The road leads me away from the wheat fields and into another forest.
At first, I think it is like the forests I have already walked through. Trees are trees. Leaves are leaves. Roads are roads.
Then I look closer.
The colors are wrong.
Or maybe they are right and I am wrong.
The leaves above me are not only green. Some are bright yellow like the wheat fields. Others burn orange like the evening sun. Some are red-brown like old leather. Others are dark olive green. The forest floor is covered in fallen leaves that crunch beneath my feet. They gather in little hills beside roots and stones.
I stop walking for a moment.
The trees themselves seem unchanged. Their trunks are strong. Their branches reach into the sky.
The whole forest looks painted.
The colors do not fight each other. They sit together in a way I do not understand.
I bend down and pick up a leaf.
It is yellow.
A warm yellow.
I turn it over in my fingers.
Why would a tree make a yellow leaf?
The green ones seem to work well enough.
I look at the branches overhead. Hundreds. Thousands.
Some trees are almost entirely golden. Others seem half green and half orange. A few have deep red leaves that glow when sunlight passes through them.
I cannot find a reason.
So I keep walking and think about it.
Perhaps the trees are changing their clothes.
Perhaps the forest is trying to become a wheat field.
Perhaps all the leaves are dying at the same time.
The last thought makes me look around more carefully.
If they are dying, they seem very calm about it.
No tree appears frightened.
No tree tries to hold onto its leaves.
The leaves simply drift down when the wind asks them to.
One spins past my face.
Another lands on my shoulder.
I watch it for a few steps before brushing it away.
The forest feels different from the others I have known.
Not sad.
Not happy.
Gentle.
Like something preparing to sleep.
The sunlight reaches farther through the branches because there are fewer leaves above. Long beams of gold stretch across the road. Dust drifts through them. Every now and then a leaf falls through the light, turning slowly as it descends.
I find myself looking upward more than forward.
There is so much color.
A few days ago, I thought the wheat fields were beautiful.
This forest is beautiful too, but in another way.
The wheat fields felt alive and growing.
This forest feels alive and resting.
I do not know why I think this.
The thought simply comes.
The road curves between the trees.
I walk slowly.
I do not wish to hurry through this place.
The leaves crunch beneath my boots. The wind moves softly through the branches overhead. Every now and then another shower of gold and orange drifts down around me.
I reach out and catch one.
The leaf rests in my palm.
For a moment, I wonder if whoever made the world sat down one day and decided green alone was not enough.
The thought makes me smile.
A small smile.
Then I continue down the road, deeper into the painted forest, wondering why the trees have chosen such strange and beautiful colors.
I walk through the forest until I find a place where the ground is flat enough for kneeling. A large tree stands beside the road, its branches stretching wide above me. The leaves are strange and beautiful, painted in colors I still do not understand. Some shine gold like ripe wheat. Others are orange like the evening sky. Many have already fallen and formed a soft blanket across the earth.
The air is cool. A gentle wind moves through the branches overhead, and every so often a leaf breaks free and drifts slowly toward the ground. I decide this is a good place to stop.
I place my staff beside me and lower myself onto my knees.
As always, I bring my hands together. I bow my head. I do not know the words that others might say. I do not know the name of any god. I only know the posture. The kneeling man in the ruined church had looked peaceful, and every time I imitate him, some of that peace seems to find its way into me.
My thoughts settle little by little.
The wheat fields and the farmer's family. The taste of warm pottage after a day of work. The old attic filled with toys and bright colors. The children's laughter when I gave them the things I had found.
The world feels larger than it once did.
There are still many things I do not understand, but I no longer feel as though everything must be understood immediately. Sometimes it is enough simply to see something and be grateful that it exists.
I remain kneeling for several minutes, listening to the forest breathe around me.
Then something changes.
At first, it is only a faint sound. The crunch of leaves beneath a heavy foot. The scrape of metal against bark. Small noises, but different from the sounds of the forest.
I open my eyes and turn my head slightly.
A figure stands among the trees.
The man wears armor.
For a moment, my body tenses on its own. The memory comes back before I can stop it. Shining soldiers advancing across a burning battlefield. Spears moving together. Warriors falling. Orders shouted through smoke.
But this man is not standing straight.
His armor is scratched and dirty. One shoulder plate hangs at an angle. More importantly, there is blood on him. A dark stain spreads across the front of his chest plate and down toward his side. Even from where I kneel, I can see that he is wounded badly.
The knight sees me at the same time.
His eyes widen.
Immediately, his hand goes to the sword at his hip.
I reach for my staff, but I do not raise it. My fingers simply rest on the wood.
The knight pulls his sword free. Or tries to.
The motion is slow and uneven. His arm shakes as he lifts the blade. Instead of the controlled movement of a trained warrior, it looks like a man forcing his body to obey when it no longer wishes to.
The tip of the sword points toward me, but only barely.
His breathing is heavy. His face has gone pale beneath the dirt and sweat.
For a few seconds, neither of us moves.
The wind stirs the leaves overhead. Gold and orange drift down between us.
"Orc C does not mean any harm," I say carefully. "Orc C would prefer not fighting."
The knight stares at me.
Perhaps he is surprised that an orc can speak peacefully. Perhaps he is surprised by what I said. I cannot tell.
His grip tightens around the sword.
He tries to raise it higher.
His body refuses.
The strength leaves his arm first. Then his legs.
The knight suddenly drops to one knee. The sword falls point-first into the ground, and he catches himself against the hilt before he can collapse completely. His head lowers as he struggles for breath. One hand remains clenched around the sword while the other presses desperately against the wound in his side.
Only now do I realize how much blood there is.
The stain across his armor is larger than I first thought. Fresh blood still leaks between the gaps in the plates. Whatever happened to him happened recently.
I remain where I am.
The knight remains where he is.
For a strange moment, we are both kneeling beneath the same tree.
The difference is that I chose to kneel.
The knight had no choice.
He coughs hard and nearly falls forward. When he lifts his head again, there is exhaustion in his eyes, but also determination. He is clearly trying to decide whether I am a threat he must fight or simply the last thing standing between him and death.
As I look at him, another thought enters my mind.
The first time I saw armored men, they were unstoppable.
This one looks very tired.
I move closer, one step at a time. The knight watches me, but he does not lift his sword again. Perhaps he cannot. His hand is still wrapped around it, though he uses the weapon more like a cane than a weapon now. When I come close enough, I can hear how hard he is breathing.
"Orc C is going to help," I tell him. "Orc C will not hurt you."
He does not answer.
I wait for a moment, then slowly reach toward his armor. He stiffens when my hand touches the edge of his chest plate, and I stop immediately. I do not know much about human armor. I have seen armor before, but seeing something and knowing how it works are different things. I look at the straps and small metal pieces and try to understand which parts are holding the others together.
I start with the piece covering his shoulder. I pull one strap and nothing happens. I pull it again, harder, and the knight winces. I stop and look at him.
"Orc C is sorry. Orc C does not know how this works."
I try another strap instead.
This one loosens.
The armor comes away more easily than I expect, and I carefully lower the piece onto the leaves. Then I work on the next one. It takes me a long time. Sometimes I pull the wrong strap. Sometimes I have to turn a metal piece around before I understand which way it is supposed to come off. The knight seems to have no strength left to help me, so I have to figure it out myself.
I do not rush.
Rushing makes things worse. I learned this from the farmer when he taught me how to cut wheat. If I force the sickle, I damage the stalks. If I move too quickly, I make mistakes. So I take my time, even though I do not know if I am doing this correctly.
Eventually, enough of the armor is removed for me to see the wound properly.
It is bad.
I do not know what caused it. The cut is along his side, beneath where the armor had protected him. Blood has soaked into his clothing and continues to seep out whenever he moves. I look at it for a while, trying to remember if I have seen something like this before.
I have not.
I tear strips from the cloth around my arm. The fabric does not tear easily, so I use my teeth and pull until a long piece comes free. I fold it several times and place it over the wound.
The knight's body becomes tense.
"Stay still," I say. "Orc C knows this part."
I am not sure that I do.
But I know that pressure can make blood stop coming out so quickly. I press the cloth against the wound and wrap another strip around his body. My hands are clumsy, and the first knot slips loose. I try again. This time I pull the cloth tighter, but not so much that I think it will hurt him more.
The bandage is ugly.
It is uneven and badly tied.
But it stays.
I look at the knight's face. His eyes are closed now. His breathing is still heavy, but he is no longer trying to raise the sword.
I reach into my bag and take out the waterskin the farmer gave me.
I had been saving it.
The farmer had told me to keep it filled whenever I found clean water. I did not understand at first why he gave me something so useful when I could drink from rivers, but I have learned that carrying water means having it when there is no river.
I hold it toward the knight.
"Drink."
He does not move.
I bring the waterskin closer to his mouth. He opens his eyes slightly and looks at it. For a moment, I think he may refuse. Then his lips part.
I tilt it carefully.
Only a little water comes out at first. The knight swallows slowly. I wait before giving him more. He coughs after the second mouthful, so I lower the waterskin and let him breathe.
"Slowly," I say. "Orc C has water. There is no need to take it all at once."
After a while, I give him more.
He drinks.
When I pull the waterskin away, there is a little water left. I put it back into my bag. I do not know how long I will need it, but I can find another river later.
The knight tries to stand.
He pushes himself up with his sword, but his right leg shakes badly. He manages to rise halfway before his body gives up again.
I quickly reach for him.
"Do not."
He looks at me.
"Orc C means you should not."
I move around to his right side and lower my body beside him. I put his right arm over my shoulder. His armor is heavy even after I have removed some of it, and his body feels heavier than I expected.
I straighten slowly.
The knight nearly falls against me.
I catch him.
For a moment, we stay like that.
His weight presses against my shoulder, and my knees bend under it. I have to plant my feet firmly before I can move.
"Orc C will carry some of you," I say. "You walk with the rest."
He gives no answer.
Maybe he cannot speak.
Maybe he does not trust me enough.
That is fine.
I do not need him to speak.
I look around the forest. The road is too open, and the knight is in no condition to remain standing in the middle of it. There are trees a short distance away, and beneath them the ground is lower and covered with thick leaves.
I begin walking.
One step.
Then another.
The knight's sword drags against the ground behind us, making a soft scrape through the leaves. His weight shifts with every step, forcing me to adjust my footing. I move slowly because I do not want either of us to fall.
The forest does not hurry us.
So I do not hurry either.
I carry the wounded knight beneath the golden and red leaves, looking for somewhere safer where he can rest. I do not know who he is. I do not know where he came from. I do not know who wounded him.
I only know that he was hurt.
And he needed help.
For now, that is enough.
We walk for some time before I see a dark opening between the trees. At first, I think it is only a large shadow beneath the rocks, but when I come closer, I see that it is a cave. It is not very deep. There are no tracks that I can see, no sounds coming from within, and no smell of another animal. I stand at the entrance for a while, listening. Nothing moves.
I look at the knight beside me. He is still leaning heavily against me, and his steps have become slower. I do not think he can walk much farther.
"Orc C thinks this place is safe," I say. "Orc C will put you here."
The knight does not answer. He only looks at me.
I slowly help him inside. His boots scrape against the stone floor as I guide him farther into the cave. I make sure he is sitting against the wall before letting go of him. When I remove my shoulder from beneath his arm, his body almost falls to one side, so I quickly catch him and place him against the rock again.
"There," I say. "Orc C thinks you can rest here."
The knight looks at me for a moment. His breathing is still heavy, but he seems less afraid than before. I take this as a good sign.
I look around the cave. There is a patch of dry ground near the back, away from the cold air coming through the entrance. I drag some loose leaves and soft grass toward the knight and place them beneath him. It is not a proper bed, but it is softer than stone.
Then I remember something else.
Food.
I put down my leather bag and open it. I search through it with my hand.nI find some of the other things I carried from the attic. I search the bottom of the bag.
Nothing.
I turn the bag upside down.
Nothing falls out.
I stare into it for a long moment.
I had forgotten that I had eaten the last of my food.
I close the bag and look at the knight.
"Orc C will get some food," I tell him.
The knight watches me silently.
I pick up my wooden staff and stand.
"Orc C will hunt."
I take a few steps toward the entrance, then stop. I look at the cave floor. If I leave the knight here, he will have no fire. The air is becoming colder, and the light outside is already changing.
I remember the farmer.
Before I left, the farmer had given me a small piece of flint and steel. He had shown me how to strike them together and make sparks. I had tried it several times at his house. I was not very good at it.
But I had learned enough.
I put down my staff and gather dry branches from around the cave entrance. Some are thin and easy to break. Others are thicker. I search beneath the trees for pieces of wood that have stayed dry. I bring them back one at a time until I have a small pile.
The knight watches me while I work.
I kneel beside the pile and take out the flint and steel.
I strike them together.
Nothing happens.
I strike again.
A small spark appears and disappears.
I stare at the wood.
Then I strike again.
Another spark.
This time it lands among some dry grass I have placed beneath the smallest branches. A tiny orange point appears. I lean closer and blow gently like the way the farmer do.
The tiny point becomes a small flame.
I stop blowing.
The flame remains.
I place a few more thin branches over it, carefully enough that I do not crush the fire. The flame grows slowly, then begins to spread from branch to branch. Soon there is a small fire burning inside the cave.
I sit back on my heels.
It works.
I look at the knight.
"Orc C make fire."
The knight's eyes move toward the flames. Then he looks back at me.
I do not know if he understands my words.
I stand and look outside.
The sky has become darker than before. The sun is still above the trees, but it is beginning to disappear behind them. The light between the branches has turned pale and golden.
I look up at the sky.
It will be dark soon.
But not yet.
There is still enough light for me to hunt.
I pick up my staff.
"Orc C will go now," I say. "Orc C will bring food back."
The knight remains silent.
I point toward the fire.
"Stay here."
I am not sure if he understands that either.
Still, I leave.
The forest feels different when I walk through it alone. Before, I had been thinking about the knight and making sure he did not fall. Now I have only one thing to think about.
Food.
I walk slowly.
I do not run.
I remember the bear.
The bear did not chase the fish.
She waited.
I remember the farmer.
He told me not to take too much at once. Do one thing properly before doing another.
So I wait.
I find a place beneath some trees where the ground is covered with leaves. I stand still and listen.
At first, I hear nothing.
Then I hear a small sound.
Scratch.
I turn my head.
There is movement between two bushes.
I do not move.
Another sound.
Scratch.
A rabbit comes out from beneath the leaves.
I watch it.
The rabbit does not see me.
I wait.
My legs want to move. My body feels ready to jump, but I keep it still. The rabbit takes another step. Then another.
It turns its head.
I wait.
The rabbit lowers its head.
I move.
For a moment, I am very fast.
My body bursts forward before the rabbit can run. I reach down with both hands and catch it against the ground.
The rabbit kicks hard.
I hold it carefully but firmly.
Then it becomes still.
I stare at it.
I did not use my staff.
I did not throw anything.
I only waited.
I place the rabbit in my leather bag.
Then I go back to waiting.
It takes some time before I find another.
This one is farther away. I see its ears first, moving above the grass. I stay behind a tree and watch.
The rabbit comes closer.
I wait.
It stops.
I wait longer.
Then it turns away.
I move.
Again, my body becomes fast.
I rush forward in a sudden burst and catch it before it can disappear into the bushes.
Two.
I sit for a moment and look at the two rabbits in my bag.
I think about the fish I caught before.
I had learned to wait because of the bear.
Now I understand that waiting is useful for more than fish.
I continue searching.
The forest becomes quieter as the sun lowers. The shadows grow longer, and the orange light between the trees begins to fade.
I know I should return soon.
But then I see another rabbit.
It is standing in a small open space between the trees.
I stop.
It does not see me.
I lower myself.
I wait.
The rabbit moves one step.
Then another.
I wait.
My fingers tighten around the ground.
I do not think about catching it.
I only watch.
When it turns its head away, I move.
My legs push against the ground, and I rush forward with all the speed my body can give. Leaves fly behind my feet. The rabbit jumps, but I am already there.
My hands close around it.
Three.
I stand there breathing heavily, holding the rabbit against my chest.
I look down at it.
Then I look toward the sky.
The light is almost gone now.
"Orc C has enough," I say.
I put the third rabbit into my bag and begin walking back toward the cave.
The forest is darker than when I left. I can still see the path I made through the trees, but I do not want to be far away when night arrives.
As I walk, I think about what happened.
I caught three rabbits with my hands.
Maybe I am not good at many things.
But perhaps my body knows some things before my head does.
I reach the cave as the last light disappears behind the trees.
The fire is still burning.
The knight is still there.
He looks toward me when I enter.
I lift my bag slightly.
"Orc C brought food."
The knight's expression changes.
It is only a small change.
But I see it.
And I understand that he is glad.
I take the knife from my leather bag. The farmer gave it to me before I left, along with the flint and steel. I kneel beside the fire and begin preparing one of the rabbits. I cut away what I cannot eat and place the rest over the fire.
The meat cooks slowly. When it is ready, I take a bite.
It has almost no flavor.
Still, I eat it. Having food is better than having nothing.
I tear off some of the cooked meat and bring it to the knight. I hold it out to him.
"Eat. Orc C thinks you need food."
The knight looks at the meat, then at me. After a moment, he accepts it and eats slowly. I give him a little more before returning to my own meal.
When I finish eating, I put the knife away and sit quietly beside the fire for a while. The cave is dark except for the small light in front of us. The knight rests against the stone, and his breathing has become calmer.
I look at the fire.
Then I look down at my hands.
I do not know what I am supposed to say.
So I do what I have always done.
I kneel.
I place my hands together and lower my head.
"Orc C does not know if anyone is listening," I whisper. "But Orc C is here."
I stay there quietly.
And for a little while, the inside of me becomes still.