It was dark—so dark that I could barely see past the silhouettes of twisted branches and dense bushes. The moonlight trickled weakly through the canopy, casting faint, ghostly patches on the forest floor. Without a torch, I felt like a blind man groping his way through endless shadows, each step heavy with dread. Fear gnawed at me, sharp and unrelenting, but I forced myself forward, refusing to cower.
Then, a low growl shattered the silence. It cut through the night like a blade, freezing me where I stood. The sound rumbled, deep and feral. My heart hammered in my chest, and every instinct screamed at me to run.
The forest blurred around me as I tore through the path, weaving between the twisted trees, each step uneven, desperate. My breath came in gasps, my legs burning with each frantic stride. Branches clawed at my skin, catching on my clothes, as if the forest itself were trying to pull me back. I could hear it following—the quick, heavy thud of its movements. But I couldn't see it, only feel its presence lurking somewhere in the darkness.
The growl grew louder, the vibrations thrumming through the ground beneath me. Panic clawed at my insides as I realized that it was moving closer. It was hunting. I sucked in a breath, summoning what little courage remained, and bolted, tearing down the faint path, lungs heaving as I sprinted through the maze of trees.
Every rustle, every shadow seemed to hold the beast, a silent threat ready to pounce. The thin beams of moonlight grew slightly brighter above as I ran, glimpses of silver filtering through the trees. Just a little further. I clung to that hope, to the idea that I was getting closer to the edge of the forest, closer to safety.
And then—finally—I saw it. In the distance, beyond the final stretch of trees, the dim glow of the town's lights flickered. Relief washed over me, almost enough to slow my pace.
But just as I dared to feel safe, a sharp prickle crawled down my spine. The growl sounded again, closer this time, as if it had tracked me all along. The hairs on my neck stood on end as I broke into a dead sprint, adrenaline surging through my veins once again. I veered off the path, darting between trees, zigzagging to throw it off my trail, hoping, praying I could reach the light before it reached me…
The storyteller paused, taking a long draught of ale from his flagon. He was middle-aged, his face weathered by time and hardship. His clothes look rugged as his story, making it more convincing.
Before him, a group of children sat with eager eyes, hanging on his every word. The tavern glowed warmly against the chill of the encroaching night, and the flames in the fireplace crackled, casting flickering shadows across the young, attentive faces gathered around the worn wooden table. Among them, two boys sat at the edge of the gathered crowd, leaning in with the same captivated expressions as the others.
Astria, a lanky boy barely into his teen with dark brown hair that fell messily over sharp eyes, leaned back casually, arms crossed as he smirked with mild amusement. He knew this story already—the one about the "beast in the woods" Phil spun whenever he'd had a pint or two too many. For Astria, it was the reactions that entertained him, not the tale itself.
Beside him sat Albert, a bit shorter and round-cheeked, his bright eyes wide with genuine interest. His face was open and expressive, flashing with excitement at every twist of Phil's story, revealing his eagerness to believe in the tale. With light hair and freckled, he wore a look of wonder that contrasted with Astria's knowing smirk
"And then what?" Albert asked, hanging on the man's every word, his eyes wide with excitement across his face to continue the story.
"Then," the man continued, leaning close with a grin, "I went into a fine tavern much like this one, straight to a good pint of stout ale."
"But the beast?" Albert pressed eagerly. "Did you see it? What did it look like?"
Before the man could answer, a nearby table erupted with laughter. A man dressed in a farmer's tunic, cheeks rosy from too many drinks, called out, "Don't believe a word ol' Phil says! That beast he's talking about is just his wife when he's late gettin' home from the tavern!" The crowd roared, and the storyteller—Phil—just shook his head, grinning as he tried to keep up his act.
"Was it your wife, then, mister?" Astria chimed in, his eyes glinting with mischief as he nudged Albert. "The fearsome creature," he added, barely able to contain his amusement.
"Indeed you're ri—" Phil began yet he was interrupted again, his words died as he caught sight of a figure entering the tavern— too familiar to him. A stout woman stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her eyes scanning the room with the precision of a hawk. It was Mara, Phil's wife. His face turned pale as his mouth dropped open, looking as if he had seen the very beast he was describing.
Without a word, he ducked under the table, trying to shrink into the shadows, but it was too late. Mara's gaze settled on him almost instantly, her eyes narrowing as she marched over, each step like thunder. The crowd fell silent, eyes darting between the trembling Phil and his determined wife.
"Well, well," Mara said, her voice dangerously sweet. "So I'm the beast you tell tales about, hmm?"
"H-how… how did you hear that?" Phil stammered, avoiding her gaze.
"Answer me," she said, her tone sharp enough to cut. She grabbed his ear, yanking him up from under the table.
"Honey, no!" Phil stammered, his voice squeaking as he stumbled to his feet. "You're the sweetest and loveliest wife!"
But Mara wasn't swayed. She dragged him toward the door, his pleas drowned out by the laughter that erupted behind them. The tavern was filled with laughter, patrons clapping and wiping tears from their eyes as Phil's wife dragged him out by the ear. The boisterous sound filled the room, the sound echoing even after the door slammed shut behind them, each person relishing the storyteller's ironic twist of fate—who had, in the end, became the next part of the story himself. The man was caught by the beast.
"Well, that was something, wasn't it, Astria?" Said Albert
"Not really. Phil spins that tale every time he's got an audience."
"Really? I've never heard it before. Mother only lets me stay out late for the festival," the boy replied, glancing around the tavern, its dim light casting dancing shadows on the walls.
"It's just Phil's way of having fun, scaring kids like you," Astria teased, leaning back.
"You do know we're the same age, right? Only three months apart." Albert replied, faking indignation.
"Yeah, but in five days, I'll be a year older," Astria retorted with a grin.
Albert rolled his eyes. "That's not how age works."
"Close enough."
"Astria!" A voice suddenly called from the kitchen, rich with the scent of roasting meat and freshly baked bread. His mother, Elara, appeared with a woven basket in hand, her flaxen hair catching the evening light like spun gold. The kitchen was filled with a comforting clutter—jars of herbs, drying bundles of sage, and the crackle of the hearth.
"Take this parcel to Old Meri near the gates, I forgot to ask you earlier. It's from your grandfather's hunt," she instructed with a smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
Astria glanced up from where he sat by the fire, a look of mild protest on his face. He had been enjoying the warmth and the pleasant hum of the tavern, where his friend Albert lounged nearby, fiddling with a loose thread on his tunic.
"Now?" Astria complained, his brows knitting together. "It's freezing out there, and I just sat down. Can't it wait until morning?"
Elara's smile didn't waver, but her eyes narrowed slightly in that motherly way that said she wouldn't budge. "No, it can't wait. Old Meri is expecting it tonight, and you know he's been feeling under the weather. He'll appreciate a warm meal before bed."
Astria sighed, still hesitating. "But Albert and I were just about to—"
"No buts, young man," Elara cut him off, a teasing yet stern edge in her voice. "You'd best hurry before the snow gets worse. Besides," she added, her tone softening just a touch, "I'm sure you'll survive a short walk in the cold. A swordsman shouldn't be afraid of a bit of winter wind, should he?"
Astria's cheeks flushed at the gentle jab. He muttered a reluctant, "Fine," as he stood up, pulling his worn but trusty cloak around his shoulders.
Albert smirked, leaning back comfortably with a cheeky grin. "I'll keep your spot warm by the fire. Don't freeze out there, oh mighty swordsman, conqueror of chilly winds."
Astria rolled his eyes, unable to hide a sheepish grin. "Oh, shut up and come with me. If I'm freezing, you're freezing too."
Albert pretended to shiver dramatically. "Oh, but I'm just a humble blacksmith's apprentice! Why should I risk my life in the snow when the great swordsman fears the cold and dark?"
Astria snorted, already pulling Albert to his feet. "Less talking, more walking, before I tell everyone at the tavern how you cried when that mouse ran across the forge last week."
Albert's eyes widened in mock horror. "Alright, alright! I'm coming! Can't have the mighty swordsman tarnishing my good name."
With that, the two friends bundled up and stepped out into the night, their playful banter echoing down the quiet, snow-dusted streets.
"Colder than ever," Albert remarked, blowing on his hands.
"Winter feels harsher than last year," Astria agreed, adjusting the basket.
Albert peeked inside, curious as always. "What's in there?"
"Deer meat from grandpa's hunt," Astria replied as he removed the cloth cover of the basket, revealing a reddish lump of meat inside.
Albert glanced at Astria with genuine curiosity. "So, what's it like hunting with your grandfather? I've never been beyond the village, but I imagine it's all just bush and trees and bush and trees."
Astria puffed up a bit, clearly proud. "Oh no it's not just those, you're missing out a whole lot more, it's actually thrilling. I've already caught five this season!"
Albert's eyes widened in surprise. "Five deer? That's impressive!"
Astria hesitated, feeling a bit guilty about the exaggeration. "Y-yeah… five of those," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. In truth, his count consisted mostly of hares and the occasional squirrel, not the grand stags Albert was imagining.
Albert, oblivious, pressed on. "Wait, but how do you even catch deer with a sword? They'd be long gone before you got anywhere near them. Did you use a bow or something?"
Astria forced a chuckle. "Uh, not exactly. I'm better with traps, to be honest. Grandpa's the one who's good with a bow—he's like an old forest spirit with his aim."
Albert grinned and flexed his arm in an exaggerated show of muscle. "Well, give me a bow and a few minutes, and I bet I could take down a deer myself. Just look at these blacksmith muscles."
Astria snorted, rolling his eyes. "Sure, sure. If the deer dropped dead from laughter, maybe."
Albert laughed. "What do you mean, laugh at me? The deer probably drop dead from sheer terror just looking at me."
Astria smirked, flexing his arm in a mock display of strength. "Terror, huh? I bet you couldn't even pull a bowstring with those blacksmith arms. Now these," he said, flexing again, "are a swordsman's muscles."
Albert raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Oh really? How can you call yourself a swordsman when you don't even have a sword?"
Though embarrassing, the last sword he had that was given to him by his grandfather gave up on him. It got so dull and eventually had a crack.
"Which is why I need that sword I ordered—like, five days ago," Astria shot back. "Any chance it's ready soon?"
Albert chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. It'll probably be finished tomorrow. My father's working on it."
Astria grinned. "Good. Then I'll finally be ready to start my training for real."
Albert's grin widened. "A swordsman, huh? Well, you go handle the monsters even if there's no such things, and I'll be the best blacksmith this side of the river"
They shared a laugh, their breath misting in the cold night air as they arrived at Old Meri's cottage, its thatched roof barely visible under a blanket of frost. Astria knocked on the door, and after a few moments, it creaked open, revealing the elderly man's weathered face.
"Evening, lads," Old Meri greeted them, his voice warm and gentle. "Come in, it's too cold to be standing out there."
The inside of the cottage was cozy and filled with the soft glow of the hearth. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, casting a pleasant, earthy aroma. Astria handed over the basket.
"From Grandpa's hunt," Astria said as he passed the basket to Old Meri. "Mother thought you'd appreciate it."
Old Meri took the basket with a warm smile, his eyes creasing at the corners. "Thank you, lad. Your grandfather has quite the skill. It's been a while since I've seen anyone with his knack for finding the best game." He paused, giving Astria a curious look. "You go with him often?"
"Whenever I can," Astria replied, grinning. "We're heading out again tomorrow."
Meri nodded thoughtfully. "Good. It's a fine thing for a young man to learn, especially from someone who understands those woods so well." He set the basket down, his gaze drifting to the dark line of trees beyond the village. "The forest has a way of holding onto memories," he added, almost to himself, "quiet and deep."
Astria tilted his head, feeling something a bit off in Meri's tone. "It's just the forest," he said, chuckling lightly. "A few twists and turns, but nothing too strange."
Old Meri's smile returned, though something unreadable lingered in his eyes. "Yes," he murmured. "That's how it should be." He straightened, his tone turning lighter. "So, the festival's coming close. How's the tavern been lately? Seen any new faces coming through?"
Astria shrugged. "It's definitely livelier with all these travelers suddenly showing up, though they seem to have just stumbled into town by coincidence. It's the perfect time for the upcoming festival."
Meri smiled and nodded in agreement with Astria's words.
Albert, who'd been mostly quiet, jumped in with a grin. "And don't forget Phil's wild stories. He's been telling that one about the beast in the woods again—you know, the one with the growling shadow that follows him all the way to town. Swears it's true every time, even after a few pints."
"Didn't you just hear about it earlier? Why does it sound like you've known it for ages?" Astria asked, eyebrow raised.
"Well, it takes one to know one. I'm pretty smart, after all," Albert replied with a smirk.
"Real smartass"
Old Meri chuckled, the warmth returning to his face. "Phil's tales do add a bit of life to this place, don't they? Keeps folks on their toes."
Albert nodded, smirking. "He's got the whole tavern convinced there's something out there, hiding just beyond the trees. Said he felt it even after he made it back to town—like it never really left him. Then, it just turned out to be his wife."
Old Meri's laughter faded as a low, distant howl cut through the night—a long, echoing sound that seemed to linger in the cold air, almost like a voice. The three of them fell silent, listening, as if the sound carried a message they couldn't quite hear— only those of their kind.
Astria shook off a chill. "That's the annoying wolf from the ridge again," he said, glancing at Meri.
"Happens every year around this time, you know?" Albert added.
But Meri's expression turned thoughtful again. "Hmm," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Or maybe it's best not to dwell on it—don't want to give you lads nightmares tonight." He paused for a moment, then added with a wink, "There are no monsters or beasts in these parts, and nothing strange has ever been spotted around here. Those stories? Just that—stories, told by those with too much time on their hands or perhaps a few too many drinks."
His hand rested on Astria's shoulder, firm yet reassuring. "But still, best to stick close to your grandfather on your next hunt. He knows those woods like the back of his hand. You wouldn't want to get lost out there, after all!" He chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement.
With a final nod, Meri took his basket and stepped back. "Goodnight, lads! And be sure to thank your mother for me."
As they turned to leave, the snow began to fall, quiet and steady, blanketing the village in a soft white glow. The houses around them glowed warmly from within, casting golden light onto the cobbled streets.
Albert gave a stretch, glancing at the snowy sky. "Guess I'd better head home. My father will have me up at dawn to work the forge."
Astria nodded. "See you tomorrow." They exchanged a quick fist bump before Albert turned down a side street, his figure quickly disappearing into the swirling snow, leaving Astria alone under the silent, watchful shadows of the trees.