Shouldn't Be Here

20251118

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Footsteps pound the ground behind her. She takes one sharp intake of breath, unknowing that this could be her last.
She should not have come to the forest. It was dangerous. Foolish.
But then, what else could be expected of a child? And a child she surely is, no matter that she styles herself like a woman.
I must not act. Must not reveal myself. I must… let…
My mind balks, unwilling to finish shaping the thought. I berate it, berate myself. Foolish! Weak! To even feel tempted to jeopardise my mission for the sake of another’s reckless child is exactly the folly which led to me being dispatched.
This is my final chance to prove myself worthy. If I cannot even manage an honourable death…
The satyrs thunder from the bushes, their grins wide and toothy and sickening.
She doesn’t waste time with a scream; there is no-one to hear it. Nobody that might help her, at least.
I must not intervene.
In an instant she drops her basket, the carefully gathered herbs scattering, and dashes towards a climbable tree. She must realise that her pursuers, though dreadfully fleet of foot, will be hampered by their hooves if she can only get up out of reach.
If.
They are already at speed while she scrambles to build momentum. Seeing them split apart into a practiced pincer, hearing their gleeful giggles, the blithe joy of predators playing with their food…
While I’ve never tried divination, I’m confident in the horrible future I see playing out.
I… must… not…
Then both satyrs are darting around trees, creating a moment, a precious few seconds, where their vision of her is obstructed. If I had stopped to think it would’ve been too late. But the moment I see the opening my mind reaches and weaves and the girl tumbles into the ground with a strangled shriek.
I hold my breath. Did they see the motion? Did they catch the earth snapping closed?
The brutes skid to a halt, gazes raking the forest and then turning to each other. Confused? Confused.
If they are unaware of my presence, I might not have failed the Broodmother. With my foolishness committed all that remains is hope they assume the child herself worked magic to escape them.
Beneath the loam, cradled in her hasty borrow, she is trembling and struggling to control her breathing. But she is smothering her ragged whimpers in her shawl and not struggling. Does she recognise aid? Or perhaps she simply views this imprisonment as better than the situation she was yanked from.
Either way. So long as she is willing to wait…
The satyrs pace around the tree she was running towards. Peer upwards and around. Their brows furrowed in puzzlement and lips pursed in disappointed pouts.
One stomps a hoof and shouts for her to come out. His tone wheedling. ‘We were only playing’, he assures her, with the honesty of a cat whose injured mouse has escaped.
Can she hear? I can’t tell. Her shivers haven’t changed.
Thankfully the brutes’ patience turns out to be as shallow as their decency; scant minutes pass before they descend into shouting obscenities and aimless threats, wandering deeper into the forest to… whatever business they usually occupy themselves with.
Once they are beyond my senses I peel open the loam once more, this time slowly and with care.
She wipes her face and peeps out. Still trembling. After examining every direction she scrambles out and hurries back to her fallen basket. Sweeps the herbs back in and takes off away towards the forest edge. The hole has already been closed.
For a moment I relax.
Then I feel a presence, vast and deep and ancient, loom over me. I shrink and cringe.
I did fail the Broodmother! My stupid, weak-
“No. I have been aware of you since you stepped into my domain. Your ‘foolishness’ was thinking you could hide from me. I am the forest, cast out son of the Brood. This place is me and mine.”
What? But if that were true, why-
“Unlike your delightful Mother, I do not put wayward visitors to death. If you follow my laws I am content to suffer your presence.”
She drifts closer, the crushing force of her attention pinning me in place. “In short… I wished to get a measure of you. What kind of person had the Broodmother sent to bother me this time?”
Helpless, I can only cringe and whimper as her mouth opens - and she licks my cheek. Her tongue, despite being bigger than I am, is remarkably gentle.
“How amusing, that what she considers her worst, I would say is the only thing worth saving from that wretched hive. Tell me, little one - how would you like to be rewarded for acts of kindness and protection like you just ‘indulged’ in?”
She waits, patient as the trees surrounding us, as I struggle to unscramble events. Was she really…
“Yes. I am offering sanctuary. Here, you are beyond the reach of the Broodmother. Fear not, I will never ask you to act against her. The struggle she enlisted you in has always been entirely one-sided. I merely require that you abide by my laws and assist me in my work. If so, I am happy to empower you in her place.”
I unfurl. Scrutinise her in kind - though I don’t doubt she can see far beyond what I perceive. “Your work?”
“I am a custodian of natural cycles. I maintain balance and peace throughout the forest. A sweeping, endless duty which benefits from helping hands. Of late, there are increased visitors. Having someone to watch over them would be helpful.”
I probe “What if I refuse?”
“Then you must leave the forest.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I will crush you and feed you to the worms.”
Her voice holds no wrath, merely forbearance. Despite this, it relaxes me, being the sort of motherly care I understand.
“How do I start?”

Prompt was “Footsteps pound the ground behind her. She takes one sharp intake of breath, unknowing that this could be her last.”