The Wood

Then suddenly, it happened. The large yellow teeth clenched around my calf. The warmth of my blood trickled slowly, in thick little rivers, forming pools as it dripped from my ankle. It had come, as I knew it would. As I lay helpless, too terrorized with fear to move, I watch, waiting praying for a miracle, a release from the pain. I thought back to how it all started. The darkness of The Wood, how mysteriously it had come…
I’d heard the story. Momma always said it was only a legend. But it was the fear, utter paranoia in her voice and movements, which made me, believe otherwise. She would hum nervously, a quiet chant, one I knew by heart. It was instilled in me. Her lullaby of lost love always put me to sleep, so soft her silky voice. She would pull out the cestino del cucito [sewing basket], darning the latest hole I had in my knit cardigan, or creweling a bed linen for my trousseau. And begin to hum or sing to me a chant, a lullaby from long ago. Her eyes so black like sloe berries lost deep in the night. They would catch the light and illuminate her whole being. Her face framed by long dark hair that curled around her neck, usually held back tightly in a chignon. Then Momma would sing, telling me a dark truth of worry and internal pain deep in her heart for a child she knew would be taken from a lost love. It was prophesied through generations of songs passed on from mother to daughter. As, I listened I looked up to see white barn pigeons against the grey cloudy sky. They flew overhead cooing, like angels crying. For her, to continue, to hold faith, it meant the sun would continue to rise. And she would begin her song,

Step into the light so I can see you
Let me know that you could care for me
Why should I give you all my love
When I’m not really sure that you’d be there for me
Out of the shadows, asking me how could love be wrong
Out of the darkness, you told me that you’d be strong
That you could really care
And we could really share
Something sacred, indeed.

You told me that as Romani, you should forever roam
But before you swore we’d make a home
Now you wander striking all in your path
All for lost love you always had.

Listening to her chant, I was lost in her basket, holding pins and needles, shears, or a few leftover intricate fabrics. The woven basket was made of fine detailed reed, lined with white muslin she had also used to sew aprons and bedlinens. The more I would search in the basket the more I would find. Pockets holding a few spools of thread or vials of dried scented leaves. Deeper in, there were the swatches, and then a rip in the fabric. Dog eared, an old photograph revealed itself. Sepia toned with age, it was buried within the tear. It was a photograph of bare-chested man. He had curly dark hair and his eyes mesmerized me. Behind him was a caravan. Our caravan.
“What is that you have Tsura?”
I could not hide it nor could I answer. I expected the worst.
“I found a photograph. Who is that Momma?”
I learned long ago if caught the best thing to do was avoid it and dodge the question by asking another question. Momma’s eyes slanted at me and a wry smile came over her, recognizing my plan. She took the photo, looked at it, then me, and by my surprise, gave it back to me.
“It’s time to clean up your mess little star. Look at the photo a few more minutes but then for Goodness Sake tuck it back in the basket. And put all those bottles of herbs and seeds back where you found them. ”
Momma made me a slice of bread with goat butter and sprinkled crystallized honey on it for me to eat. She then returned to the basket, opened it again and tugged at the lining of the lid. Hidden behind the lining, she removed a short black cord knotted to a small brass acorn forming a necklace. She put it on me and then gave me a stern lecture.
“You really shouldn’t go into other peoples things little one.”
Still, as she stood up she brushed the hair from my eyes and gave me a pinch on the nose.


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Papa would tell us on hot steamy nights about The Wood, as we ate around the campfire.. On occasion, other Romani would come over looking for food or shelter for a night around the campfire. Romani were outcasts from the village of Soros. Romani are considered a blight on the lands of Soros and not allowed to become citizens. Rarely, did we go to town. Instead, Poppa would capture our attentions over campfire coffee about how the trees held a dark secret of sin. About the Woodsman, with his axe, would strike down anyone who set foot inside The Wood after sunset. And the cries of the children so late into the night. The babies! That’s what Papa used to say. But, Momma just more became agitated, and worked at fixin sup’ with even greater speed and more carelessness. She was worried. I could tell. The deep lines from her worry seemed to darken, sadden. As if she knew a truth! But, she dared not express it.
Papa would sit me on his lap, picking me up and holding me, effortlessly. “Tsura, my girl, you are the light of my dawn. How can your eyes be so like the violets that grow in The Wood? Your hair like the blackest night? Surely, I have been blessed.” I would look up to him and he would smile so broad. His hair the color of campfire coffee and a scruffy face, with his kind eyes of bluest ice. For me Pa was pure love. Then he would begin. He would sing the song his father sang to him when he was a child. The music of my father soothed all who heard it around the fire. The chant would always end with the death of the Woodsman.
-----The Woodsman was the one held responsible when children disappeared. Especially, when seven children went missing over by Willow Brook Pond over by The Wood. Villagers and farmers searched all day until near sunset. They wouldn’t go into the vast Wood past sunset. Most were afraid to go in during daylight, but those that did found only a child’s ball and a doll. The doll belonged to my baby sister, Emilia. She was one of the seven that went missing[s1] . Now, Papa doesn’t tell the story, nor does he talk much. He only cries and drinks his whiskey. When the Wood begins.

The shadow ran across the small beam of light far off into the distance. The darkness was not as much dark as much as it was a pure black void. Floating in what seemed to be this abyss, it worried him as soon as he awoke. But it also was enticing. He thought about how odd how wide and dilated his eyes must be but still not able to see. He focused himself and tried to realize his body, coming to terms with the state of his body which was floating in this black void. He tried to move. He could feel, smell and hear and presume to taste but seeing was impossible. Except, that far off beam of light. As he came out of his unconscious, He tried to move each leg and remarkably they worked. He worked quietly and easy then following with his arms and head and neck, he tried sitting up. Was he dead? Or was he dreaming? Why did he have this sense of danger ? He sat up and the first powerful realization came to him. He was not floating. There was earth beneath him. He realized his own gravity. The earth was wet and foul smelling not unlike manure but still it meant that this was an actual place and that he hadn’t died. Then there was the blessing of sound. Drip. Drip. Drip. and then it would echo farther in the black void over by the light. It became slightly musical listening to the monotone drip drip drip followed a few seconds later of a lower sounding echo of drop drop drop….
It feels like sleep but it is not sleep. Like dreaming but not dreaming. He presses his hands into the earth and as bad smelling as it is he finds comfort in it. Before he gets up he tries to recall. But there is no recall. And this is when the fear sets in. The confusion of not knowing was breeding fear which in turn gave him a tragic sense of hopeless anxiety. A haunting feeling came across him knowing there was nothing he knew. Drip. Drip. Drip. In desperation, he gripped the ground which brought still more comfort. Drop. Drop. Drop.
“Where is my dog?” he whispered to himself.
This random observation was all he could remember. He tried to remember what kind of dog he had and what his dog’s name was. Unbeknownst to him, this was all the more tragic because he didn’t own a dog. He had one when he was a young child but no longer. As he sat in the muck he thought perhaps he should head towards the light being careful not to create havoc with the shadow he had seen down by the light which he knew not was friend or foe. Something kept ringing to him that it was foe. If only he could remember. He lifted the earthy texture beneath him and found he could hold some in his hands quite readily. The wet texture and the drip drip drip….drop drop drop added to slowly resolve his anxiety and heavy breathing. He felt at this point it might be best for him to simply lie back down and rock himself to sleep, hoping things would be more clearer when he woke back up. He layed back down in a fetal position and began rocking himself, his thumb working its way into his mouth to suckle. He rocked back and forth suckling and he began to fall into unconscious, with each rhythmic rock he began to hum. The first humming was more from the beginning traipses into light sleep. The more he fell into the squared darkness of sleep the more his humming began a tune he knew but did not recognize. The notes of the tune would come to him, the more he suckled the more easily they came, and the deeper into sleep he fell, fell, fell into his own unconscious.
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----When The Wood begins, letting sounds of the children out into the moist, night cooled air, Papa puts his own worn hands over his ears. And cries. Poor Emilia[s2] . My little blonde Emilia. In her pink and ivory-colored party dress. My poor Emilia. She is only six! I miss how things were. She must come back to me! Others try to forget but I won’t, Emilia…
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“If you hurry we can go to town little ones. There has been a summons for all of us to sing and in the town square. There will be food and dancing.” Momma was happy then. She lifted Emilia up and gave her a little hug before handing her to me. “Emilia, let your sis get you dressed with no fuss this time.” Emilia always was a fuss. It was a struggle being the oldest sister to her. To her she was a big girl and didn’t want help with her hair or getting washed or dressed. “If you’re good you can wear your fine dress. And with that Emilia resolved herself to being dressed. When Poppa called we came out of the small cabin ready to go.
My ladies all look so pretty” and Poppa swung little Emilia high into the air. As we walked, poppa carried Emilia with one arm and his viola in the other while I carried his oboe. We were never invited to town unless there was a dance. It made me feel proud that the politicians and shopkeepers knew of my father and his viola playing. Romani were known for their music and Papa knew how to play better than most. At the square, poppa and momma set up tables. Soon the dance for the village was in full swing. The Romani children were told to make it once through smorgasbord as Old Marm called it, then take a seat at the far end of the square and use the grain bails as chairs away from the rest of the children who took part freely in the night’s activities.
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The farmers near Willow Brook village fenced the whole wood in. And posted signs all around it. To protect the children we still have. Now with the perimeters fenced, we hope we won’t lose anymore. Except now, I’m in The Wood. After dark. I look up and see him. The Woodsman[s3] . Then, I remember…
----The search for Emilia, in The Wood. I went without telling Momma or Papa. I needed to know. A search for truth, as well, as Emilia. But I did not expect the darkness to come so quickly. I began in midday, climbing over the fence, into the Wicked Wood. It is[s4] so frightening and vast. I almost turn back.
As I entered, past Anchor Oak, A creeping feeling came over my heart, reaching from the pit of my stomach. The same creeping you get when you get caught stealing an apple from a neighbor’s tree. Or when you take a test in Old Marm’s schoolhouse[s5] . Or listen to Papa, late into the night, tell about the Wood.
The trees so tall, you begin to lose sight of the sky and the sense of the world being round. The leaves so deep green in color, like a shroud over The Wood. Little by little, the further in I go, the sky disappears behind the branches and leaves of The Wood.
Flowers, like Bloodroot, grow amongst the Wicked Trees, moss deep and rich in color, growing, thriving on the rocks. Butterflies alive and mingle with each other I notice the white blossoms of the bloodroot slowly begin to close, a sign that darkness, sunset has also entered The Wood[s6] . Sunset brings out the fireflies. Little I turn to leave with Achilles speed. I had lost track of the time. But which way? The Wood is quite large. If I take the wrong route I will only end up deeper, in the Land of the Woodsman. Fear grabs[s7] me by the hand. He always does when I least need him.
I begin[s8] to run. I begin to panic. Urgency and fear each pull me by the hand, dragging me at times, ever onward. The trees become darker, the leaves more and more like a blanket of morbid fear. Terror. The bloodroots I no longer see nor can I even see the ground. Sunset has fallen. It is dark. Empty and frightening. Soon I will be dead. Only my cries will linger on, out of The Wood[s9] .
But Wait!
I see a clearing, through the darkness, in the distance. And a campfire! The villagers! They’ve made a campfire for me to find the edge of The Wood. Oh Blessed Mary! I run towards the light, the heat, and the warmth of family, only seconds away!
But this is not to be. It is not the edge of The Wood I come upon but, merely a hollow in The Wood. But hollow it is not. What a sight I see. A bonfire, great and huge. And cats! Cats, I say! Dancing on their hinders, paw in paw, around the great fire, forming a circle! Oh! Blessed Be! It cannot be! As they dance, they cry and whine out a tune of pure wonderment[s10] . Not quite a tune, but more like…
Cries in the night.
The howling of cats.
They danced and screeched back and forth, first clockwise then counter. Like little elves! Their clothes, almost human like. Blue jumpers, silk shirts, and a…
Pink and ivory party dress… No! This cannot be. My little Emilia. Sorrow of Sorrows. Horror of Horrors! Not my poor little Emilia! I can only collapse to the ground. My heart grieves.
Coincidentally, all the cats cry out with fits of laughter and fall to the ground, over one another, breaking the circle, laughing still more. Jugs are passed around and they all take long gulps of purple-red liquid. “Wine! Whine[s11] !”they chant.
When a jug is emptied, it is tossed over the shoulder, usually breaking as it hits the ground, or another cat. When this happens, they all fall over in fits of laughter. They are all obviously drunk.
I fall back, against a nearby tree, mesmerized. Tears flow freely, as I see Emilia, a child drinking, in the form of a cat.
The cats pass large platters of fruits and layers and layers of meats and cheeses. Even at nine, I am shocked by the whole scene, the decadence of it all! If a platter falls, the cats rage again with laughter.
I see a very large tent over to one side of the clearing, and occasionally, a pair sometimes even a threesome, goes inside. Each time, The curtains are drawn and great howling screeches begin.
Then I notice, from out of the tent comes a large wolf! Very solemn. Very stern looking. He is a guard[s12] . He takes wood from a pile and throws it upon the fire. The fire hisses and burns ever brighter, sending burning cinders up into the air. They remind me of fairies dancing ever higher above the fire.
Instead of returning inside, he stands, still on his hind legs, with a large axe[s13] near his side. He scans the clearing, and I crunch down still further down out of sight, by the tree. Casually, he lifts his nose to the light breeze that has come up, and blows past him. The leaves whisper to him, ever so softly. They whisper, lightly, delicately a secret. The secret of my hidden scent. Without hesitation, his head turns and his eyes look directly to me, through me. His eyes pierce mine and I cannot move. I am frozen, in fear of being seen.
I whisper my own little secret beneath my held breath. “Please, Oh Heavenly Father[s14] , do not let him see me. Protect me so I can save my little Emilia. Protect me so I can get home safe.”
The guard removes his armored belt and bronzed helmet. Ever so gracefully, he drops to all fours, jumps the woodpile, and continues running to me. After me!
In terror I run! Away from Emilia. Away from the campfire. Tears still burning down my face. If only I had a weapon. After what seems like true and utter anguish from running, I look back. The wolf no longer follows me. I no longer see him.
Exhausted, I hide behind one of the many, many oaks. I hold on to the basket tight as if I am holding onto Momma.
Then suddenly without expectation it happened. The large yellow teeth clenched around my calf. The warmth of my blood trickled slowly, in thick little rivers, forming pools as it dripped from my ankle. It had come as I knew it would. As I lay helpless, too terrorized with fear to move, I watch, waiting praying for a miracle, a release from the pain. The large beast, fur matted with burrs, with caked on blood from previous killings, looks into my eyes. His large paw swings high into the air, his claws extended now, reaching outward. Like lightning, he will bring his claws to come down through me, my neck…

But this is not to be. For in all songs that are sung, for all invocations there is truth. Momma sang me stories of how pain can be brought down. I pull from Momma’s basket, the scissors I have used to cut the bloodroots. They are stained with the juice of bloodroot. I hold them tight in defense, in feigned defiance, a thinly veiled attempt at strength. He looks at me in amazement. Our thoughts become one. How can such a small child even bring him down or even bring him the smallest of pain? How could such a pair of shears even penetrate his thick burly fur? In his own arrogance, his own decadent behavior he releases me from the pain. He cocks his head back and laughs, HOWLS. A long winded guttural laugh and I smell his disgusting earthy scent of hot breath, musk, and decay. With a last look of ridicule, he brings down his whole body his teeth and jaws open wide to end my struggle. But my poor wolf, I have my own secret of sin for you. Your force and thrusts will never penetrate my fear. Not anymore. Embolden, I tighten, thrusting down the shears with my whole body and closing my eyes feeling them burn with tears as I feel the scissors hit…

I open my eyes, and my shears have struck him through his hind paw. He lifts up again, towering over me. He howls a wounded shriek of pain and suffering. The sound echoes through The Wood, a haunting and horrific sound of sorrow. He looks down at me in disbelief. In anger and destruction he lifts me up high over his head. I scream. Out of panic and fear I begin singing incessantly, one of Momma’s chant’s,
“You will bother me no longer for I am the stronger.
Your burly brawn is no match for Momma’s chant.
A pair of shears dipped in Bloodroot will cure the evilest of Oboroten!”
I end my chant, my invocation of my Romani people. My secret of sin has been revealed to him.
“End your suffering, and return to your natural form, I command you.”
His shock and disbelief turns to wounded defeat. He collapses bringing me down and I hit the back of my head on the oak that was my protector. I fall fall fall into the darkness of the night, into the darkness of my own unconscious…

The Devouring

The bell chimed once above the water fountain with the subtlest of dings. On occasion, a soft breeze blows tickling our feet as we dip them in the cool water of the fountain. Some of us sit and wade at the well and watering hole in the town square of Soros. Today is a good day. Momma and Papa have been asked to come to town, perhaps father will be able to play at a musical festival that is coming up. All of the Romani have been offered a chance to perform, and all of children wait around the fountain which is fed by the underground river of Hope. We decide to call it the Well of Hope. In recognition, the bell teases us by chiming twice in approval. We each make toasts then take drinks and laugh making wishes on dreams that will never come true. But of all the dreams and of all the children, my favorite is my David, with the dimpled smile. He is kind and generous to me. Momma has already told me that I am betrothed to him. I rarely get to see him but on occasion when the Romani come to town, he sees me and tells me when we are married he will read to me every day. His dark brown eyes are not intense or fierce. They are soft and tender and his straight wiry hair is not unusual. But his kindness is. Around the well we sit and wait talking about the wind of Hope that seems to want to drink from the well. I reach for the silver cup and pour the water out slowly so that the wind if hope can have a drink. I look down across the street to the edge of The Wood that does not end. Ding-Ding.
“Tsura do you know what your name means in Rom?”
I do but choose to see if my future husband does. Plus, I imagined momma giving me a sidewerds glance for not allowing my future husband to share with me. She would tell me I was being impolite.
“No. What does it mean?”
“It means light of the dawn. Perhaps someday we will watch the sun come up together.”
David is fourteen. Sometimes he speaks of our future but most times he is quiet. On rare occasions he says things that make me blush. Ding. Dong.
As the wind in town picks up, shopkeepers come out to close the shutters to their front windows to protect the glass. DING! DONG! They close their doors to keep the gust of winds from coming in. We wait for Momma who is going from shop to shop collecting anything the shopkeepers do not want. It is only sometimes a fruitful task. It is surprising how many things people do not want. Yet, even more surprising it is surprising how many things people do not want but do not want Momma to have either. She makes a silent list in her memory and returns to shops in the wee morning hours and usually the items, like a three-legged chair or a broken wheel of cheese that cannot be sold, are waiting for her in the trash like little gifts from the gnomes we read about in the schoolhouse of old Marm. Momma was of all things resourceful. Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong.!
I hold Emilia, who is fidgeting, either wanting up on me or down from me. and the other kids ten of us or so, are becoming impatient waiting for our parents, when I look past David. Then the curious eyes happen from The Wood. First, one pair, look upon us wild and wicked and wanting and hungry. Then there is another added to the pair of eyes. The dust and gravel of the roads are picked up by the winds and the foursquare of the streets show their signs of gold dusted winds. I look down each of the streets. It becomes too windy as the grains of gravel pelt us pricking us on our faces and getting in our eyes. I look again covering my eyes down to the Wood and at least a dozen pairs of eyes stare from The World of the Wood, dark and green. DING! DONG! DING! DONG! As the bell begins to clamor on, David takes Emilia as she begins to cry and I cover her face with my cardigan to protect her from the small grains of gravel. I recognize Momma is at the far end of the street the opposite of The Wood. The Wind continues to blow ever more, ever more, and then a sight of sickening scheme. From out of the Wood come Wolves large and grey, running towards us. They do not howl but run low to the ground down hiding the hazard they will soon be upon us. I call to David but his eyes are unaware he has begun to lower his head in the direction of the wolves and I am dumb stuck between running to Momma for protection or running to David and the wolves to protect my Emilia. Down another street Poppa has exited a shop holding his viola case and shaking a man’s hand. David covers Emilia’s head, I watch him begins to use his hand to rub his eyes and he begins to run for cover. The wind blows and the wolves get closer readying their attack. DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG
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CLANG CLANGCLANGCLANG Screams of the children from the wind that is scratching their faces and uncovered skin totally unaware the wolves are seconds from attacking.. I try to see and run to David and watch as the wolves attack in a flurry of dust and gravel. The bell on top of the well clangs beyond beat it has become one long brass percussion of sound. I am only a few yards from David but the wind holds me back as I trudge forward. He looks up dropping precious Emilia as a wolf jumps at him. My head swims with decisions, and all I can muster out is
POPPA! POPPA!
Momma is screaming going from shop door to shop door begging for help she has seen the wind storm that we have been caught in but it is blinding and hides the wolves Poppa hears Momma’s screams over the clambering of the bell. He begins to run against the wind running to Momma with his strength to understand why she is screaming for help. Unaware of the blatant attack of the wolves. As Poppa runs across the street he bypasses the townsquare unaware of the trouble we are in, he can not see us or hear my screams. The children are unable to leave the town square the wind is so strong we are all corralled in for the wolves to enter and do what they will. In the dust and the gravel and loud clambering of the never-ending sound of the bell I cannot see David any longer and there I decide I have to do something I look back to Momma and scream for help with all my heart and soul. The wind has reached its own percussion of sound, with gravel playing backbeat by way of hitting the roofs. And the incessant knocks of gravel against the bell. DING! DONG! ClingCLANGCLING. dingdong DANG DINGDONG………………The bell rips off the tower and takes flight high into the air. Poppa has almost made it to Momma. And I scream with all my might hoping they both might hear me. The wolves have their full assault of the children and I stand still hoping they will ignore me. Crying, I am screaming at Momma and Poppa I look thru the haze once to find either David or Emilia while the other kids are running away from the wolves. I look back at Momma and Poppa one last time when the bell comes back down hitting him hard in the head resonating with a off chord BONG. Poppa the strongest man I know is brought down by a musical instrument. Watching my father drop to the ground, my own eyes begin to roll to the back of my eyes as I fall back in full grand mal epileptic seizure. as I fall down I feel my weight hit what I believe to be a wolf., breaking my fall. In no time as I go into my seizure I can gather enough that he is planning on biting my neck.
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I awake and the roots of the oak have me cradled between them like Momma’s arms around me. I look up and the night continues. In front of me, poking out from the ferns is the limb of elongated figure, motionless. Afraid to move, I stare out waiting, drained of my courage. In trepidation, I crawl from my cradle, the oak releasing me from her arms. I reach and feel through the ferns searching for life from the animal so desperate to give me death. My hand feels and finds the leg. Out of my own delicate nervousness I pull back my hand. In my haze I question myself. Perhaps, it is a fallen limb from the oak or a log long forgotten. I crawl closer again and in the darkness what do I see but a man naked, the deep midnight of green ferns outlines the white of his porcelain body. I push aside a fern and look upon his face covered in unkempt beard. I look down and his hairy chest trails down to his manhood. In my own appalled shyness I look away and my face begins to burn with embarrassment. I look up to his face again searching for any sign that he is still alive or that I am still in danger. But he does not move. Eyes closed his head is tilted down.
Then I remember my basket and the point of my journey. I remember my poor Emilia. I creep in the still of the night and soon the basket is back in my arm. In silence, I move back to the figure searching for my shears. Is he alive? Should I take the shears from his foot and pierce his heart?
I bend down at his foot and I begin to cry. I look down at this naked man dead at my expense. My tears fall easily upon his body and I bless him a soft prayer. In hopes his soul will go to Heaven. I grasp the shears and use my strength to pull them out. The wolf man does not move.
Before I can get up, this great figure of a man no longer a beast jumps up in shock ready to attack. He sees me and covers his naked body in shame. He pulls a few ferns and straps them into a makeshift covering for his loins.
“You have saved me for the moment I thank you. But what are you doing here? You have no idea the trouble you are causing yourself and all of Yourkind. You must leave immediately. Oh little one did you pray over me? Who do you worship?”
Well, God, of course, and my Lord Jesus Christ. I’m Tsura. You aren’t going to hurt me are you?
My name is Aduhm. And no, my child, I am not going to hurt you. But you are in grave danger. You must listen carefully, there is not much time. At any point that you were in The Wood did you cry out for the help of your…” and then he whispered “god?”
I don’t think so. Wait, I think I did when you were in your other shape and you looked at me back at the campfire. Wait! I have to go. I have to save my sister. She was in the pink and ivory party dress!”
“Child, listen to me.” He pulled Tsura close and held her by the shoulders. Once Tsura stopped moving Aduhm reached down and using his great strength pulled the shears from his foot. Tsura looked away again this time with feigned embarrassment. She was proud of taking down the beast.
“Yes you are a strong child. But you must listen, Tsura. You must leave this place. There is none of your religion here. There is only unreligion. Now run back to your home. I will continue on and try to find your sister, you mean the cats around the fire? One of them is your sister? No, that cannot be. Those are all Originals from the Land of Originals. If you are Yourkind then your sister must be Yourkind. It is impossible for her to be an Original. She can only be a descendent of an Original. Besides she is a cat? Have I missed so much? Aduhm catches himself. No child you must run out of The Wood. I am not the answer you seek. Nor was that campsite of animals. Sin has entered here and with your prayers said out loud Sin knows you are here now as well! She will send her minions to get rid of you. Aduhm reached up and grabbed in the air as many fireflies as he could. Do you have a container? Immediately, Tsura reached into her basket and retrieved some of the glass container that held strange herbs and seeds. “You came prepared, Little Star.” As Aduhm emptied the jars he refilled them with the fireflies. “My friends, will you help this little star shine brighter?” and the fireflies began to burn harder brighter. Tsura’s eyes were wide and now for the first time she could see more than outlines. In an instant she knew who this man was, his eyes still mesmerizing Tsura. His eyes now cast his upon Tsura’s face and then down to her necklace. “Oh child. Things might not be as bad as we think, huh? He pulled at the top of the acorn where the chord attached and unscrewed it from the body of the acorn. They separated and inside was of all things a compass. “You can use this to guide your way. Do not trust the moss growing on the north sides of the trees. They are not always right.
I need my belt, little one. And together they searched, eventually finding a wolf pelt fur belt that had a tail attached. Your bloodroot was my anecdote little one but you probably already knew that. My guess is you listen to your mother’s lullabies. Now run little girl there is much to be done. You have saved me from my own sin and now we can do what we can. It’s probably too late anyways so we might as well, leading Tsura he knelt down among the ferns. He grasped Tsura’s hands in his and he began,
Oh Father who art in Heaven hallowed be thy name thy kingdom come thy will be done On earth as it is in Heaven give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us…
With end of the prayer came the sound of shrieks from far off.
Now Tsura run to your home tell your Mother it is time and that I have sent you. She won’t be upset with you, Little Star. She recognizes I have been enslaved by my own sin. You must run quickly, and here take this tail that is attached to the belt little one. It will prove that you have taken down the Woodsman. But those are just folktales. I have so much to share with you, Tsura, but we don’t have the time. And with the –“
Before Aduhm could finish a large murder of shrieks came again and flew upon them faster than he anticipated. He jumped at Tsura and they landed on the ground underneath the tall ferns. Tsura’s body was pressed under Aduhm and she could feel the weight of his muscular chest and his entire body against hers. She felt trapped but safe as well. And she was pretty sure there were parts of Aduhm that she could feel that she should not be feeling. It was all too much for her to handle. He covered her head and held her tight, as the raven-like shrieks flew over. Eventually, they passed. “You are not my Father!” I could have handled that myself. Aduhm’s entire being changed. “I am so very sorry Little Star. Tsura, I would give my life to protect you.” Surely you have recognized what is happening and who I am?” Before Tsura could respond, Aduhm pushed Tsura in the chest forcing her back into the large hidden arms of Mother Oak. Aduhm lifted his arms spreading them out as far as he could. He began crying out “go home tell your mother it is the Seven who have allowed the Devouring. Remember to release the fireflies before they go completely dark in the vials. It is not for you or I to imprison creatures let alone bring them death. And do not pray aloud in the Wood. Sin can hear it and will send her minions. Then we are surely lost. And with that, two black shrieks feathers like crows came down upon him and picked Aduhm up carrying him off the white muslin of the apron covering his naked form. As he was lifted he dropped the jars of fireflies, dropping them upon his his fur belt which he inadvertently had left behind.

Once again Tsura was stunned. It all seemed so overwhelming. She picked up the long vial fireflies using it to guide herself in the dark. She picked up the belt, which she put in her basket.
Tsura could not decide what to do next. Run fast out of The Wood or try to run back to the campfire to attempt to save Emilia. What are the originals and what are Yourkind? She thought.