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As afternoon approached, I watched Arlet practice blending into her surroundings one last time before calling an end to today’s session. She rose from where she had been crouching behind a fern-covered log, leaves sticking to her hair like ornaments chosen by the forest itself.
“Well?” she asked expectantly, brushing dirt from her hands.
I looked at her—this woman who had come so far from who she once was—and admiration stirred within me.
“You’re learning fast,” I said truthfully. “I think you’re ready for whatever comes next.”
The sun dipped low, painting the sky in shades of orange and crimson as I led Arlet deeper into the forest. A tranquil hush hadsettled over the land, the usual chatter of wildlife quieting as if in reverence to the approaching twilight. We found a clearing, the air still and expectant, as though it held its breath for what was to come.
“Close your eyes,” I instructed Arlet softly. “Breathe in deep. Can you feel it—the pulse of the earth, the heartbeat of the forest?”
She complied, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. A gentle breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of pine and damp earth.
“What am I supposed to feel?” Her voice was a mere thread of sound, barely disturbing the surrounding serenity.
“Patience,” I reminded her with a small smile. “Let your senses expand. Listen not just with your ears but with your skin, your bones.”
I watched her face smooth out as she concentrated, a look of peaceful intent taking over her features. In moments like these, she seemed to shed layers of her past life until only the essence of her being remained—intertwined with the surrounding wildness.
I took a seat on the ground beside her, mirroring her position. The forest was more than just trees and creatures; it was a living entity that breathed much like we did. The subtle language—a whisper here, a rustle there—came easily to me, and now I sought to share this hidden world with Arlet.
“Do you hear that?” I asked after a time had passed in quiet communion with nature.
Her eyes remained closed, but she nodded slightly. “The creek nearby... and something else.”
“Yes,” I encouraged her. “Focus on that ‘something else.’ That’s the voice of the forest speaking.”
The sun had vanished completely now, leaving us in a world lit by silver moonlight and dotted with shadows. The air was cool against our skin, alive with nocturnal songs—a symphony composed by unseen musicians.
Arlet’s awareness spread out like ripples across the water. She reached out tentatively with her mind, seeking connection with the life force around us.
A deer stepped into the clearing then, its movements graceful and silent. It paused, sensing our presence but not threatened by it. Arlet’s breath caught in surprise. Yet she remained still—her senses intertwined with those of our visitor.
“It knows we’re here,” she whispered in awe.
“And yet it stays,” I replied quietly. “You’ve extended an invitation for peace; it’s accepted.”
She opened her eyes then, meeting mine in wonderment as we watched the deer graze contentedly nearby. There was a profound understanding passing between us—an acknowledgment that we were no longer mere observers, but participants in this ancient dialogue.
Arlet reached out a hand toward me without looking away from our serene companion. I took it gently in mine. An electric connection went beyond touch—an intertwining of spirits amidst the timeless dance of nature.
In this quiet moment in the forest, we had become part of something greater than ourselves—a shared breath between human and wild, protector and protected.
The subtle shift in the forest came long before the trouble found us. It was a faint whisper against the backdrop of the woodland symphony—a dissonance that didn’t belong. I glanced at Arlet, who had been carefully examining a cluster of ferns. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Her hand paused mid-air, and she turned her head slightly, her body tensing as she too caught on to the change.
“What is it?” she asked without looking at me, her voice low.
“We’re not alone,” I murmured back. The rhythm of my heart picked up pace, not in fear, but in readiness. I scanned the surroundings, every muscle coiled like a spring. “Stay close.”
Arlet nodded and moved towards me with a quiet grace that spoke of our recent training sessions. She was becoming more attuned to the forest, its language no longer foreign to her.
The source of our unease soon revealed itself—three men, clad in camouflaged gear, stepped into view. They were hunters, by the look of them, but their presence here was off. This part of the forest was a sanctuary with no hunting allowed.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” I called out to them, my voice calm but firm.
The leader, a burly man with a thick beard and an air of arrogance about him, sneered as he sized us up. “We’re just passing through,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.
His companions chuckled among themselves, their eyes roving over Arlet with an unsettling interest.
