A boy quietly emerged from the shadows. He was kind of godlike. (I say kind of because I am loath to compliment any boy.) Part of this was his appearance-- the golden antlers, the heavy wings-- but mostly it was the way he walked like a prince, like a king. Like a god. He moved with a confidence I would personally not grow into for a while.
My instinct was to marvel at this beautiful boy, but I leaned away from my sense of awe. I distrusted it, for I had the stupid, heavy, foreboding sense that everything good would be taken from me, and everything beautiful could be ruined, and distance was the kindest gift I could give to anything I admired.
Maybe I should have asked myself why I strove so hard to be kind.
But back then I didn’t. Maybe I couldn’t-- Maybe you have to go a certain distance before you can look back and see how foolish was the path you chose. (I hope when you look back, whoever you are and however far you’ve come, you will have the grace to laugh at yourself.)
His antlers, tipped so gracefully up to the thick canopy, reminded me of a prayer. I wasn’t taught how to pray, and I was never interested in learning, but still I was struck by that thought. I lifted my head from it’s aggressive (defensive) stance, and I did not smile but I still softened ever so slightly. I want it to be very clear, I only softened-- I did not melt.
When he stepped forward I stepped back. And when I saw the subtle lines of his frown, the barest wrinkling of his lips, I frowned too. I failed to see (or smell) what might make me such unpleasant company. (Only I was able to berate myself my awkwardness, my great silences, my sad eyes) “Aspara.” I said briefly, trying my hardest to convey in the three syllables of my name that I was not impressed by this pretty stranger, no siree.
When he said “the forest is different tonight” I glanced into its depths as if to confirm. But I already knew, I already felt the difference too, and I nodded shortly in agreement. The only thing that bothered me is I could not tell if it was a good difference or a bad one.
“I’m not lost.” Well, I did not know exactly where I was, but that was not the same as being lost-- right? “They said the same thing to me too,” I admitted after a heartbeat’s consideration. “What do you think it all means?”
Then there was another rustle of leaves underfoot, and again I turned to face the sound with the dangerous twist of my horn. But it was only-- and maybe, here, my memories are blurred, faulty, but this is what they are-- it was only a group of fireflies.
I smiled as they danced closer, illuminating me and Leo in their beautiful glow. (How I would love to glow like that! To carry such light)And then they formed the shape of a horse and they diverged into the darkness of the forest, which only seemed that much darker for the light of their glow. I took a step off the path before I remembered the strange man who said not to stray too far from the trail. I bit my lip, an ugly gesture I know, and glanced to the boy. I felt as though circumstances bound us, at least for the moment. And though I normally might have asked “should we follow them?” I was still quite bothered by his beauty and his split-second frown. I did not want to consult him. More importantly, I did not want him to think I wanted to consult him.
I also did not particularly want to go into the dark forest alone. In fact I had a fairly bad feeling about this. If I was alone I would have listened to it; but I wasn’t and it made me reckless. Like I had something to prove with my bravery. So I ducked forward to press my muzzle to the boy’s shoulder. It was less of a kiss and more of a boyish shove. Close as we were I could taste his wildness, and I was struck by a sense I would not understand later the next day, as I poured through my own memories. Longing.
“Let’s follow them,” I said in an eager tone that left no room for argument. I stepped off the path and into the forest, guided by the gentle light of the fireflies.
FOR THE TREES!
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