For a long, suspended moment, neither of them moved. The forest held its breath.
The boy—Rimo, though he did not yet know it—remained coiled in his defensive crouch. His gaze was locked on the intruder, analyzing her with a speed that felt inhuman. Young female. Approximately five-foot-five. Slender build. No visible weapons. Basket—foraging? Posture: tense, shoulders raised. Eyes wide, pupils dilated. Breathing shallow. Expression: 87% fear, 12% surprise, 1%... concern? The calculations flickered through his mind, a cold, instinctual assessment.
The young woman, Elara, was indeed terrified. She had come to the Whispering Woods for valerian root and moon-leaf, a common errand. She had not expected to find a wild animal in boy's clothing, covered in what looked like a week's worth of blood, his eyes holding the feral glint of a cornered wolf. Her first instinct was to run. But as her eyes darted over him, she saw the ragged clothes, the trembling in his arms despite his fierce posture, the absolute, profound confusion buried beneath the snarl.
This wasn't a monster. This was a child. A lost, terrified, and clearly injured child.
"Easy," she said, her voice softer than she felt. It was a whisper, barely audible over the babbling stream. "I'm not going to hurt you."
His eyes narrowed. The words were meaningless sounds, but the tone was a low, non-threatening frequency. He didn't relax, but the rigid tension in his shoulders eased by a fraction of a degree.
Elara moved with an excruciating slowness that set his every nerve on edge. She didn't make any sudden moves towards him. Instead, she slowly, so slowly, lowered her wicker basket to the mossy ground. She kept her eyes on his, her movements open and predictable.
"I have food," she said, her voice a little steadier now. She reached into the basket and pulled out a wrapped cloth, unfolding it to reveal strips of dried apple and a hunk of hard cheese. The scent of the fruit, sweet and sharp, cut through the smells of blood and damp earth.
His stomach clenched with a hunger so violent it was a physical pain. He hadn't even been aware of it until now. The sight of the food was a temptation more powerful than any threat. The conflict within him was a silent war. Every instinct born in the last hour of his life screamed that this was a trap, that kindness was a lure for a snare. But a deeper, more ancient instinct, one buried under the blank slate of his amnesia, recognized the offering for what it was: a gesture of peace.
Threat? his combat-mind asked.
Food, his body begged.
Kindness? a forgotten, hopeful part of him whispered.
Elara took a single piece of dried apple and, with a gentle underhand toss, sent it arcing through the air. It landed in the soft moss halfway between them.
The boy's eyes flicked from her face to the fruit and back again. His nostrils flared, taking in the scent. He could detect no poison, no taint of deception on it. Just food.
He uncoiled from his crouch, standing upright, but his body was still ready to spring away or forward. He took one hesitant step. The moss was soft and silent under his bare foot. Another step. He was close enough to see the fine details of her face—the freckles dusting her nose, the genuine worry in her green eyes, the way she bit her bottom lip in apprehension.
He was close enough to grab the fruit.
He dropped into a squat, his eyes never leaving her, and snatched the piece of apple from the ground. He retreated two quick steps, putting distance between them again. Only then did he look down at the morsel in his hand.
He brought it to his nose and sniffed. Still clean. He took a small, tentative bite.
Flavor exploded on his tongue. Sweet, tangy, chewy. It was the most incredible thing he had ever experienced. He devoured the rest of the piece in two frantic bites, the simple act of eating feeling both profoundly new and deeply familiar.
Elara let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. A small, cautious smile touched her lips. "It's good, isn't it? There's more." She gestured to the cloth still in her hand.
He looked from the food to her face. The fear in his eyes was still there, a wild, skittish thing, but it was now mingled with a desperate, burgeoning hope. He took another step forward, then another, his movements less those of a predator and more those of a frightened animal approaching a handout.
He was within arm's reach now. He could see the weave of her simple linen dress, the calluses on her fingers. He slowly, tremblingly, reached out his hand for the cloth holding the cheese.
As his fingers brushed against it, Elara got a clear, close look at his face. She saw the dirt, the exhaustion, the lingering traces of blood near his hairline. And she saw his eyes, no longer narrowed in suspicion, but wide and uncertain as he focused on the food.
The sun, finding another gap in the canopy, fell fully upon them.
The light hit his eyes, and the warm, light brown irises seemed to ignite from within, transforming into a radiant, luminous gold.
Elara gasped, her hand jerking back slightly in shock.
The boy flinched, ready to bolt, his head snapping up.
"Your eyes..." she whispered, her own wide with awe. "In the light... they're like liquid gold."
He stared at her, utterly bewildered. He didn't understand her words. He only saw her shock, and it terrified him. What was she seeing? What was wrong with him? He took a stumbling step back, the cheese forgotten, his brief moment of trust shattered by her reaction.
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Chapter 2 End