I watch them, as they wander.
I’m always watching. This time of year my eyes are heavy, and my vision is tinged with yellow edges.
They’re not without purpose: I know that from the way they walk. Many walk these woods, and this far into the forest it claims you, and you become the dappled light, the soft dew and the prickling breeze. If you enter this forest with no purpose other than to let yourself seep into it, then you stop thinking so acutely of your difference to the earth, and instead walk with the breath of the land.
These ones are keeping a distance from the woods.
I can tell from how they step: choosing carefully where to tread, instead of letting the forest guide them. Darting eyes and quick breaths and stiff jaws. And I know the distance they keep from themselves. The forest deepens your thoughts, widens your mind to the very life that flows within you, and the pains you carry. Many let themselves fall, sit inside themselves and be wholly present to their bubbling thoughts. These are feeling the pull, yet clinging on to shallow feelings. Scared of the depths.
I myself once tread as though I were not truly there, not truly feeling, barely acknowledging the things that pulled me. That was so long ago now.
I know what they want, these two. Their presence means something, something cold that makes ice want to seep into my bones and panic want to grip me, but it does not. I think it strange that I am so calm. That is what I feel: calm and resigned. I know and I feel what is to come, yet my heart beats slow and my eyes stay heavy. How far have I come to feel this?
They are closer now, and I can tell their fear. It flows out of them at every rustle of leaves, every birdsong. They do not understand, and maybe they never will. That is not up to me.
They don’t know that I watch, that I am always watching. I let them think that they have seen me first, I decide, because there is no need for them to know the truth. I watch from my bed of earth, and see their swords glint in the morning sun. I am so big, yet they do not see me until they are close enough to smell. I do not open my eyes any wider, for I am tired and do not care if they know it.
The first one, who is more scared than the other and therefore braver, steps forward. They want to state their purpose, but I meet their eyes and steal their words. I already know what they are here for. I have been waiting, and though I am not ready and I am still scared, I am not hurting as much.
They both step closer, and I raise my heavy head. I blink slowly, and let them feel my calm. I breathe with the forest, and for the first time they do too. We share a purpose and a pain, and it will never be okay, but that’s alright.
The brave one steps closer again, and I can feel their breath on my tough skin and remember when it was once soft and fragile like theirs. They raise their sword, and though I don’t move, they meet my eyes suddenly. Their eyes plead with mine, they apologise, and they thank me.
I wonder when I will die again.
The sword is cold and leaves me burning hot and now I am truly scared.
A slow warmth fills me.
My breath.
My breath.
My…
The forest breathes for me, and life goes on while I do not, and the pair gently weep for me, though I am not sad. I am nothing now.
I give the young killer my eyes.