Yet no matter how carefully I searched, I found nothing out of the ordinary—no movement, no silhouette between the trees, no glint of eyes hidden within the shadows. After a moment, I gave a faint shrug and returned my attention to the map.
Though the strange stillness lingered, the remainder of the morning passed without incident. Time seemed to melt away when I was mapping, its measurement nothing compared to the lay of the land and all the secrets it held. Before I knew it, the last traces of the dawn had been swallowed by golden light as the sun rose higher above the horizon, bathing the forest in streaks of shimmering gold ribboning through the trees. By the sun’s measurement, I’d been outside for about an hour.
Grandmother would be waking soon, and after tending to her I would need to prepare for our first day open, just in case a customer arrived.
Reluctantly, I closed my journal and looked around, noticing too late how far I’d wandered. My rambles often got me lost considering I often paid far more attention to the landscape than my direction, but usually it wasn’t too difficult to retrace my steps and find my way.
However, this landscape remained unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the open fields, sweeping beaches, and rocky mountain outcroppings where our bakery commonly settled. Here, nothing but trees surrounded me in a tight cocoon, stretching endlessly in every direction. Pines, aspens, cedar, and oak in hues of green blended into one another until one direction became indistinguishable from another.
It appeared I was lost. An unfortunate inconvenience, but not an alarming one. Getting lost often accompanied the first days of mapping unfamiliar lands. I merely crouched amongst the undergrowth, searching for signs of my trail. A patch of flattened moss suggested I’d passed near a fallen cedar earlier, while disturbed fern fronds hinted at the direction I’d come from. Too much of the terrain looked identical for the signs to be of much use, the forest floor layered thick with needles, roots, and drifting leaves, obscuring clear tracks.
As I straightened, the sensation of being watched I’d initially dismissed as the exhausted whims of my imagination returned. This time, I recognized it instantly—the sensation from the previous night when I’d drawn back the curtains and glimpsed the dark silhouette lingering amongst the trees beyond the bakery windows.
I rose quickly to my feet, posture tensing instinctively. “Who’s there?”
At first there was no response, as though my unseen observer had no intention of revealing themselves simply because I’d asked. I held myself motionless, listening to the soft rustle of wind through the canopy overhead while trying to detect any sign of movement hidden amongst the trees.
Nothing. I was just about to search for the intruder myself when another faint rustle sounded nearby, followed by the unmistakable crunch of a boot against fallen branches. Then someone stepped out from behind the towering trees.
My gaze locked onto the dark eyes of a man. He wore a heavy forest-green cloak draped over broad shoulders, sturdy leather bracers worn from use, and tall boots muddied from long travel through the woods. A bow rested across his back beside a quiver of arrows fletched with dark feathers, while a satchel and hunting knife hung at his belt in a worn sheath. The attire of a hunter.
Shadow still partially obscured his features beneath the hood, but I caught glimpses of dark hair falling across his brow, the sharp angles softened by the shifting light filtering through the trees. His expression remained unreadable, though there was something intent in the way he watched me—as though he’d been observing me far longer than I’d realized.
Though it had been too dark the previous night to detect the shadowy silhouette outside my window clearly, a flicker of recognition settled over me. I was suddenly certain he was the same man I’d glimpsed lurking amongst the trees. Had he been spying on me?
For a moment he remained perfectly still, eyes slightly widened beneath the shadow of his hood, before he dipped into an awkward bow. “Pardon me, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
The apology emerged so softly I scarcely heard it. He offered nothing more, as though apologizing was the full extent of timid conversation he felt capable of managing..
After another lingering glance in my direction, he turned as if to leave. I lurched forward. “Wait!”
He paused and looked back at me with cautious curiosity. Now it was my turn to fall silent. Beyond Grandmother, most of my conversation revolved around customers and pastries. What exactly was one supposed to say to someone they weren’t trying to sell something to?
The awkwardness stretched between us until he gestured towards the patch of undergrowth where I’d been kneeling moments earlier. “It wasn’t my intention to disturb you; I know concentration is of the utmost importance when tracking.”
“I’m new to the area and am exploring the woods.”
He tilted his head slightly, studying me with an attentiveness that reminded me oddly of a hunter following an unfamiliar trail. “I wondered,” he murmured. “I’ve never seen you before. It’s unusual to encounter anyone this deep in the forest.”
As I’d suspected. His confirmation did little to encourage optimism regarding bakery business. “Are there any nearby villages?” I asked.
Something guarded flickered across his expression, subtle but unmistakable. He seemed to study me just as cautiously as I studied him. “Not for about a kilometer,” he said after a pause, glancing around before gesturing vaguely towards the southeast.
Farther than I’d hoped, though not impossibly so. The distance would certainly discourage casual customers, especially if locals avoided venturing this deeply into the woods. Still, it wasn’t quite the isolated wilderness I had initially feared.
My slight frown must have alarmed him. Another uncomfortable silence settled between us, broken only when he awkwardly cleared his throat. “I noticed your tracking,” he said carefully. “Are you lost?”
I hesitated. It was probably unwise to inform a stranger I was lost in unfamiliar woods. I considered denying it before decidingthere was little point; caution had faded from me alongside so many other emotions years ago. “I was exploring,” I admitted. “I appear to have gotten turned around.”
“Do you need help finding your way out?” he offered. “It would be no trouble to accompany you.” Despite the polite offer, he looked almost as though he hoped I would refuse his honorable gesture. Even so, he shifted slightly, already half-turning as though prepared to guide me despite his obvious reluctance.
“Wait,” I said quickly. “There’s no need; I’m not from the village.”
His brow furrowed. “You’re not?” To my surprise, his shoulders relaxed slightly in visible relief. An odd reaction. “But there’s nowhere else nearby,” he said slowly. His gaze lifted uncertainly towards the forest canopy, as though half-expecting to discover a treehouse nestled amongst the branches.
“I came from a bakery.”
He frowned. “There is no such place in these woods.”
