The winds had died down from yesterday. The temperature had risen and the rain still hung heavily in the air. The forest let whispers of the breeze in through the canopy above, and the leaves let a glimmer of light shimmer through to the saturated earth below.
It had been days since I’d seen a path, every crack or crash around me raising hopes of ever leaving. Hopes dashed by the swift movements of the deer or birds which sounded so much like the stomping of others.
Too fast for me to catch anything but a glimpse of. But I heard beyond a bird’s call. Not that of a chick in its nest, but of a call as if its quarry were near, or it was warding off another.
It sounded so very different, echoing from wind instead of wood. I followed its call and made my way to a light which had me shield my eyes. From the deep forest in which I wandered emerged as the will of the Gods an empty field.
A field graced by the calling of birds and the braying of wild horses. Surrounded on all sides, the fields led nowhere but to themselves, and the sound of birds which called had lured this wanderer to this place.
Deeper still in the woods around, the birds would call me to their feast. To feast upon a tired man, lost and without a way.
A prompt response.