Time moves strangely here. There are no days or nights, only the dance of light and shadow filtering through the leaves. I no longer count the seasons. I don't need to. My breath is the rhythm of my existence. The smell of damp earth, the taste of fresh blood, the rustle of leaves... this is my world now.
I am hidden among the trees. The air smells of distant rain, and the wind carries voices I don't understand. There are men not too far away. I can hear them. I can smell them. I can sense the cold metal they carry and the clumsy, heavy thud of their footsteps. They are not hunters... no, hunters know how to be silent. These men talk too much, shouting useless commands.
I crouch behind a bush. My eyes track their movements. There are three of them. Two carry rifles, the third holds a box that emits strange sounds. Their voices are sharp and rough. I don't understand their words, but I don't need to understand words to know they are dangerous.
Why are they here? Are they looking for me?
Once, I would have known. I would have understood their words. I would have reflected, calculated. But those days are gone. Now, I feel and I react. My mind is the forest, and the forest does not ask questions.
A sudden noise. Leaves trampled. The three men stop. Their scent changes. Fear. They glance around, rifles raised. One of them aims toward the bushes near me.
Don't move. Don't breathe.
My heart beats steadily, but the rhythm is calm, controlled. I've learned. I've learned how to disappear, how to exist without being seen. Their gaze passes over me as if I were part of the forest. Because I am the forest.
— There's nothing here, keep moving — one of them says, his voice more confident than he feels.
They leave. Their smell fades. But I don't follow. Not today. The risk is too high. I've seen their weapons work. I've seen animals fall and never get back up. Strength isn't everything. The strongest stag still dies if the arrow strikes its heart.
I relax. My instincts settle, and the world returns to its natural rhythm. Crows caw above. The rain draws closer. I could hunt, but I'm not hungry. Not yet.
I walk through the trees. Every step is measured. I leave no tracks, only shadows. The moss beneath my feet is soft. The world smells of damp earth and old wood. This is my home.
But then, something changes.
A distant sound. It's not the wind. It's not an animal. It's... different. A scream. No, sharper. More desperate. A human. I know this. I remember this.
My body moves before I can think. I race through the trees, dodging branches and roots. The sounds grow clearer: screams of pain, roars of rage. I recognize it. A bear. But not one like me. It's a real bear. An animal. A predator.
My breathing grows heavier. Don't stop.
My heart pounds like a drum. Don't stop.
The scene unfolds in front of me. A man is on the ground, his arm bloodied. The bear looms over him, teeth bared, eyes devoid of thought. The scent of fresh blood is strong, sweet almost. I could stop. I could wait. I could leave. The man is not my concern. He is not part of the forest.
But something sparks inside me. A flame. A memory.
I don't know where it comes from, but my body moves. I roar. A roar that splits the air. The bear turns, its eyes locking with mine. For an instant, we recognize each other. We are the same, yet we are not.
I charge. The ground shakes beneath the weight of our bodies. The bear lunges, but I am faster. My paws hit the ground like thunderclaps. I don't run. I surge. Its paw rises, claws sharp and ready to tear through my flesh.
But I am not a stag. I do not flee.
I grab its muzzle. My fingers grip tight. Strength is everything. I feel it thrashing, clawing at my arms. It doesn't matter. I am stronger. I squeeze harder. Bones crack. Its jaw breaks with a sharp snap. A short, pitiful whimper follows. A sound of ending.
Silence.
I remain above it, staring into its eyes until they dim. I feel nothing.
My breath is heavy. The taste of blood lingers on my tongue. I rise. The bear's body lies still, no longer heavy. It is dead.
The sound of ragged breathing draws my attention. The man.
He's still there. I see him pressing his hand against his wound. He watches me. No, he stares at me. His mouth is open, lips trembling. He speaks, but his voice is broken, faint.
— Please… don't… don't kill me.
His words are weak, fractured by fear. But... I understand them.
The pounding in my chest grows louder. I understand his words.
I feel something rise within me. Like a roar caught in my throat. But it's not a roar. It's... something else. I open my mouth and try to... do the same. To speak.
— I... not... kill... you.
Silence.
His pupils dilate. His eyes widen as if he's seen a god or a monster. Maybe I am both. I see him tremble. His eyes roll back toward the sky. His body goes slack.
Unconscious.
I look at him. I watch him. Why did I do that? Why didn't I let him die?
Once, I would have had an answer. I could have found ten. But now, my mind is empty.
But I am not a stag.
I am the bow.