The Wanderer

The forest shifts. A faint crunch breaks the silence, too deliberate to be the wind, too soft to be a threat I can name. I turn, blade raised, breath sharp in my throat. Then she appears. A woman steps between the dead trees as if she’s walking out of a memory I never had. In this grey, colorless world, she looks impossibly alive. Dark hair that moves even when the air doesn’t. Eyes bright enough to feel like a mistake. A face too warm for a place that has forgotten warmth. She smiles. It’s small, but it cuts through the silence like a spark in dry tinder. “Easy,” she says, voice smooth and warm. “If I meant you harm, you wouldn’t have heard me.” The forest seems to lean toward her, as if curious. I don’t lower my blade. “Who are you?” “Meredith.” She steps closer, unafraid, studying me with an intensity that feels almost intimate. “And you… you’re not supposed to be alone out here.” Her gaze lingers on me a moment too long. Her smile holds something I can’t name. And the forest, for the first time in forever, feels like it’s watching both of us.