Other Places

A breeze sweeps through the forest, tickling the trees and causing the high branch I am crouched on to sway dangerously while I fumble for a grip on the smooth bark. It carries with it the smell of something distinctly inhuman. Something animal. A scent that, up until just a few days ago, was completely unfamiliar to me. Something I couldn’t place in all my knowledge of plants; decorative, edible, or otherwise. It came and went as quickly as a waft of honeysuckle, caught in the wind, reaching your breath, and then carried beyond, far out into the thick vegetation.

I know he is near again. He has been every day for nearly a week. I peer down from my perch and try to spot his thin, round figure on the ground below me, but a dense patchwork of leaves distorts my view of the forest floor.

The first time I saw him I found myself more intrigued than afraid; a dangerous curiosity that very well could have gotten me killed. The flash of white caught in my peripheral and could have easily been mistaken for some sort of early-budding wildflower, but I was sure it had moved. And then I saw it again, the slender shape of a creature I recognized from an old textbook I’d used many years ago in school.

In the village, we go to school for only a few years and we don’t learn much, but we do learn about animals. I’ve heard there are many more kinds than the ones illustrated in our textbooks, but the one that stood before me that day I knew I had seen before, in a large leather volume, interpreted by an artist’s careful hand.

I struggled to conjure its name in my memory. It didn’t look quite like I remembered a wolf. Too small.

Fox. It was a fox. I knew the second the word came to mind. I was curious how it had gotten past the guards at the Edge. How it had made it so deep into the Garth without being spotted. So close to the village.

I knew a solitary animal didn’t pose much of a threat, it was the herds and packs that we were taught to fear from an early age, but surely it’s striking white coat would have stood out radiantly against the surrounding tones of green and brown that make up the Garth.

The animal stopped a few yards in front of me and watched me curiously that day. I wanted to stroke its soft coat, feel it’s dense fur between my fingers. But I didn’t dare touch it. To do so is not only forbidden, but also extremely dangerous. No, when you see an animal in the woods you’re supposed to report it to the hunters immediately, describing it in detail so it can be tracked and put to death.

But I didn’t report him that day. Or any day after. Instead, I keep watch for him while I work in the Garth, moving about the trees, glancing around every few moments to see if he’s made an appearance yet. He always does.

I carefully skim down the tree with a level of skill that only comes from years of experience. I settle on a low branch about eight feet from the ground, still damp and slick from yesterday’s rain shower.

I scan my surroundings. Where is he?

A movement to my left catches my attention and I turn to see the little white fox stepping out from behind a lilac bush. Fur damp, paws muddy, eyes deep black circles among the sea of white that is his fur.

We don’t move. He doesn’t trust me. I’m not sure if I trust him. But it’s time I know one thing for certain. Without removing my gaze from his, I reach to a branch above me and pull down a round, ripe piece of fruit, rolling its soft exterior between my hands. I throw it down from my perch, it rolls, lands a few feet from the fox.

He watches me cautiously and then slowly approaches, sniffing the orange object thoroughly. And then, he inhales it.

Just as I suspected. He’s not a native fox. He’s a shiftling, a creature more magic than animal, able to shift between living forms. Exactly what the village fears; exactly what the Edge guards are supposed to keep out of the Garth.

I begin to regret letting him hang around as long as I have. In the village we learn to fear all animals because it can be difficult to identify the difference between a real animal and a shiftling. A simple flock of birds can turn into a ravenous pack of wolves in an instant, tearing apart homes and feeding on warm human flesh.

I had never encountered a shiftling, or any animal for that matter, until this fox came along. So what has caused me to trust him enough to let him stay? Perhaps I take pity on him. He is an outsider just as I am. Neither of us has families, or quite belong where we are.

And if he truly wanted to destroy the village or kill me, why hasn’t he done it yet? He could have easily followed me back through the trees after any workday. Turned into a bear. Killed us all in our sleep.

I sense that he wants something more.

I also sense that I might be able to trust him since he hasn’t killed me yet.

I jump the eight feet from the branch to the ground and land squarely in front of the creature, who has just finished off the last of the fruit.

“What do you want?” I ask in a quiet, wondering voice.

He seems to ponder this for a moment and then turns, scampering off into the surrounding woods.

I think about letting him go, ignoring this encounter like all the previous ones, but I quickly push the thought from my mind. With my newfound knowledge of what kind of creature I am dealing with, I can’t continue to allow him to stay so close to the village. Can’t do that to the only people I’ve ever known; the ones I call family and friends.

So I follow him. Running, crashing through the woods, brush, trees. I catch glimpses of his white in front of me, sprinting along at a pace I can barely keep step with.

Among the trees, I can move swiftly, noiselessly. Here on the ground, however, I am a loud force leaving a wake of destruction behind me. The villagers we pass don’t notice the small, agile shiftling in front of me, skipping along beneath the undergrowth, but they do notice me. They look up from their work, with startled expressions.

I ignore the onlookers and keep moving as quickly as I can.

Once we are well passed the last of the working villagers, our pace slows and we enter a part of the Garth I am not familiar with.

It must be hours that we continue like this, never stopping, until we are so far from the village I begin to wonder if I will be able to find my way back. If I will go back at all. After all, nothing is waiting for me there. There will be no one waiting up into the long hours of the night anxiously watching for my return.

The sun is sinking low on the horizon when I see the first sparkle between the trees. I squint at the shine, light and golden, fixing it in my vision, moving toward its point.

The ground shifts beneath my feet, the soft earth turning coarse, lightening in shade. I push my way through a wiry bush, thick with vines and thorns, tearing at my clothing, skin, hair.

And then I see it.

Water. Sparkling in the setting sun, rippling with orange, yellow, blue. More of it than I’ve ever seen before. It stretches like an enormous blanket, reaching toward the horizon and meeting with the sky in a gentle embrace where water touches light.

I take in the sight with all my senses. In the Garth the only water we have comes from streams and small lakes. I had no idea so much water could exist in a single place.

I realize that surely we must be at the Edge, but I haven’t seen a single guard. Is this how the fox got in? Perhaps this side of the Garth isn’t protected because it is surrounded by water. But shiftlings can take on any form. Perhaps this one started in the water. I do not know of creatures that would live in water like this. The only ones we learned about in school were ones that could be found in the creeks around the village.

I follow the little fox to the edge of the water that is lazily lapping up toward the tree line. I reach down, touch the silky liquid, move my fingers through it softly.

As far as I can see there is just water. Water. So much water. But surely this shiftling must have come from somewhere. Is that what he is trying to tell me?

The Garth is all I’ve ever known. Where I have lived my fifteen years of life, studying the trees and plants, caring for them, harvesting their fruit when ripe. It is all we know how to do in the village. Take care of the Garth, protect it, nurture it. Keep animals away from it.

But now I begin to wonder if there are other places. Other villages. Other people.

I will find out.