The Untold Forest Elisa Menz (classic literature books .txt) 📖

Hakken still wandered near the border. An old habit, back from his childhood. The guardians often patrolled around here, but there were hardly any trespassers anymore. Hakken enjoyed roaming these lands since he could easily find solitude.

But peace could be easily broken. So, as he became aware a sizable group of humans traveled close to the trees, he walked away to avoid them. It was time to return to the village. He had no particular interest in coming back, but walking around doing nothing was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. “Kniv will lecture me again,” he groaned. His old friend didn’t take his getaways very well. Hakken expected a new scolding for constantly putting himself in danger.

The midday sun warmed the earth under his boots, and an unpleasant layer of sweat covered his forehead. Maybe he hated sunny days the most. His stomach growled, reminding him again he hadn’t eaten a warm meal since he left his people. He didn’t mind. At the end of the day, he would gobble up a piece of roasted meat, sitting around a campfire, surrounded by loud children and noisy adults.

A gentle breeze swayed the branches and carried the fresh scent of the Forest in the air; damp dirt and the first flowers of spring. Birds and pixies hovered around him—a wearisome dance of colors and bliss.

Suddenly, tension tinted the placid atmosphere. Hakken’s uneasiness made him shiver as he glanced around. The first thing he sensed was the Path. It bothered him all day, a permanent and subtle pressure that didn’t leave him alone.

This, he never experienced before. The Path urged him to move in one direction. The strain was so overwhelming it forced Hakken to turn, finding himself facing the frantic escape of critters coming from the border.

The breeze that a few moments ago traveled thick with sweetness brought the smell of blood. Hakken growled and ran at full speed towards it. All signs hinting something terrible had happened.

When he reached the border, the stench of smoke and blood became unbearable. Before his eyes located the danger, he heard the howls of pain and dread. The pack of wolves had been attacked, and inexplicably, humans made the killing. Hakken stopped in his tracks as soon as the chilling scene appeared in front of his eyes.

The bodies of the adult wolves were being stacked on a cart. Sitting by a small fire, two men pulled out the bloody arrows from the corpses the hunters collected from nearby. Hunting dogs barked, tied in line to the back of the cart.

Only one of the wolf puppies remained alive, writhing in the arms of a boyish man who hit his snout. A morbid smirk on his face while a group of brats laughed around him. The men who moved the bodies paid no attention to them; they were only there to do the dirty work.

Hakken’s blood boiled, watching the disgusting display. Hidden in the foliage, he studied the scene. He couldn’t kill them all on his own. The young men appeared to be as useless as they looked, but the older men were strong, all carrying swords or bows.

Nonetheless, those men broke the law; they should deliver the punishment. Before he decided on the course of action, the boy tormenting the puppy let out a scream. The cub bit him hard enough to draw blood. He straightened up, raising the puppy above his head, before throwing it hard against a boulder. The cub died instantly, and all the surrounding men watched with emotionless stares.

Hakken clenched his fists so hard, his nails dug into his palms. He was livid. The damn miserable bully deserved to die.

Brave little one. He frowned, eyes fixed on the young wolf’s body. To punish those monsters, he needed the help of his tribe. But the desire to jump on them and rip off their throats made him flinch with anger—especially the wretched brat who seemed to be the ringleader.

His people spoke the human language long ago. After loosing all contact between humans and half-breed, only a handful passed down the knowledge. Hakken remained one of the few familiar with their tongue. So he soon learned the pathetic prick's name was Kieran. The time to decide what to do had come.

In the middle of his debate, a slight movement by his side called his attention. Holed up between the roots of a tree, two pixies trembled with fear. Hakken understood what he should do. He brought a hand to the pixies, who sniffed for a few seconds before giving him a tiny yet determined nod and flying fast towards the thicket. He knew they would deliver the message to his tribe. Hakken would not join them yet. He wanted to assist in the execution in a more effective way. At least that’s what he told himself.

He wanted to get caught. A risky and spectacularly stupid plan, but hey, he felt stupid. If he were to be taken to their household, their tribe would have more chances of finding them on time, following his scent. The tactical advantage had to be considered. Being inside during the attack, there was a good chance to prevent sneaky criminals from escaping before his people reached them.

He had to admit he was also curious about how humans lived. He had only seen them from afar, living in tiny farms and huts. So he seized his chance to have a closer look. They were fearful, weak creatures. A sick part of him thought, while being among them, he would play with their fears.

If his scheme failed to work, and the men tried to kill him on sight, he would take several with him. The brat, for sure.

He circled the camp, planning the least suspicious way of getting ‘caught.’ The trail of blood, footprints, and broken branches stretched for several meters. That entire area turned into a gruesome graveyard.

Hakken found some broken arrows scattered, but nothing useful, until the scent of rust caught his attention. Hidden under the leaves, a huge trap awaited the moment to claim