Forest Spirits

A bit of fiction that I have attempted to write. It's a little rusty. I haven't written fiction in ages, but I hope to get back into it. Here's to tales around the shaman's camp fire . . . To the smoke in which the spirit is woven,

In the quiet of the night, a boy stood up from the side of a river. The air was frigid, and a breeze carried his breath into the moonlight like glowing smoke. Utter silence filled the forest. The animals did not stir, nor did the people who were encamped a few yards away. The sky was frosty and clear – as cold as the abyss of the stars and just as equally expansive. The boy made his way down the riverside, his hands chapped dry by the air. His focused on his breath as he approached a clearing from the brush. “This,” he said in his native tongue, “this was it.”

He took a first step into the clearing which was illuminated by the full moon. From his pouch, he removed a tiny pouch, pulling out three stones and gripping them in his hand.

“Spirits!” He requested, tossing the three stones into the air. They knocked about a rotted log and scattered on a patch of frozen moss.

“Spirits!” he shouted again.

The forest remained silent, as before.

Suddenly, the sound of cracked twig shot through the forest. The boy turned around quickly, his heart pounding in anticipation.

Silence resumed.

“Do you test me?” He inquired boastingly as his hands trembled.

The Spirits did not respond. He sighed, regaining composure and tracing his steps back to the path. He dared not speak another word.

There was the low sound of breathing about the trees, and the boy looked around again. He began to suspect he was being hunted.

The breathing stopped short. “It’s time to run!” He thought to himself. Just as he began to jog in the general direction of his camp, a voice called out to him from the clearing behind. It made no discernable words, at least, nothing the boy could understand. He turned quickly, only to witness a massive creature, as tall as, yes! Two men! With massive shoulders, as if it had wings. It had no discernable face, but it moved! Toward him, floating through the air.

Needless to say, the boy was already running – and never turned around until he made it back to the flames of the camp.