HBHM (hiatus)

three

picture: storybook

| impression

Her cloak was of ivory satin that was fully lined, hooded and edged with fur. Without thinking twice she grabbed it, put it on and went outside. She pulled the fur-trimmed hood over her head, making sure it covered her face before starting her walk. There wasn’t anyone to see her, anyway, but it made her feel secure.

There’d been another nightmare again, and she needed some fresh air.

Carefully, she walked along the vines that slithered along the ground.

The peace and quiet was exactly what Evarose loved about the forest. She had nothing to worry about; the beasts rarely ever approach her. She tried not to think about the fact that maybe they considered her as one of their own.

Tall trees with knobby trunks and bony branches covered the forest beneath the canopy, obscuring whatever secrets remain hidden below. The air stunk of composting leaves and death―if death had a scent at all. She walked on the damp, soggy ground, twigs beneath her feet snapping.

She ignored the vague memory of breaking bones.

The wind swam through her hair, directing her over her shoulder. With a turn of her head, she felt the scenery change from ordinary to peculiar. The sun was setting, yet it already felt very late. Stretching shadows moved abruptly, sneakily, as though watching. Leaves in trees shivered and shook, the branches looking like fingers, ready to snatch its victim into their clutches.

Once in, there’s no way out.

Darkness surrounded her, as though desperately trying to wrap itself around her, trapping, suffocating her. She imagined a crude monster, luring her in with a song until she fell into its depths, locked and enslaved.

She grimaced. Whatever happened to getting fresh air?

The evening mist licked at her heels, clinging, as she walked. The sky was deep amber and lavender, but the forest was still somber.

Here in the forest, everything wants to tempt and ambush you.

Leaving a trail of footsteps behind, she walked further and further, not cautious of where she was headed. Suddenly she heard a familiar howl. The howl grew louder, closer. She neared the entrance of the forest and froze.

A young man stood not too far from her with hair a deep, rich brown. Beside him was a beautiful black stallion, neighing loudly in her direction. The horse was frightened, sensing danger: its eyes was furrowed, its breathing heavy with flaring nostrils and frightened nickers.

Suddenly a large wolf jumped out of the shadows.

The female wolf had dense and fluffy winter fur and bright yellow eyes. Upon seeing an unknown intruder in the forest, it growled at the man and his companion. Enraged, maybe threatened, the gray wolf moved slow and deliberate, hackles raised, body tensed.

When the man moved slightly, it growled louder, stepping closer.

Amoux?

It was then when the man noticed Evarose and stared at her withutter confusion.

“What are you doing here? Run!”

The large wolf revealed a row of sharp white teeth―a sign that it was about to attack. It resembled an eerie grin, like the wolf could not wait to sink teeth into flesh.

But the man just stared at Evarose, his face anxious. “Did you not hear me? Run!”

Paws pounded forward, charging for the stallion. It neighed, slamming its hooves on the ground. Evarose knew that the wolf would win in this fight, and she certainly did not want to see the stallion dead. No, she would never allow that.