Little One by Maddie DiMarco

The forest was alive.
They never listened when she told them. She’d tugged on their skirts and poked at their shoes. “It talks to me,” she’d insisted. Some had ruffled her hair and shooed her off, the more unpleasant ones turning to her parents to inquire isn’t she a bit too old to be imagining such things.
She didn’t tell anyone any more. They were right. She was too old to be imagining such things. The forest didn’t need others to know. It had her, and that was enough.

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She was eight when she first walked the path alone. Her grandmother’s house lay a mile south, along the edge of a canyon that cut the ground in half and grinned with crooked teeth. She’d volunteered to make the trip. They’d been glad to let her go, and eager to dust their hands of her grandmother. Her mother had tucked her into her favorite red coat, patted her head, and set her on her way.
It was then she first heard the forest. It murmured in her ear. It shone light to freckle her skin and grew berries to fill her stomach. It offered itself up to a little girl who had nothing to give in return but her company.
Your presence is company enough, it said.
Her childhood lived there. The forest filled it with glistening rivers and babbling brooks, turquoise stones and emerald leaves.
It loved her, and her it.
One day, among the shade of the magnolia trees, the snap of a twig tripped a stutter in her heart and her feet. Startled, she spun. She rarely say another in her forest, and never before had anyone stuck up on her. No person stood behind her. The breath flew out of her chest.
 A grey wolf stood before her, level to her chest and staring into her eyes. It lifted its massive paw off the broken stick and nudged it away. Her knees wobbled.
His name is Akila.
“Oh,” she whispered. She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat.
He will not hurt you. He is part of us, as we are part of you.
Shly, she stretched out her palm, upturned, to the creature. He nudged it with his nose, then licked it. She wrinkled her nose at the slobber.
“Will he be my friend?” she asked.
Of course, the forest answered.
She scratched behind his ears and watched his eyes fall shut.
“Then I love him.”
Though the forest had no face, she could have sworn it smiled.

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The forest had its ways of communicating. A branch tapped her shoulder, and when she’d turned, it moved no more. But she could sense the forest’s consciousness around her. It felt like a deep breath.
“Hello,” she called. In response, a breeze caressed her face.
Hello, little one. We are glad to see you. It's been too long, but this cannot be a joyous reunion.
“Is something wrong?”
We have protected you, fed you, provided you with friendship and safe passage. We have loved you so, little one, the forest whispered. We only ask one thing.
“Anything,” she said.
Save us

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The forest lead her to a man. His blades were shiny and his beard trim. He hacked at the land and trees and he soiled the land he had no right to be on. He would not stop, he told her, and she couldn’t make him.
She could not let him do this, but he was ahead of her at every turn.
She stole his axes, he returned with more. She deflated his tires, he swapped them out. She burned his food, he hunted his own. Every day, he came one step closer to destroying her forest, and every day hatred for him burned hotter in her heart.
He was an angry man. He knew of her sabotage, but didn’t know how to prove it. His glare haunted her days.
He waited, and waited, until her caught her, in the dead of night. A light flashed behind her as she rummaged in his belongings. She turned, arms still clutching his stolen goods.
The chase began. She’d dropped everything at her feet and bolted. He was strong, but she was quick.
The ravine, little one.
She didn’t know why, but the forest’s voice was fading. Frantically, she darted sideways, and altered her path towards the jagged gorge. Her breath grated her lungs and her jacket snapped in the wind. She skittered to a stop at the ledge and turned to face the man.
“You little－” he lunged for her, hands outstretched.
Akila’s teeth clamped down on the sleeve of her jacket. He dragged her back, and the man went tumbling past her. He tipped over the side and disappeared from view.
When she made to peer over the edge, Akila tugged her back again, a whine building in his throat. Silently, she let him tug her away. When he finally stopped, she sat, and buried her face in his fur, letting it take her tears.
Thank you, little one. We will never forget what you have done for us.
She did not respond, but the hum of the forest rocked her to sleep anyway.