2. Rowan
The annoying girl with a hundred questions is a long, long way from home. It’s obvious, from the racket she makes stomping along the forest path, map crinkling and boots thudding, to the vivid colors of her clothes.
Red leggings and a white tank top; a lilac jacket and some kind of crocheted multicolored hair band holding back her auburn waves. This girl is an explosion of color, a bird of paradise lost in the wrong kind of forest, and tracking her back down the mountain is easier than breathing. Even if she stopped muttering to herself, cursing all rude mountain men everywhere, I could follow her easily.
“Blunder into any bear dens,” she mumbles, clambering over a fallen log clumped with toadstools. “Such an ass…”
Despite everything, my mouth curves up as I watch her from the shadows. It’s not so bad being near her when she doesn’t know I’m here. With her butterscotch eyes fixed on the forest floor, this all feels less intense. Bearable, even.
I hate to admit it, but… it’s not the worst thing, having some company. When was the last time I heard another human’s voice?
The girl stops walking, unfolding the map again to check her progress. All around us, the forest is quiet, and the sunlight shining through the trees is tinged gold. The birds are roosting, settling in for dusk, and she needs to move faster if she wants to get down off the mountain by nightfall.
I scratch my chest as I watch her, pondering.
The river isn’t too full. It hasn’t rained in a few weeks—not hard anyway—so she should be able to cross the bridge near town okay. No concerns there.
But far across the mountain, there’s a mournful howl. Another two animals cry out in response, howling in a ghostly chorus, and the girl freezes, her colorful body tensed in fear.
My gut twists.
The wolves won’t bother her. They’re too far away, and there’s better prey for them in these mountains, but I can’t tell my interloper that. Not without revealing myself between the trees.
Her hands shake as she checks the map again one more time, then folds it again hurriedly and sets off down the path.
She starts whistling again, the sound shrill and panicked. My bare feet press against dried pine needles as I track her through the forest, and my heart beats out a steady rhythm.
Look, I don’t want her death on my conscience. That’s all. And if this foolish city girl dies in my territory and attracts scavengers, I’m the one who’ll be chasing critters away from my home with a stick for months. Escorting her down the mountain just makes good sense.
It’s got nothing to do with that wide, friendly smile she gave me back there. Nothing to do with the happy way she said “There you are”, like I was the best thing she’d seen all day.
Nothing to do with her pretty red hair and freckled cheeks and the way she smelled like cinnamon spice when I got close. Obviously.
I may have checked out of society, may have walked away from my old life, but I can still do a stranger a good turn. Especially if she doesn’t even know it.
“Ow.” The girl slaps at her neck, then wrinkles her nose at the bug smeared on her palm. “Ew. Gross.”
You don’t have bugs in the city? That’s what I want to ask her, the words crowded on the tip of my tongue, but I’ve been following her in silence for too long now. If I speak, she’ll definitely freak out, and I don’t want that.
Even if it gets her moving faster down the mountain… somewhere deep inside, I really don’t want to scare this girl. The wolves are bad enough; every time they howl to each other, the sound carried on the breeze, City Girl jumps and lets out a tiny squeak then picks up the pace. Makes me want to step out of the trees, walk beside her, and say some comforting shit. Makes me want to be the man I left behind in that other life, at least for a few hours.
“Oh god,” the girl mutters, boots slipping over loose rocks as she clambers down a steep slope. “Oh, man. I’m too young to die.”
Too young.
Too sweet.
Too innocent.
…Agreed.
Why didn’t I answer her damn questions back there? Would it have killed me to be friendly for a change? Hanging back in the shadows, I follow her progress with a sour taste in my mouth.
It’s her fear—that’s what does it. The panic rolls off her in waves, making the trees shiver and my skin tighten and her footsteps extra clumsy. This whole forest is tensed when she finally steps wrong.
“Careful—”
My voice cuts through the quiet, echoing through the trees, but it’s too late. Like a slow-motion clip, I watch her boot land wrong, the loose rocks sliding away beneath her; I see her arms pinwheel and her weight fall back. Heart stopped, standing uselessly in the shadows, I watch the city girl slip and tumble down the rest of the slope, her colorful body slamming into rocks and hard dirt and exposed tree roots before finally landing in a colorful heap.
I’m running before my brain processes what’s happened. No attempts to be silent—my body crashes through the undergrowth, swiping plants and thin branches out of the way in my rush to reach her. There’s a high pitched ringing sound in my ears and suddenly I’m with my unit again, bullets flying, men groaning in pain, trying desperately to reach the injured—
The girl moans, still lying at the base of the slope in her sad little heap. The sound jolts me back to the present. Her bag is twisted on her back, with half her belongings strewn in the dirt.
That bright blue notebook; a stainless steel canteen; a cheap flashlight. A bruised apple and a simple cell phone. They all lie in a halo around her body, and fuck, why hasn’t she rolled over yet?
What if she’s broken a bone?
What if she hit her head too hard?
What if this sweet, friendly stranger hiked up this mountain to find me, and I sent her away to get hurt? How can I ever live with that?
“City Girl.” Pain radiates through my knees as I crash down by her side. She’s curled up in a fetal position, her wavy red hair sprawled across her face. Swallowing hard, I brush the hair aside. If she’s dead, I swear to god, I’ll jump in the roughest part of the river, because I cannot live with this. What have I done?
But twin butterscotch eyes blink up at me, glassy with shock and pain. “Wild Man? What are you—ow.” She winces, tipping gingerly onto her back, and stares up at me.
I stare back.
“This whole assignment sucks ass,” she says conversationally, like we’re chatting by the water cooler in some office. “If I get down this mountain alive, I’m quitting Pretzel Media. They think being some fancy start up with ping pong tables and nap pods means they can treat their employees like shit, but I’m so over it. Half the time they shoot down my pitches anyway.”
Babbling—a classic sign of head trauma. Sliding one hand carefully beneath the girl’s head, I probe her scalp with my fingertips. “Did you headbutt a rock?”
“What?” She wrinkles her freckled nose at me. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. Not gonna lie, the last few minutes are a big, painful blur. Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be off swinging from a vine somewhere?”
Gonna go ahead and ignore that.
“Is anything broken?” I say, abandoning her head to run both hands down her arms. “Move carefully. Tell me if something hurts.”
She snorts, even as she pushes to sit up, bringing our faces dangerously close together. I don’t move back, too distracted by the sudden wave of cinnamon spice. She smells good.
“Dude, everything hurts. I just tumbled down a rocky slope, remember?”
Oh, I remember. Vividly.
The sight of this girl falling will haunt me to my dying day—I’m sure of that. Even after she’s long gone, taking all the warmth and color from this mountain with her, I’ll be fretting about whether she has cuts and bruises.
“This is swelling.” She blinks down when I tap her right leg just above the ankle, where her thick socks cover her red leggings. Pine needles cling to the sock wool, and her breath catches when she tries to move her foot.
“Ow.”
Standing, I shake away the tingly sensation in my hands. Haven’t touched another human being in a long, long time.
“Don’t move. I’ll grab your things.”
“Way to rob me while I’m down.”
Rolling my eyes, I stuff her spilled belongings back in her backpack. The city girl holds up one arm then the other, letting me slide the bag onto her shoulders, and it’s alarmingly difficult to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest at the trust she shows me. My gaze roams over her again and again, checking that she’s whole.
And… she’s alright. A little banged up, but okay. And sure, dusk is falling—but this girl is not in danger anymore.
Not while I’m here.
I won’t make the same mistake twice. While she’s on this mountain, she’s in my care, because I never asked for this mission… but I’m in it now.
“Ready?” I ask, sliding one arm between the bag and her back, the other beneath her knees. She loops both arms around my neck as I push to my feet with her cradled against my chest. We sway together before I find my balance on the uneven ground.
“What are you—? Oh, god. Put me down! I’m really heavy. Seriously, you’ll get twenty feet and then your arms will be numb, and then we’ll both be embarrassed. Don’t be a hero…”
Her chatter fades as I tune her out, carrying the wounded city girl off path between the trees. Springy branches scrape against my legs, and the dirt is hard beneath my bare feet, while sleepy birds gossip together in their roosts.
Don’t need a map. This is my mountain; my home.
And I’ll take good care of this interloper until morning.