The Runaway Aspen

--The story you are about to read was my attempt to not use the letter 'i'. Enjoy ;) --

The only sound was that of the branches as they creaked and crackled and the hushed sound of a ten year old who softly hums a gentle tune. The ten year old, whose name she has long abandoned, has a messy array of soft brown locks. Freckles spotted across her cheeks and nose, and one of her eyes was the color of the sea, gray flecks sea foam, whereas her other eye was as dark as after dusk, flecks of gold the last rays of sun.

She lay there, for what must have been hours, as she watched the world around her. As she watched the hawk's sharp eye follow the small feeble mouse. As a fox, a streak of orange and gray among the green landscape, stalked by, the corners of her mouth turned upwards ever so gently. 

The fox paused, when she spotted the ten year old, and for a moment, the two gazed at one another. That moment was the acknowledgement of a presence, when the grasshoppers were unseen among the flowers and all there was was a fox and a lost soul.

But, of course, the fox was well on her way. 

And so the ten year old sat there, for a few more hours. She nodded as a band of coyotes stolled passed. She beamed when they all promptly made loud howls before they followed the path only they could see.

She sat there, and watched as the owls hunted the shrews and the brown bats danced among the stars.

She sat there, among the nature and soul of the woods, even as footsteps sounded.

One after the other.

She sat up more, but shrunk back, her back pressed up on the rough bark of the aspen tree she sat beneath. But as she sat there, fearful of what may lurk before her, she heard a sound. 

“Young one, are you scared? There’s no reason to be fearful.”

Her eyes darted through the darkness, but she made no movement. 

“You may call me Quylla. Are you lost, young one? Perhaps you need help?”

There was a moment of pure and utter peacefulness. Where no creature made a sound, where the tree’s no longer creaked, where the world seemed to pause.

“You’re not a human, are you? You sound… not the same?” The ten-year-old stated. She paused as she watched the darkness, and slowly began to make out the appearance of a person. The person was a woman, and she wore a dress. The longer the ten-year-old watched, the more she began to take note– The woman’s dress was flowers–yellow flowers–and leaves–the leaves of the aspen trees themselves. Her form resembled the cracked gray and black bark of aspen trees, textured and rugged.

The woman chuckled, a melody of a sound. “No, not many humans enjoy these parts of the woods,” She paused, before she stepped closer. She knelt before the young one, and asked, “So are you human? Haven’t your parents told you the myths and legends that stalk these woods? The tales of people who seem human, but who are closer to that of a wolf? The murmurs of enchantresses who curse those abandoned and the shadows who steal from the markets?”

The young one spoke, stern but careful, “My ma told me tales before bed of a forest where hunters don’t return from. My pa told me myths of a boy who was cursed to be a wolf and hurt those he loves. My Nana tells me tales of when she saw a woman curse a man to never tell the truth. My grandpa shows me a scar of when he was hurt by a shadow.” She swallowed before she asked, “Are these tales true?”

The woman, Quylla, paused, before she stated, “Every tale has both a truth and a falsehood. Some more than others. But you can learn from every tale you hear. Now tell me, why are you here, among my Aspen Grove?”

“Because my ma told me a tale of people who go to these woods and are never seen. And–”

“You want to learn where those people went?”

“No, not at all. Rather, how they were never found. How could somebody go, and never be seen? And… Well… There’s–”

“You want to never be found… don’t you?”

There’s no sound as the two look at one another. There’s only these two, connected by the woods.

“Yes. Just as there are tales of a boy cursed to be a wolf who hurts those he loves, there are tales, secret tales, of a mother who left, a father who hurts, and a daughter who…”

There’s a long pause as the young one collects her thoughts. 

“Can… Would there be a problem for somebody…” Her brow furrows as she attempts to collect herself.

Quylla seemed to take note and asked, “You want to stay?” 

“Yes… Would that be okay?”

Quylla glanced around the forest before she looked back at the young one. “Do you have a name, young one? You can’t stay unless we have a name for you?” Quylla asked.

The young one swallowed before she shook her head. She pulls her knees closer to her chest as she looks at Quylla.

“How do you feel about the name Aspen? After the grove you were found tucked away by?” Quylla asked. “Do you have a surname?”

The young one shook her head. “No. Not anymore.” She murmured.

“Then Vulpecula, after the stars you were found under? Yes?”

There was a pause as the young one looked at Quylla. “Yes. That sounds very lovely. Thank you, Quylla.”

“Wonderful. Now, there’s a woman who cares for the soul of these woods, perhaps she’d let you stay at her home. Come on, she can come off as stern but she honestly just wants some company. Not many people tend to stray so far from home.” Quylla offered a gentle look as she offered her hand to Aspen, who gladly took her hand. 

~

The walk through the woods was a long but peaceful one. Along the way, Aspen stopped to look at colorful mushrooms and to murmur hellos and goodbyes to the grasshoppers and frogs. Quylla was clearly amused as she watched the young one.

As they walked, however, the sound of howls caught Aspen’s ear. “There are wolves here?” She asked.

Quylla nodded as she glanced towards where the sound came from. “You remember the tale of the boy who can change to be a wolf?” Quylla asked.

Aspen nodded, her eyes glued to that part of the woods the howls came from.

“Well, every full moon, he becomes a creature comparable to a wolf.” Quylla stated.

“Has he ever hurt people?” Aspen asked.

Quylla paused. She glanced towards Aspen before she nodded. “Yes… once, years ago. There had been hunters, you see. Hunters who heard the tale of a boy who was part beast. So they came, and hunted the boy, because humans tend to end whatever they don’t see as comparable to themselves,” She gave the woods one last glance before she began to walk, “Come on, Aspen. We’re nearly home.”