Nemophilist

A young man of just past eighteen, with a bow in his hands and an arrow knocked, crept stealthily in the forest. He had tightly curled light brown hair, and heavily tanned skin - the trademark of a hunter. His playful ocean coloured orbs pierced the surrounding area, the sharp gaze searching for a deer or two to shoot and take back to his village. He liked to work alone, and he adjusted the angular arrow as he walked, muttering under his breath.

Around his neck hung a tightly woven leather chain, with a large token that had been threaded on to it dangling over the hem of his shirt. The wooden decoration had been whittled marvelously, the intricate details of a swallow captured beautifully. It was her mark.

A sharp crack to his right, similar to that of a breaking of a tree branch, caught his attention. He spun around, tensing up and pulling on the tight string, the arrow quivering slightly. He was a good shot, but not perfect.

Directly to his right where the sound had carried from stood a tall tree, reaching high into the heavens. The young man crouched lower, hoping that the foolish animal hidden behind it would bolt, sensing his presence. He held still for several seconds, before daringly kicking at the ground beneath his bare foot.

A grubby hand came around the tree trunk, long fingernails caked with grime clutching at the solid bark. Surprised, the young man let the arrow loose, it sailing several inches away from the tree. A squeak from behind the tree encouraged him to speak up.

In a low voice meant to be calming and trusting, he began to coax the person out from behind the tree.

They did so, revealing themselves to the young woman, slowly but surely. First came the arm attached to the hand, a leg following soon after. A body and the other arm and leg came faster. Their head was bowed, and they looked up, locking eyes with the young man. A hand played with the frayed dress hem.

She was called the Girl of the Forest. Some called her nymph, and others goddess. Some called her orphan, and others wench.

Some people prayed to her, begging her to stay away from their campsites in hopes she would not bring her bad luck with her - after all, could a girl of barely sixteen wandering the woods alone have any good luck at all?

Some people spat in her general direction, disrespecting her very existence. The girl was troubled, reckless, stupid. A whole reel of unflattering names.

Everyone, however, agreed on her appearance and the place she called home.

She had dirty, dark hair, so dirty that no one knew its true colour. She was pale, much paler than the huntsman, a tribute to the foliage she frolicked under. She was tall, almost as tall as him, and also barefoot. Her dress, made of rough hessian, was falling to pieces, barely covering her breasts and falling several inches above her knees. Dirt was smudged everywhere, but what intrigued the young man the most was her eyes. They were an emerald green, and framed by long lashes. Freckles dotted her cheeks underneath the grime, and her lips were a pale colour - not quite pink and not bold enough to be considered red.

'Who are you?' She murmured, slowly slinking forward, feet dusting lightly over the dappled ground, scattered with leaf litter. He was mesmerized by her though, unable to answer as her woody scent overcame him. She stopped, pausing by a tree a few meters from him. Eyes raking over him much like an animal's would, searching for signs of danger. He carefully lowered the bow, locking eyes with her.

'I'm not going to hurt you,' he murmured again, putting out his arms.

'Answer me.' Came the abrupt reply.

'I am Nezra.' He said, watching her reaction. She seemed satisfied, and inched closer. Nezra blinked, losing sight of the girl for a millisecond. As his eyes opened, he saw the sturdy girl standing in front of him, an arrow knocked in his bow and pointing at his heart. Unlike he, her aim was steady, and she seemed sure of herself.

'You fool,' she said quietly, smiling to herself. He had known of the legends surrounding her, but he hadn't believed them once she had appeared - surely a girl such as she would not be able to move as fast as she quite clearly did? 'Never put down your weapon. Not in this forest.' She fired, loosing the arrow from the taunt string. He flinched, preparing for the worst, only for the feathers to brush past his face and for a heavy thump come from behind him.

She had aimed up and away from his heart, too fast for him to register and instead hit the deer that was silently grazing, unfazed by their presence.

'It was only a deer,' Nezra said, turning and studying the fallen creature. He had to cut the arrow's shaft out of it's chest - it had lodged itself inside the animal's chest and was too deep to be pulled out easily.

'That's what it wants you to think.' The girl said softly. 'Come, Nezra. You have much to learn.' Nezra heard her walk off and, not wanting to waste the deer, tied a rope around it's neck and began to drag it after her.

The Girl of the Forest was leaning against a tree as he approached, and she sighed as she saw he was lugging the dead deer.

'Leave it.'

'Why?'

'It's not good for you. Now come, and hurry. We don't have much time before sundown.'

'Sundown? I have to return to my village!' Nezra cried, running to her and clutching her dirty arm. She pulled away and stared at him.

'Not safe.' She replied, stalking off. As though it was an afterthought, she tacked on 'don't touch me again,' at the end of her sentence.

Nezra had no choice but to follow the mysterious being as she sauntered away, his bow still in her hands.