soon filtered completely out of hearing. Now the forest was eerily still.

Dog was still at his spot at the man's feet. This was not an experience that either of them knew what to do. The warmth and companionship of the other had never felt so needed. Dog again was the first to hear it. He turned his nose to the sound and the man followed his lead.

There was a cascading sound of breaking branches. And in the strange stillness of the forest, it seemed unnaturally loud. The decision, as always was 'let's', but without their usual joyous comradery. They stayed close to each other and walked in the direction of the noise. It was of course much further than would be usual, if the forest and its creatures were not either silent or disappeared. The man would have no shame in admitting that he was only partially curious and had a few moments of indecision about their chosen path. But he couldn't deny that there was something that drew him. Something deep and unfathomable.

They had covered some distance, and the forest had not been particularly empathetic to their travels. They had been hit with low lying branches, and have stumbled in dips and over tree roots. The man put it down to nervousness and dismissed any thought that the forest was attempting to slow and divert their path.

They come upon her.

They did not rush to her, as you would expect if the scene was anything close to normal and predictable: a fallen woman in a forest. They instead approach with caution.

She lay where she fell. She does not move. Not even a breath.

The forest darkened around them, as if night was suddenly upon them. It was almost like their spot in the forest had not caught up on the impetus of night. It was still late afternoon where they stood. A man, a dog, and a fallen woman.

Was it moments, or minutes, or longer that they were rooted in their spots?

The man could not help but notice the ethereal beauty of the woman. She clearly possessed strength of limb. Or should he say, had once possessed strength. A tall, strong form, taller than he had seen in any woman, and of most men. And so well formed, with visible, sinewy lines of musculature. She would survive well in the forest. Apart from her skin. So fair, so white, so eerily without regular human colour. If he was to give the colour name, and he sought his mind for a suitable descriptive - it would be pearlescent. A shimmery, white, opalescence. And he could see so skin much of her skin, as she was not tarnished even the debris of her fall or the forest she landed in.

There was no breathing. There was no movement. She was gone.

The smell of something metallic stung his nose. It was the smell of approaching rain or was it the taste of lightning. While on some level the smell seemed familiar to the man, it was also completely and utterly foreign.

Something rippled over her skin. From her feet, a slow line of movement travelled up her body, slower over the thickening curves of her strong thighs and well-formed rump. Just as the ripple travelled up her lithe, abdomen, and high round breasts, there was movement in her toes, that both dog and man notice.

Dog's ears turned away from the woman, and he looked South. Again, the man did not catch it. In a sudden turmoil of panic and scampering, dog was off. Dog who had never left the man's side. It was only then that the man could take his eyes away from the utter spectacle of the woman on the forest floor, and became aware of the lone, distinctive call of a raven, a long way off. And it was in that direction of the raven's call, that his best friend, his only friend, had now disappeared too.

Before he could contemplate his abandonment, he became acutely aware that the woman now stood. She now had her back to him. She seemed completely unaware of him, but it was acutely aware of her. And shockingly aware of the two vicious, curved wounds that arched gruesomely over both of her shoulder blades. As a hunter, he knew that in this forest, wounds like that were a death sentence.

Now that she was upright, those ragged, jagged, raw wounds, dripped blood slowly down her back, staining the sheen of her skin, in crystalline red.

An electric charge filled the space between them. And he watched, spellbound, as she drew in her chest for the first time in a breath. A full-bodied, deep breath and it appeared that she drew not only the air but the energy of that which surrounded her.

Strangely, words suddenly formed. He asked, "Are you ok?" The question was so utterly redundant, but he couldn't think, and he added: "You're wounded." The right words confound him.

"I have fallen," she answered, letting the words form slowly from her mouth, spilling from her lips as if they were not her own. It was if she had heard her voice for the first time. She reached across her firm, naked shoulder and picked something out of the top of the wound. A feather. A pure white feather. She flicked it dismissively and only he watched its path and how it broke into stardust so dazzling that it caused the man to squint. She rolled her shoulder slowly as if feeling the wounds on her back for the first time. She looked over her shoulder at her wounds, and then at him. Something was spoken in that look of hers. Something the man would never get a chance to understand.

No more words from him. He simply watched, as she slowly moved her torso, sending ripples in the muscles of her back, before her wounds completely healed over.

The woman snickered, pleased with her form, and her feel of her feet in the earth. "And now I am home." Then she demanded the forest to clothe her.

Fine gossamer was drawn from the underlings, and she was soon sheathed in material that only enhanced her form and her sheen.

A long, sad howl rang out from far away in the forest. A howl of morose and loss.

It was the last thing he heard.

The last thing he saw, was his still-beating heart in her strong, pale hand, and his blood splattered across her pure white skin.