Anomalies

The moon was full, but it was barely seen from where the prince rode, deep into the woods. His eyes tried to fixate on something in particular, and so tried his bow. The girl leaped from tree to tree, making it hard to aim. Along with the solid darkness, it wasn't a surprise when the arrow missed, and put itself in one of the old oaks. The oak creaked, as it awoke from a deep slumber, bitten by a mosquito. The boy didn’t notice, and set after her again.
The prince sang when he rode, as to separate the darkness and form a path, where his mind could travel. There was a wind, and it grasped the crowns of the trees above him, making them whistle. Could she be? He tried to listen. No suspicious sound reached his bare ears. He tried to look. It was as the world was covered with a layer of coal, dusting, leaving prints behind, like silhouettes.
She was still, hid in the branches, singing with the wind. The boy’s cloak gave her a dark blue sight of him, as he rode his horse ahead. The moon shone for a moment on her, revealing her true shape. But she hid well, behind the prince, high up. Covered by her clothes; the leaves, held by her mother's arms; the branches. Soon the moment was over, the prince left empty handed, and the night passed.
From the telling, it could sometimes be heard, that the boy, the prince, simply got lost. But at the Sunken Inn that evening, another story was told. It was an old woman, who at one moment, spoke. As she opened her mouth, her voice made sounds, fragile and thin as brownish-yellow leaves at the end of autumn. “It all began when I was a little girl”, the old woman began, low, as to addressed to no one in particular. First the miller turned around, as he knew almost all of what usually happened in the inn, and this event wasn’t one of those things. “My mother was a washerwoman, and my father a hunter.” She cleared her throat. The innkeeper soon got her one pint of mead. With a gesture with her hand she rejected it. “I liked much to follow my father, at dusk, when he went into the woods. He always had me promise, that I should turn when we reached the first trees. I used to stand there, watching him disappear among the trees. Wild fantasies ran through my head, of what my father experienced in there. I thought of him riding on deer, playing with rabbits.” The old woman’s voice now had silenced the rest of the inn, letting her words be the only echo that filled their minds, apart from the distant reminders of the world outside – a baby’s crying, some birds chasing, the wind at the rooftops. “It was all well; my curiosity didn’t overwhelm my respect for my father, until one day. I saw this girl. At first, my mind didn’t believe what my eyes saw, and I left it for a dream. Then I saw her again, one other day, at dusk, when I decided to turn, wait for my father’s return in the shelter of the cabin. She had black hair, the kind of hair you’d think a gypsy would wear. I only caught a glimpse of her, but still I noticed her eyes, light blue. Almost grey. I noticed them, because she was looking right at me. Today I think, yes I’m almost certain, that she wanted me to see her. From that time on, my father wasn’t the cause I returned to the woods every dusk, it was the girl.” The old woman now leaned back in the chair, held herself together as by the arm she had on the counter of the bar. On her wrist she had some bronze chains, thin, and clinking when touching the wooden counter. Other than that, she wore no jewelry. Her skin were torn, along with the clothes that had this faded color, hinting of another life, but for now only leaving her dress with a slightly blend impression.
“But what happened, who was that girl?” The miller asked. “Schh.” The old woman responded. “No hurry, no hurry, we will come to that.” The old woman let her head fall forward, looking into the floorboards, and rest - as if she regenerated, regained her strength. At last she looked up, asking. “Where was that mead then? Yes, yes.” And she took a sip from the pint that still stood on the counter, waiting. Her lips made that sound, from a person that lost all her teeth, but still want the whole aroma when coming across something tasty. “As I’ve told you, it was something special about this girl. The most obvious, she rarely walked on the ground. Most of the times I saw her, she hid behind some branches, leaning against the tree’s trunk, old oaks in particular. It could almost feel sometimes, as she was made from those trees, right in that wood. She never approached me, kept herself at a distance. I think she was very lonely that girl, so I pitied her. I gave her one of my dolls one day, left it on the ground when I left. The next day, it was gone.”
The woman sighed. “I even gave her a name, Ariana, I used to call her. So was the day, when the prince came to our village. One of the servants told me, that it was his father’s will that he learned how to hunt. As my father was the finest hunter for miles, they chose us. Days went by, and I almost forgot about the girl. The prince and I became playmates, as we were the same age. Until one day, when the prince told me he had had the strangest encounter. - I saw this girl, he said. He described her dark hair, and told me that he thought she looked so strange, that he at once felt this need to talk to her. But as he called to her, she disappeared. The prince was lost in his own thought, as not present, so I didn’t feel like answer him truthfully when he asked if I knew something about this girl. After that encounter the prince was always eager to set out into the woods - from my point of view, too eager. But from that time, I also set out into the woods, trying to meet the girl as well. But the things that I saw in there, caught me breathless. I saw my father slaughter rabbits, noticed him cruelly murder an old deer, master of their tribe. My father taught the prince, and the prince shot an eagle, right through the heart.”
She paused, cleared her throat. “But I also saw the girl, we spoke, not out loud, but we knew. At the cabin, at night when the prince came back, he told me of his own encounters with the girl. He told me of her beauty, and for each day I became more and more angry. One day, he didn’t come back. The whole kingdom held their breath, while the King’s men searched the forest. They couldn’t find him.”
The old woman turned away from the listening faces, took a last sip of the mead. “Well, better call it a night”, she said while she slowly began changing from sitting to standing.
“But!” The miller said. “Don’t you know what happened?” The old woman smiled. “Why should I? I am just an old woman, having a hard time remembering the past.”
She left the inn, leaving behind minds pondering, questions never asked, theories tried and thrown away. Slowly she made her way back to her cabin, at the edge of the forest. The moon was full, as it were that queer day when the prince disappeared. It left a shadowy light over the cabin, as the trees stretched over the roof, seemed to grasp the cabin with their whole existence. The door creaked when she entered, being made of old oaks. In front of the fire sat another old woman - on a bed made of branches and a fur. In her dark hair she had locks of grey, and when she turned around she smiled. “Almost thought you got lost.” The old woman giggled, looking into those blue eyes, almost grey. “Just had an interesting story to tell the men at the pub, Ariana.” She sat down on the bed, leaning against Ariana, feeling the fire fill her with warmth.
And the oaks creaked once again, remembering the boy who had set his arrow in their limbs. How their mistress, told them to bring peace and silence to the air. After the oaks silent battle, all was still, and the rabbits, dears and eagles could get rid of their fears and rest in peace. So could the oak’s mistress – the girl in the woods, and rest in the arms of her newfound love.