The Woodwalker

I watched the firelight casting shadows on Fynn’s leather armour and pulled my knees tighter to my chest. It was cold out; the leaves in the trees were stirring slightly in the night breeze that touched the canopy. The fire burned brightly, its large white eyes regarding me carefully but it made no other movement. Everything was still and silent, until I sneezed. Fynn turned his head to peer at me over his shoulder as I wiped my nose on my sleeve; my bag remained where I had left it in Ellena’s tent. Noiselessly, Fynn rose to his feet and took off his armour. I saw that it was more like a vest than anything else, protecting his chest and back from assault but keeping his arms free to move. He came around the fire and draped the heavy leather over my shoulders. It was still warm from his body and smelled like the forest. I smiled gratefully at him, but his face remained emotionless as he returned to his vigil on the other side of the fire. I observed him for a few more minutes, trying to get enough courage to ask the questions that danced in my mind.

“Fynn,” I said, breaking the growing silence. “Who are you?”

The man froze, and I could see his muscles tense for a split second. He kept his back to me, his eyes focused on the forest, and I waited for his response.

“Why would Jakob know you, if he’s your enemy?” I pressed.

Fynn turned slowly, the faint light striking his pointed ears and giving him a devilish appearance. I fought down a flurry of fear in my stomach and waited. I had to know the answer. If I was to trust this man with my well being, I had to know who he was.

Fynn shook his head, a smile playing across his lips. “You certainly are not of this world, Leila. I am as I have told you, Aefynnelldar. All you need to know about me is that I am a friend to you.”

“You can’t have a friendship without trust,” I blurted. “I can’t trust you.”

Fynn’s smiled broadened. “No, I suppose not, but who can you trust in this world? The Huryl soldiers? The sorceress Ellena? The spirits? What choice do you have?”

He had a point. I frowned and rested my chin on my knees, glaring angrily at him. He laughed musically, causing a chorus of night insects to join in. I was in no mood to join his merriment and I turned away from him and the fire. The face was still watching me, reflecting my increasingly sour mood.

“Poor little milk maid,” Fynn teased. “I suppose it would only be fair for you to know what all the others do. I just hope it won’t frighten you. I don’t want to chase you through the woods again.”

He had reclaimed my interest and I turned back to face him. I recalled Roric’s warning about Fynn, how I should stay away. Apparently people of this world were warned from a young age to avoid him and fear him. Jakob had been afraid when he faced Fynn a few hours ago.

“You’ve seen someone tall and fair haired in the forest? With a bow? Pointed ears?” Roric had said. “Keep away from people like that. I don’t know what village you’re from, but I thought all the children knew the stories.”

Fynn stared into the trees, gathering his thoughts. I waited patiently, a strange calm filing me. The face in the fire had died down and was no longer reflecting my anger and agitation, nor did it warn me against Fynn again.

“The stories that are told in the villages are of a spirit that walks the woods,” Fynn said in a quiet voice. “He has long pale hair, pointed ears, and dresses like a hunter. The Woodwalker, they call him, although I’ve never liked the name. He searches out lost people – travelers, merchants, children, whoever – and lures them away. What he does to them in the woods is where the stories change. Some say he steals their souls and gives them to the faeries to be used as slaves. Others say he entices them to their deaths and feasts on their flesh. The most popular one is that he changes them into something they’re not and abandons them.”

My heart started to pound and I felt my body tense. I was readying myself to flee, I realized. The Woodwalker was sitting before me, calmly telling me his story. Would he steal my soul? Had he already? I had been thinking of him since we had first met. Perhaps that was all it took. I didn’t feel like my soul was missing. I glanced up to see Fynn watching me with a serious expression on his face. He had called himself a friend, and I had asked for trust.

“You didn’t run,” he remarked.

“How true are those stories?” I asked cautiously.

Fynn shrugged. “That’s up to you to decide, Leila. I offered you my friendship and told you what others know about my past. Now get some sleep.”

A thousand questions were still churning in my mind, but I lay down next to the slowly dying fire and tried to sleep. The white eyes of the face in the flames watched me closely. Fynn had shown no sign of seeing the fiery face, and I thought perhaps I had an unknown ally against the Woodwalker. But what Fynn had said before nagged at me. I had no one to trust. I was still alone.