The constant jolting of the wagon made Rosalind feel sick. They had been on a bumpy road for what had seemed like hours. The men kept to themselves for the most part, they did not speak to her and she did not speak to them. Exhaustion had taken hold of her, but she was afraid to sleep. She was tired, hungry, and cold. Her entire body shifted forward as the wagon abruptly came to a halt. She heard the men laughing and talking as they dismounted their horses. She pulled her knees close to her chest, she felt vulnerable and alone. She shivered in the night air, her lightweight day dress was not antiquating for keeping her warm. She didn't regret her decision, how could she? She prayed that Andrew wouldn't pursue them--he'd get himself killed.
She could hear the men cutting logs and the crackling of fires starting. She did not know where she was, how far they had travelled. She was deep in her own thoughts, when she felt the wagon dip under added weight. Rosalind could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She was still, afraid that if she moved a muscle, the presence would see her there. She felt a hand clasp on to her shoulder, and she immediately tensed under the touch.
"'Tis all right, Lass, I ain't going to hurt ya." A thickly accented voice declared. She kept her head down. She remained still, even when the hand was removed from her shoulder. "Suit yourself then."
She began to let her muscles relax. While the presence had initially incited fear, the voice that had spoken made Rosalind feel less and less perturbed. The stranger's voice was thick and grandfather like. The sweetness to his tone reminded her of her own father. How could this be? This stranger seemed less harsh than his companions. Was he not a part of the same band of men who had come for her family's home just hours ago?
"The name is Grover, or at least that's what they call me," the man, Grover, offered.
"Rosalind," she is surprised to hear her own voice. After hours of not speaking her voice was soft and hoarse, as if she had just woken from a deep sleep. "My name is Rosalind."
"Rosie," Grover says, testing the name on his lips. Rosalind's lips twitched into a soft smile. "Say, how old are ya, Rosie?"
"Nineteen. I'll be twenty in two weeks," she says softly. She hadn't thought much about her birthday. She hadn't realized how close it truly was. Rosalind didn't know why she felt at ease with Grover, but she couldn't seem to help it. Like any child she had been warned about talking to strangers, but deep in her heart she knew the Grover meant her no harm.
"I have a lil' girl, I suppose she's a little younger than ya. She married last summer--or at least I think she did," Grover trailed off. He grew quiet.
"You don't know?" Rosalind was intrigued.
"Aye, Rosie, I have not seen my Brianna in three years," he said solemnly.
"Why?"
"Sometimes Lass, people are better off without ya." His statement made Rosalind think of her reasons for leaving. She realized then how similar Grover and her were. They both left their families so that they would have a better life without them.
"You're right, Grover."
"What ya did was brave, leaving home like ya did."
"Thank you," she said softly. She could smell the smoke of the camp fires, it made her eyes sting every, and her throat dry. She could hear the other men mingling among themselves. Rosalind heard their laughter and jokes as plates a cups clinked against each other. She coughed slightly, "Grover, where are we going?"
"To the manor, Lord Hersey will no doubt have a job for ya; 'tis about a day or so from here."
She felt sick. Rosalind had heard stories about the man. He had come to town once before; he was a stout plump man with a hard face. As he would pass, the shop owners would whisper amongst themselves about his wives. The man was her father's age and he had been married four times--four wives, all who have left him widowed. The rumors say that they all passed with mysterious circumstances, and that he always seemed to marry a new girl with in a month of the wife's passing. This was where she was headed. Her heart dropped into her stomach, and she suddenly felt home sick. This was the first time, she regretted her decision to leave. It was too late now.
"It will be all right, Lass." Grover clearly saw her face pale in fear. A shiver shot up her spine as a breeze touched her face. "I'll be right back."
She did not want Grover to leave. Without him, she felt more vulnerable and more unprotected than before. She wrung her hands nervously. Her mind played with her, she could've sworn the laughter grew louder and closer. She did not want them near her. She wanted Grover to come back and act like a wall that protected her from the other men. She jumped as she felt a warm heavy cover wrap around her shoulders. It smelled like smoke and grass.
"'Tis from my tent, ya looked as if ya were chilled," she smiled when she heard Grover's voice. She gave him her thanks. "I've brought ya some stew straight from the pot." He placed a warm bowl in her hands. She traced the rim of the bowl with her fingertips searching for the spoon. When she felt it, she brought it to her mouth. She savored the warm broth as it moved down her throat. She hadn't realized how hungry she truly was until she touched the spoon to her lips. The stew was full of meat, potatoes, and carrots. It had been quite a while since she had such a such a hearty meal. She ate and listen to Grover talk about his daughter, Brianna. When she finished the mean she instantly regretted eating all the stew. Her stomach was not use to the amount of food she consumed, and it felt as if her insides might burst.
"Would ya like anything else, Rosie?" Grover asked.
"Just company, Grover," she smiled.
"I can give ya that, Rosie."
"Can you read, Grover? Could you read something to me?" She asked.
"Can ya not read, Lass?"
"I can't see," she said softly. She wasn't ashamed of it, but it always made her uncomfortable to say it out loud.
"Ya had me fooled, Rosie." He claimed, "Here I just thought ya was shy." She laughed, she hardly believed him, but his gesture was nice. "I cannot read, Rosie. I'm sorry."
"It is all right, Grover."
"I can tell ya a story!" He began excitedly. " Have you heard of the beast that lurks in these woods?"
"I've heard of it, yes. It is just a ridiculous ghost story," Rosalind dismissed.
"No, no, no, Rosie. 'Tis hardly a ghost story, the beast lives."
"It is just a story parents tell their children so that they do not play in the woods."
"'Tis true! I swear it, I've seen him myself!" He claimed.
"You have got to be joking."
"No, Rosie! He lives, here in these woods. He hides in the shadows like a ghost, but he's hardly a spirit."
"Grover, this is absurd."
"Let me tell ya the story, silly girl."
Rosalind sighed deeply, "Fine, I'll humor you."
"Thank ya, Rosie. All right," Grover cleared his throat. "'Tis the legend that the old King Henry, God rest his soul, was a very... nervous man. He had this seer, you see? This hag of a woman who would tell him all this nonsense that he would believe--"
"What has this got to do with the beast?" She interrupted.
"Now, Rosie, how am I supposed to tell ya a story when you interrupt me?" He asked. She said her apologies, and he continued, "Now where was I, ah yes, he would believe anything the ol' hag spewed. 'Tis said she once told him a future--where he was dead, and there was no heir to attend the throne. The King, who had a son, became obsessed with discovering the hag's meaning. His son... oh, what was his name? Never mind that, the prince had been running around with this wench; a witch, unannounced to him. The story becomes unclear, but the King driven to insanity took his own life, and the witch cursed the throne. The prince, along with his father both ended up dead. The witch, the conniving wench she was, created a monster that lurks in the castle to ensure no one can take the throne ever again. This land is cursed, mark my words, Rosie, someday the curse will end us all."
Rosalind, despite her best effort, had become intrigued with the tale. Her father never spoke much about Royals, she had been eleven or twelve when the throne fell, but she had never known the reason. Then again, witches did not exist. This was probably a fable with a rot of truth. The King and Prince were dead--that was the truth. The notion of a witch cursing the throne was--had to be--fictitious.
"You said you have seen it, Grover?"
"Yes, Rosie, I have. A year or two ago, lurking in the shadows, as our caravan crossed through his territory."
"Now Grover, that could've been anyone, plenty of people walk the woods."
"Many people do not have eyes that glow like an animal in the night, but walk like a man." Rosalind's brows furrowed. She tried her hardest to picture it, but she couldn't. All she could conjure was a figure of a bear standing on its hind legs.
"It could've been an--"
"Fine, Rosie, don't believe the old man! Ya are right, it is only a childish tale meant to scare you." Sarcasm dripped from his voice. She felt bad, she hadn't meant to belittle his story. She was such a literal person though; she simply could not fathom the idea of a mythical beast running around the woods. A bear or mountain lion, sure, but not a creature that was part animal part man. The whole notion was ridiculous.
"I am sorry, Grover. It is just hard for me to believe that is all."
"'Tis all right, Lass." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Some tales are just too hard to believe."
Rosalind listened to the night. It was quiet, the crickets were softly singing their tune and the branches in the trees danced around the wind. The men had quieted, there was still some activity, but it had died down significantly.
"What does the moon look like right now, Grover?" She asked. She remembered the moon and that it constantly changed. The full moon used to be her favorite, because the whole night sky would be lit up like day time.
"There is no moon tonight. We've been using torches to navigate the night." She did not like the idea of this. She hated to imagine a pitch black sky, but she wondered how serene the stars looked. Andrew used to tell her all about the constellations he read about in his fancy books. Her favorite was the chained lady, Andromeda. Andrew use to tell her about all the myths that surrounded them. She thought Greek mythology was interesting. It was much easier for her to think about, than Grover's tale. It was mythology, it did not claim to be the truth which she appreciated.
"'Tis late, best ya be getting to bed, Rosie. Long day of travel ahead of us tomorrow." They parted ways, Grover returned to his tent, and she made a bed for herself in the bed of the wagon. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was awake. She couldn't help think about Grover's story. Her mind, no matter how much she didn't believe in the beast or whatever it was, kept running through wild visions of eyes lighting up the night and haunting the shadows. Her mother had kept a cat and, she remembered the way the cat's green eyes illuminated in the moonlight.
She shut her eyes tight, and sighed deeply pushing all ridiculous thoughts of the beast from her head. She just wanted to sleep...no dreams, just sleep. She could hear the wind rustling the trees on the perimeter of the woods. She listened to the sounds of the night and fell into a deep sleep.
...
"Rosie! Ya have to get up!" She awoke to Grover's panicked whisper.
"What? What is it?" She whispered, beginning to sit up.
"Stay down, Rosie! Listen to me, the trees are a few yards away to your left. Do you think you can make it?" He sounded as if he was gasping for breath. She was instantly wide awake and alert. She heard it then, a deep guttural animalistic growl. Her heart instantly sped. An animal was attacking the camp! "Rosie, can ya make it?"
"Yes--wait--I don't know," she panicked. She reached for Grover's hand and he helped her out of the wagon and into the high grass. His hand was warm and sticky with blood. "Grover are you hurt--what?"
"Shhh, Rosie. Just a cut, 'tis all right. That beast has a nasty set of claws."
She began to panic. Her hands began to shake and she could hear her heart beat pounding in her ears. She didn't understand what was going on. She just felt this horrible need to flee, to run for her life. She could hear the groans of the injured and the screams as though currently fighting. She could hear the cries of a wounded animal. Grover suddenly tugged her towards the tree line. He pushed her forward in front, yelling at her to run.
She heard the growl and she heard Grover's cries of pain. And she ran. That was all she could do. This was the second time in her life she was running away from a massacre. She ran with her hands out at her sides feeling the trees as she passed. She knew she would not escape this. It--whatever it was--would catch up with her and she would be gone. She wasn't afraid of death; she was afraid of the pain. She had already cheated death once.
Rosalind had lost her flats off somewhere in the field. She felt the mud between her toes as she ran. Her feet sank into the with every step she took. Thorns dug into her feet, but she kept running far from the camp.
She heard a pounding of foot falls behind her. She felt sick, and began to cry. Andrew and her father knew how much she loved them. She tumbled to her knees. She dug her hands into the mud. She could hear the creature halt, and then circle her like a lion would a lamb. Rosalind sobbed into the ground. The low clicking growl seemed to echo around her. She felt for rocks--anything to fight with. She would not die without a fight.
Her hands wrapped a fallen branch. She struggled to her feet, and swung the branch until it connected to soft flesh. She heard a yelp, she had a pang of guilt pass over her. She had to remember that this was for her life. A vicious growl replaced the sound of pain. She dropped the branch, and cried out in frustration.
"I am tired of this game! Just do it!" She cried. The animal stopped moving, and watched her. "Just do it! You, stupid animal! Kill me!"
She gave up, and sat in the dirt. She was tired of waiting. She was tired of being the wounded creature. The sickly one of the pack always hunted by wolves. She lashed out, flailing her arms out at the beast. The creature dodged her advances, and sunk into a low stance.
Rosalind, felt the weight of the creature knock into her. Her arms where pinned underneath the beast. Its claws She felt the warm breath on her face. She couldn't control her breathing. Her chest was rising and falling at a considerable speed. She tried to hold her breath, and play dead, but she couldn't stop hyperventilating.
She needed to focus on something else, anything else. So she thought about the sunset. The way she remembered it in her mind, the different colors smeared and blurred across the sky. The way the sun dips just below the skyline before completely disappearing. If this was the last image she was going to ever see in her mind's eye, she could be content in it.
A loud growl in her ear snapped her from her happy thought. The warmth left her and the fear returned. She struggled under the weight of the animal. She felt a rock at the edge of her fingertips. She struggled until her arm was free, she grabbed the rock and connected it to the side of the creature's head. This time the cry of pain this time almost sounded like a man.
Rosalind rolled away from the creature and ran. The beast reached for her striking his claws against the skin of her arm. The smell of iron became noticeable, the cut stung as it was exposed to the air. She ran as fast as she could, not caring that her hands and feet were cut up and bloody.
She could hear the sound of flowing water, she moved towards it. The ice cold water lapped at her feet. She could hear the howl of the monster pursuing her. She moved carefully over the wet stones, praying she wouldn't slip. The strong current pressed against her legs. The creature was closer now, its footsteps approaching the river bank. She could hear its sickening growls. She felt for the other side of bank with her fingertips. She crawled out of the river on all fours, struggling in the mud. She felt the wind travel up her back followed by the thud of weight landing in front of her. It had jumped the river. She felt its hot breath once again on her face.
The creature lunged at her, knocking her back into the water. Her head hit into a river rock, knocking her unconscious. She was submerged in water, she inhaled water, and her lungs burned with anguish. Her last thought was of her family, her mother, and that she would finally see her again.