The Art of Forgiveness

Silver and Gold (Past 3)

Marc continued walking through the woods, flinching each and every time he heard the wind whistle through the shrubs and twigs snap beneath his feet. He clutched his lantern tightly, grasping the handle as if he was afraid of losing his precious source of light. The shadows from the tree branches danced around him, looking similar to the shadows of long arms reaching for him so they could snatch him and pull him into the darkness. He couldn't even see the glow from the moon, as the tree branches were too thick. They completely covered the sky, making navigation difficult as well.

He was afraid. He wanted to go back home where it was safe. He wanted to run to his house and shut the door. He wanted to walk around with all the lights on and check each and every lock, as he often did, just to make sure he could feel secure.

Yet, he found himself walking further and further into the unfamiliar forest. He shivered as he walked from the cold gusts of air surrounding him, which made his ultramarine-colored cloak flutter and flap. The wind continued to blow his cloak's hood off his head, to the point that he stopped pulling it back up. It was pointless to keep his hood up anyway if the wind would only keep knocking it off. There was no point in fighting the weather. Marc was never really one for fighting. If the wind wanted his hood off, then he would leave it off.

Snow slowly started to fall from the sky, landing in his hair and on his eyelashes. The snowflakes circled one another, being pushed by the fast-moving air. He rarely ever went out in the snow and he knew that he was hardly dressed for it. He was aware that the smart thing to do would have been to turn around and go home, yet he didn't. Luckily, it wasn't cold enough for the snow to stick to the ground. 

Still, he wasn't sure why he found himself continuing to press forward into the darkness. He wasn't sure what he was even looking for. 

What was he looking for?

He had walked a hundred steps. Soon, a thousand steps. Then, five thousand steps. He kept counting in order to keep his mind distracted from the darkness surrounding him. Counting was simple. Counting was safe. Counting could keep his mind distracted from the darkness and prevent him from falling into a state of panic.

Then, he finally saw the night sky once again.

He squinted his eyes slightly and used his free hand to adjust his glasses. The trees were slowly beginning to clear out, revealing what looked like a small village.

A village? Was it his own? Did he go in a complete circle somehow? He couldn't recall ever getting turned around. He had made sure to walk in a straight line to prevent himself from getting lost.

He frowned, blankly staring at the village when he suddenly heard footsteps, causing him to jump and hide behind a tree trunk. 

His heart started to race.

This wasn't his village. It looked nothing like the home he knew. 

Deep breaths, Marc.

He could feel his pulse become rapid, but he was able to prevent himself from slipping into a completely panicked state by focusing on his breathing. Just barely, however. 

Sure, the woods weren't off limits, but he KNEW that going to other villages was against his tribe's rules, and for good reason. There was a war going on. People were to stick with their own kind. Everyone knew that.

He could get out of this. There was no need to freak out. He just needed to stay hidden, observe, then make a careful escape without being noticed. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, his body tense as he listened to the distant voices. With his eyes closed, he felt as if he was able to hear slightly more clearly.