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A sense of unease was normal in these woods. It was still too close to the shadows in the mountains, and already too close to the wood witch’s realm.
And Brandir had heard the rumours about her. The tales told of people wandering into the woods, and never reemerging. Others reemerged decades later, changed and flinching away from small things. No, it was completely normal to be uneasy in these woods, even though he tried to keep his distance from both the mountains and the shimmering haze in the south.
He froze. A tree had blinked at him. Brandir stared at it, hardly daring to breathe. The spot where a branch had broken off an aspen tree looked like an eye. He must have imagined the blinking. It must have been his frazzled nerves playing a trick on him. He exhaled slowly. Vigilance was good, but he should not let it set him on edge like this.
Brandir continued on. It was surprising how many trees had spots that looked like eyes. It was a good thing he wouldn’t let himself be fooled by that again. These were perfectly normal woods, despite their location. The trees were trees and nothing else, incapable of movement aside from their growth and swaying in the breeze. Even if the breeze made the leaves shift in ways that made it look like the trees at the corners of his eyes were blinking.
Was that laughter? Brandir flinched at the harsh sound, listening into the woods. Surely just a bird. Even the birds in this place were strange, it wouldn’t be surprising if one of them made a sound like this. At least it certainly wasn’t a nightingale. They said the witch of the woods surrounded herself with nightingales.
Another eye blinked at him, yellow this time. Brandir looked more closely, and saw a yellow butterfly flutter through the trees. The raised hair on the back of his neck found it hard to believe this explanation.
Then, eyes began to glow. Yellow like the butterflies at first, then green and red as well. They glared at him as the bird laughed, always just out of sight. Sparks of light danced around the corners of his vision.
Brandir wiped at his eyes, but the eyes still stared at him. The mushrooms. He shouldn’t have eaten those mushrooms for lunch.
He opened his flask of water and drank as much of the water he had taken from the river this morning as he could. Perhaps that would clear his vision and his mind again. And he needed a clear mind to survive this forest.
The laughter came nearer, then more voices began laughing at him. They were all around him, and there was nowhere he could hide, not with the eyes watching him from all directions.
Run. Run away. His instincts only had that one goal. Run.
But his father Arachon had told him to never run away in the wild. It would only make the predators chase him, and they would always be faster than he. One could only survive if one kept one’s wits about. Brandir took another swig from his bottle.
A flurry of feathers erupted from the tree next to him, screeching laughter assaulting his senses.
He ran. The eyes followed him, their glow piercing his mind, the laughter ringing in his ears.
Twigs and branches struck his face, grabbed at his clothes. He ran blindly, his eyes stinging, glowing back into the forest like the ones that haunted him.
Brandir ran and ran. And then a root felled him. He stumbled to the ground, scrabbling to turn around to face the eyes.
And then he knew no more.