The first rays of dawn light came through the small window of the ancient hunting hut. Willa, who was still half-asleep, said a modest prayer to the old wooden cross in the corner. The air was dense and smelled lovely, thanks to the dried wild thyme and the sticky pine of the hut walls. She cleaned up and ate a basic but filling breakfast before starting to pack her things, carefully examining each one as she went.
Her old canvas backpack, which had seen better days, held her knife in its faded leather sheath and a reliable hatchet with a blade that had just been sharpened. She stopped for a while at the door, her hand brushing against the rough surface of the antique deer antlers that were mounted on the post. This trophy from her father wasn’t just for show; it was a silent guardian that kept an eye on her safe place. The morning mist moved slowly over the wet ground, like a living thing, covering everything in a silver shroud. “Okay, old guard, keep an eye on the house,” she said to the antlers. “I’m going to the bog to get some golden root.” It can’t wait.
As
A strange, heavy silence made her nervous all of a sudden. The chickadees that are often there had even stopped chirping, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. A thick, milky-white fog started to creep forward from the border of the woods. It was sluggish and authoritative, and it swallowed up the shapes of the trees. “Why is it so quiet, Mother Forest?” Willa wondered aloud, as if talking to the fog. Willa whispered, feeling a tiny cold run down her spine.
She took out her ancient but reliable compass to see where she was going. At that very moment, her nose picked up an unusual and scary smell. It didn’t smell like pine needles or wet moss; it smelled harsh and unpleasant.
A dark, twisted shape started to show through the fog. It wasn’t a bird or an animal; it was a man-made thing that was now ugly and defenseless. The bog had a little two-seater helicopter that was half-sunk in its ravenous hands. The impact bent its cockpit, stained the glass with brownish sludge, and broke pieces of its rotor blades that stuck out at weird angles, like broken bones.
Willa’s heart raced against her ribs. With a few strong swings of her hatchet, the door eventually gave apart with a loud, metallic scream. In the dark cockpit, she could see a young man who was unconscious and wearing a light city windbreaker and dark pants. His left arm was bent in a way that was unpleasant and unnatural. The machine kept slowly but surely going down into the mud, making a soft sucking sound. The thick slime was already lapping at the edge of the entrance. “You’re a lucky one,” Willa said through tight teeth as she grabbed his garments. “If I had come by tomorrow, there would have been nothing left of you to find.”
She worked very hard to pull him up onto stable ground. She promptly cut down two long, strong saplings after looking around. She took off her jacket and pulled a canvas tarp out of her pack. Then she made a simple but useful travois. She leaned into the homemade ropes and lifted the heavy load onto her shoulders. She knew that right now, she was the only thing keeping this stranger alive.
The trip back developed into a long, painful marathon. She had to pause a lot to regain her breath since her lungs were burning and her muscles were screaming from the strain. They didn’t get to her cabin until it was almost dark. That night was long and full of worry. The wounded man’s quiet groans and the bitter, healing smell of the herbs she worked so hard to prepare filled the air.
She gave him a decoction of willow bark, which is a beneficial way to treat heat and pain, drop by drop. He was out cold, but his swallowing reflex worked, and the life-giving liquid went down. She carefully made a splint out of flexible willow switches and kept the fractured arm still. She then put a poultice of mashed comfrey root directly on the fracture.
The numerous bruises and severe concussion contributed to the high fever. Willa fought off the madness by putting cold compresses on his forehead again. She let herself lean against the warm wood heater for a bit and close her eyes only when the fever finally broke, which was just before daybreak.
When he eventually woke up, his eyes were cloudy and full of an unasked query. “Don’t move, Evan,” she murmured tenderly, almost like a mother, as she brought a cup of new broth to his lips. She had discovered his name from the pilot’s license she found while taking off his dirty, wet clothes. “My name is Willa.”
“Someone must be looking for me…” His voice sounded scratchy and cracked. “I have to… let them know…” He tried to push himself up on one elbow, but a piercing agony shot through him, making him groan and fall back.
“There’s no signal out here.” “No cell, no anything,” Willa murmured, shaking her head as she held him steady. “It’s a full day’s hike to Miner’s Ridge, and that’s at a good pace.” “You’d never make it with those injuries.” She helped him take a sip. “Your arm is broken, and you have a bad concussion.” You need some time to get back on your feet.
“So… we’re cut off? From everything? He carefully moved his head and looked around the simple furniture in the hunting hut, hardly believing what he saw.
“Yes, for now,” she said with a nod. “Just you and me.” He was so confused and weak that it broke her heart, and she felt real pity for him. She could feel his first, terrified fear slowly turning into a tired, animal-like acceptance of what would happen to him.
The next few weeks gave her lonely life a new, unexpected meaning. Willa took care of her unexpected guest while singing the long-forgotten songs her mother used to sing. His presence and renewed passion in life made her feel less alone in a manner. She made thick, tasty stews and rich potato soups, and she was startled to find that she liked the feeling of caring for someone and seeing real thanks in their eyes. Occasionally she could feel his thoughtful stare on her, and a strange, warm feeling would rise inside her.
One day, he murmured, “I must be a burden to you, Willa,” and his voice was full of real guilt. “Just dead weight.”
She laughed, and the sound was remarkably light. “I’m not scared of working hard, Evan. It’s something I’m used to. And don’t say anything stupid. You need to listen to me and get better so you can get back on your feet faster.
She tried to avoid touching him too much, but every time their eyes met by chance, she felt something tighten inside her. She had to lean in quite close to check if the splint was too tight one day as she was adjusting the sling on his arm. Evan held his breath, and all of a sudden, the fingers of his healthy hand stroked her cheek delicately, as if they were weightless. He muttered with real appreciation, “You… you have an amazing gift.” “It’s like you know how to ease the pain itself, not just the body.”
Willa sat up straight, as if she had been scorched, and felt a burning blush spread across her face. “I’m an herbalist, Evan,” she stated curtly as she walked away to the wood stove. “My mother taught me, that’s all.” But inside, something had shaken and responded to that basic, honest touch for the first time in a long time.
Time went by. The healing teas worked, and Evan’s strong, young body started to take over. His bruises were receding, his bone was healing, and he was getting stronger. Willa was running out of salt, matches, and propane canisters for her portable stove, though. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning for two days,” she told him as she packed her hiking bag. “I need to go to Miner’s Ridge.”
Evan blinked and looked at her, as if he didn’t get it right away. “Where?” The woman looked him in the eye, and her heart suddenly hurt in a way that was new and strange—a feeling of estrangement and desire. “To town for supplies.” Salt, matches, and propane. “Don’t worry, I’ve left you everything you need,” Willa said as kindly as she could, attempting to hide how painful it would be to leave him alone.
She left the cabin just before sunrise. It took a long time to get to the settlement, and it was tiring. She was only thinking about practical things the whole time, like whether the money she would make from selling her dried herbs would be enough to buy everything she needed for the next month.
She strolled inside the general store she knew well and dropped her heavy load by the door with a sigh of relief. Brenda, the town’s local gossip and an endless source of all kinds of news, stood behind the counter as always. She was rosy-cheeked and full of life. “Oh, Willa! At last! I was getting scared and wondering where you had gone.” She said with a big smile on her face. “Okay, what treats did you bring me?”
“Just what I had,” Willa replied as she started to put nicely tied bunches of herbs on the counter. “I need a new propane tank, Brenda, five boxes of matches, and a bag of salt.”
The shopkeeper, who had a thick key ring, walked to the back room to find the tank and talked the whole time. “Oh, Willa, you won’t believe what’s been going on! You probably haven’t heard a thing, since you’re out in the sticks. Last week, they officially called off the search.
Willa, who had been counting the money from the plants, abruptly stopped. “What search?” She asked, attempting to keep her voice steady.
“Why, a helicopter that has been missing for about a month and a half.” The authorities certainly would have given up sooner, but this is a rare case. Gregory Shaw, a prominent figure in our community, generously offered a substantial reward for its discovery. “That helicopter was his nephew’s,” they say.
Willa’s whole body, even her bones, felt like ice. She quickly looked up at Brenda. “Nephew?”” Her voice seemed empty and far away, like it was coming from underneath.
“Yep, and look, I still have the local paper here,” Brenda added, taking out a faded edition from under the bar. “Too bad about the kid, really.” Disappeared without a trace. People say he was flying on business for Shaw himself. You know him, don’t you? He is the one who acquired the sawmill from your dad and the Cross family all those years ago.
Brenda’s comments were too quiet for Willa to hear. A loud noise flooded her ears, and all she could think of was Evan. The love and sympathy she had progressively started to feel for the young pilot turned into a scorching, suffocating feeling of betrayal and unfairness. She remembered the costly watch on his wrist and his sophisticated, “not-from-around-here” looks. Now, they didn’t make her feel sorry for them; they just made her old, childish anguish worse.
“Willa, sweetie, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve lost all your color! Brenda was worried.
Willa shook her head hard to bring herself back to the present. “Just tired… It was a long walk,” she said through tears. “Do you still rent out the upstairs room for the night?”
