The forest swallowed us whole.
One moment there was the open clearing, the last touch of sunlight on my back, and then—darkness. The trees loomed tall, their branches locking above us like prison bars, blotting out the sky. Even the air felt thicker, damp and heavy, carrying the scent of moss and wet earth. My footsteps softened against the carpet of rotting leaves, and I realized how quickly sound was swallowed
here. The laughter of the others in the distance had vanished. The world was
reduced to me, Nala, and the breathing silence of the woods.
We kept close, the weight of our satchels tugging at our shoulders. I ran my hand along tree trunks as we passed, scratching a faint mark with my dagger so we would know the way back. The deeper we walked, the less certain I felt that there was a way back.
Strange calls echoed from somewhere far off—bird, beast, or spirit, I couldn't tell. My skin prickled.
Nala nudged me. "Relax your shoulders. Fear will eat your strength before hunger does."
I tried to smile, but it was thin. "I thought catching a bird would be easy. Now it feels like the forest is laughing at us."
Day One
Hours blurred into each other. We searched branches, bushes, tree hollows—nothing. Not a single flash of wings.
At one point, I thought I heard another group. A rustle, a hurried shout, then silence. We quickened our pace, only to find broken undergrowth and… feathers. Someone had killed the wrong bird. Its body was gone, but the marks told the story.
As the sky dimmed into grey, we found a fallen log and made a small fire. The flames licked upward, fragile against the crushing night. My stomach grumbled at the thin ration we shared. Sleep came in fits.
I dreamed of birdsong so loud it felt like it was inside me. When I woke, the forest was mute again.
Day Two
The second day weighed heavier. Hunger carved hollows into us. My legs ached. Every sound—crack of twig, sweep of leaves—felt like a trick.
Once, we spotted Musa, darting through the trees. He raised his hand, grinning like the hunt thrilled him. "How hard can it be to catch a bird?" he called, his voice fading as he chased shadows.
Later, I found a trail where his satchel lay torn, scraps of cloth stained red. My throat tightened. I prayed it wasn't what I thought, but I did not speak of it to Nala.
By dusk, my strength had dulled. Nala told a story to keep us awake—the tale of hunters lured by a child's laughter into places where no man should go. None returned.
"Spirits," she whispered, her face aglow in the firelight. "They say the forest feeds on the foolish."
I laughed too loudly, trying to mask my unease. But deep inside, I believed her.
We had not seen even the shadow of the rare bird they sent us to find.
I rubbed my stomach to quiet its growling and whispered, "How long do you think before the others find theirs?"
Nala glanced at me. "If they are lucky, they already have. If not… then they are suffering as we are."
Her voice was flat, but her eyes betrayed her—sharp, worried, calculating. I knew she was thinking the same thing I was: without food, without victory, we would die here. And no one would come to save us. That was the rule.
Day Three
The third day dawned grey, hunger sharp and punishing. My hands trembled
when I tried to drink the last of our water.
That's when I heard it—a giggle.
Not a bird, not an animal. A child.
I turned, and there she was. A small girl, barefoot, hair wild like dry grass. Her eyes gleamed in the gloom, too bright, too knowing. She tilted her head and smiled at me with teeth too white for the darkness.
"I know where the bird is," she said softly, her voice like the sound of a flute in still water. "Come."
I blinked. My heart pounded. Nala stiffened beside me, hand twitching like she wished for a blade.
"What—what bird?" I asked, though I already knew.
"The one you seek," the girl answered, pointing with a long, thin finger. "I can show you. But only if you follow."
Nala stepped in front of me at once. "Don't listen. This one is not real."
The girl giggled again, and the sound made my neck prickle. "Not real? Yet I stand before you. Your stomach is empty, your time is ending. Would you rather die than follow me?"
I swallowed hard. Everything in me screamed not to trust her. But hunger and
desperation twisted the scream into silence. What if she spoke the truth? What
if this was the only chance we had?
"We should try," I whispered.
Nala whipped her head toward me, eyes wide. "No. Look at her. She's a spirit, Amira. The kind that lures hunters and eats their bones."
But the girl was already moving, skipping lightly through the trees. Something in me snapped—I could not waste this chance. I hurried after her. "If she knows, then we must take the risk. Come."
Nala cursed under her but followed.
The girl led us deeper, the trees closing tighter, the air colder. At last, she stopped before a path no wider than a man's shoulders, tangled with roots and vines. It was like the forest had cracked itself open just for us.
"Through here," she whispered, pointing to the darkness beyond.
Nala grabbed my arm. "Don't."
But I had already stepped forward. "We can't turn back now."
"I'll go first," I whispered.
The bark scraped my arms as I squeezed in. I stumbled onto the other side, breathless. When I turned—my heart seized.
The gap was closing, the trees twisting shut like jaws. Nala slammed her shoulder against it, but it was useless.
"Amira!" she shouted, her face fierce.
"Nala!" I shouted, clawing at the roots. They did not budge.
Her fists hammered from the other side. "Amira! Step back! I'll break through!"
But before she could, the giggle came again. More voices joined it—dozens of them, shrill, cruel. Pale children crawled from the shadows around Nala, their limbs too thin, their eyes like holes. They circled her, teeth flashing.
"No! Leave her Alone!" I screamed, shoving at the barrier until my nails tore.
My hands pressed against the living wall, panic choking me alive. "Nala! Don't—don't die, please. We promised, remember? We'll both come back."
Her eyes softened, and for a moment, she was more than a friend. She was my
sister.
The forest swallowed her image whole. Then silence.
I stumbled backward, chest heaving, heart cracking. The gap was sealed completely, and I was alone.
The girl's laughter echoed once more, then faded into the trees.
For a long moment, I crouched there, shivering, refusing to breathe. I will
never forgive myself if she does not make it out alive. She risked her life all for me. So I must also be strong and live for her.
If I let myself cry, I would break. Instead, I pressed my fist against my chest and whispered, "I'll be strong—for you, Nala."
Then I rose, legs trembling, and pushed forward.
~~~
Hours blurred. My stomach clawed at me, my throat was dry, but I forced myself to keep moving. The child's voice was gone. Only silence remained.
And then—I saw it.
The forest opened into a clearing where sunlight fell in broken shafts. Perched on a low branch, shimmering like a fragment of the sky itself, was the bird. Its feathers shifted with impossible colors—emerald, gold, deep violet.
I froze.
Every ache, every fear, every shadow of doubt collapsed into that single, perfect moment.
The bird tilted its head, as if watching me.
And I knew—I had found it.