I haven't posted for ages, but I just found something I wrote a while ago. I may add more to this later, or make it collaborative, if it is requested.
I've never enjoyed my own company.
I've always been comforted, made to feel at ease by the presence of others, the murmur of voices and the sound of unshod feet skirting the underbrush. And yet, here I am, alone.
It didn't start this way today; I left in a group. Having a team is much more effective when it comes to defending yourself. For the most part, living among the trees and the other creatures who call this forest home is a peaceful existence. But of course, in the grand scheme of things, conflict always exists, between trees fighting for a place for their roots to reach, the leaves clamour for space given voice by the wind. Birds seek a roost, a nest, a place of their own to feed young. Wolves slink in packs, teeth bared and territorial. We are, at our core, not all that different from the creatures with whom we share this place. The balance of the wilds is kept by our interspecies conflict; we fell trees to build, we track the wolves, hunt them as the leaves turn and take their furs to ensure our own warmth in the wintertime.
We are selfish.
I will always return home, seeking familiarity and place to rest my head, but recently, it seems changed. I have always been part of a large group, with multiple families, but now there are more men, seeking to dominate, to control. A female voice barely catches their pointed ears, especially when the vessel of that voice is thin and pale, and shorter than they.
In any case, I am now merely distracting myself, my thoughts have turned to deeper things while I mean to search for something... something precious. A bracelet, wrought in the hands of someone close to me, and her hands will no longer move. It is green like fern leaves and delicate like early morning sun. And it has gone.
I pause to catch my breath, count the movements of my chest, one, two, one, two, as it moves in and out. My ears stand to attention as I hear a branch snap. I turn to face the source of the sound... I see a face, not unlike my own... the same ears...
It is only then I see the bow, the arrow notched. Words are caught in the breeze, and I am frozen.
"The price of a loud-mouth..."
My eyes grow dim.
I see a face.
"It is time, my child..."
I mouth a word.
The light fades.