The little tarquil girl danced in a circle in a small clearing surrounded by tall trees and low shrubs but for a path back to her home a short distance away. Her small furred feet were bare and muddy up past her ankles and her plain dress of gray wool swirled around her knees as she turned in circles around the glade. The only part of her that was clean was the stream of silver hair that flowed down her head and shoulders and whipped around her like a shining flag as she danced.

There was no music to be heard or audience to watch and she moved like she was the only person in the world. Her eyes were closed and her mouth split by an elated smile, showing the tiny pointed canine teeth of her kind. When she threw her head back the sun shown down on her face and the shadow of leaves dappled her face in light and dark. Her dance stopped abruptly when she heard the sound of other children laughing and shouting deeper in the wood.

She wanted to investigate but her mother didn’t like her wandering too far from their home. She had to stay close enough to hear her parents call from the small yard around their little house. The laughter rang out again and the little girl’s curiosity overcame her caution. She crept through the brush toward the sound.

The Denari forest grew thick and tangled off the game trails and paths. For a child of eight summers the brambles and brush were no deterrent. She pushed through the clutching branches bordering her little sanctuary, pausing only briefly to tug on her dress when the hem caught on a thorn. It came free with only a small rip. She paid it no mind other than to remind herself she’d have to repair it after dinner. Her parents were simple traders in leather and furs and didn’t have much money. Her habit of running in the woods and damaging her clothes prompted her mother to teach her to sew at an early age.

Once through the bordering growth she ended up on a game trail that she knew opened out at a small pond where local children often gathered to swim and play. She figured that was the source of the sound and picked up the pace, running down the track toward the sounds of children at play. The wind blew up from the water, rustling leaves and carrying the smell of algae and standing water. The breeze was warm in the early summer afternoon, promising another hot, humid Firewatch in the southern forests.

It wasn’t long before the trail opened up to the clearing that housed the popular swimming hole. The wind blew a little harder, rustling the wispy tufts of fur along her jaw and slightly pointed ears. Her cat-like silver eyes scanned the clearing and settled on three older tarquil boys she recognized from the nearby village. The trio were standing over something on the ground and as she watched one of the boys threw a stone at whatever was at their feet. Their target, a bird she realized, tried to fly away but only managed a startled flutter after the stone hit it. The poor creature fell heavily to the ground and the boys laughed and looked around for another stone.

The girl wanted to run out and stop them but they were bigger than her and known to be cruel bullies in the village. She knew they’d hurt her if she interrupted their play. She looked around for anything that might be of use to distract the boys and get to the bird. Her eyes settled on the pond and an idea formed in her head.

The small pond had a rocky outcropping along one side where the water was clear and local children jumped from the rocks to swim. On the opposite end the ground was low and muddy and a scummy film of foul-smelling algae collected among the reeds. The older children liked to tell stories of things that lived among the reeds of the little swamp and everyone avoided it despite never having seen any of the rumored monsters. Some of the tales involved children who had wandered too close and never seen again except as swamp ghosts that could be heard at night, moaning and crying for someone to help them. She was never scared by the stories but avoided the area because of the smell. While the boys were focused on their game she darted out and slipped into the shallow water among the reeds.

The smell of rotting things and stagnant water made her gag but she submerged herself anyway, swimming underwater toward the worst part of the putrid morass. She crawled slowly from the shallows, letting the algae stick to her hair and shoulders as she surfaced. She dragged her lower body through the mud of the bank and slowly stood in a hunched crouch. Her dress clung to her bony form like a rotted garment of ages past and her wet hair, foul and green, hung about her like seaweed. She left it hanging around her face even as the smell turned her stomach. Taking a deep breath of rancid air she stepped out of the reeds and turned toward the boys. Seeing them now armed with sticks she hesitated. If her plan didn’t work they could do her real harm. Building up her determination she hunched her shoulders in what she thought, or hoped, would make her look like something other than herself.

Taking halting steps toward the boys she started to moan low in an imitation of the older childrens’ legendary swamp creature. It was a few moments, and a few more steps before the boys noticed her. When one of them did his reaction was immediate and he stepped back and slapped his friend’s shoulder to draw his attention to the apparition before them.

“What?” The boy saw his friend’s horrified stare and followed the look with his own slitted eyes.

“What in hells?” The second boy exclaimed when he saw the foul-smelling creature that was approaching.

The third, and largest looked up and stepped forward to better see. He hesitated, then slowly raised his stick.

“One of the swamp things,” the first boy said, taking another step back in preparation to flee.

“No such thing,” the third by said. Despite his words the girl could tell he was scared.

Thinking quickly she made her steps a little more jerky and looked up at them through the curtain of filthy hair covering her face. Seeing their terror building she let out a blood-curdling scream she hoped sounded as monstrous as possible. The screeching wail brought the older boy up short, and was enough for the other two. Fur raised on their necks and ears, and cat’like eyes wide, they bolted for the safety of the trees and home. The last boy took one last look at the malodorous nightmare stalking toward him but all nerve fled with his friends and he dropped the stick and joined them in the flight to safety.

The girl wasted no time rushing to the fallen bird lying in the muddy grass at the water’s edge. The bird wasn’t moving and blood mixed with the mud in red rivulets pouring into the ground. She thought it was dead and began to cry in frustration that she had been too slow. Then a twitch followed by a weak flutter let her know the poor creature was still alive. She gave a hoarse cry of relief and carefully picked up the bird in the hem of her dress and bolted for the trail that would take her to her little glade, then home.

While she ran she could feel the little bird move but it was weak, and getting weaker. The creature’s heart was beating rapidly in shock and fear, but slowing as she ran through the trees and brush. It was almost like she could feel its heartbeat through her whole body, pounding in her ears and behind her eyes. Tears streamed down her muddy face, trails through the muck. She reached into the dress-pouch to try and soothe the bird and her fingers brushed the wound briefly.

A shock, like being too close to a lightning strike, coursed through her body. THe hairs on the back of her neck, and tufts of her ears stood out and she shivered like cold water poured down her back. The feeling lasted for barely a breath but it felt like a lifetime to the girl who had never felt anything like it before. She stumbled and fell to her knees, skinning them on the hard ground.

She gasped for breath as the pain in her knees brought her to reality. She’d never been near an animal in so much pain and she wondered if it was like that for everyone else. Did her father get that feeling whenever he dressed an animal he had killed for food and furs? She wished she knew what to do to help the bird and take its pain away.

She smoothed the bird’s feathers and whispered to it that everything would be fine. Climbing to her feet she rushed off again to the one person she thought could help, her mother. The feeling that had coursed through her was starting to subside and her legs weakened as she ran. A sick feeling rose in the pit of her stomach and the bird began to thrash desperately. The pounding heartbeat, her own, or the birds, or both beat in her head now like mallets on a drum. She covered the bird with the hem of her dress, afraid it would fall from her hands. She pushed on despite her sore legs and the building nausea, hoping she would get home in time.

Minutes passed as she ran, or was it longer? She rushed into the yard of the small house as an older tarquil woman was stepping out of the front door. The house was simple, but not poor. It was well-maintained, as was the garden and flower bed in the side yard. The house itself was mostly wood with a stone chimney on one wall trailing smoke from the evening meal.

“Maya, what have you gotten into?” The woman asked sharply.

The girl realized how she must look to her mother, and regretted that she hadn’t time to at least rinse off the mud and grime before leaving the pond. The anger she saw in the woman’s pale eyes melted to concern as she got closer and she could see the blood on the child’s hands and knees. Maya’s face was streaked with a mixture of tears, mud and algae. The mess of her hair and dress had dried to a greenish brown and was tangled and torn. Her bloody hands clutching her torn dress in a equally bloody mass against her stomach, but the older woman did not know what was inside.

“Momma,” Maya took a shuddering breath, her eyes brimming with tears and shoulders heaving.

“The bird,” the girl gasped out between breaths. “It’s hurt.”

She offered the bundle up without opening her dress.

“Oh dear, let me see what you have there,” her mother said.

The woman knelt in front of her and gently unwrapped Maya’s sticky fingers from around the precious cargo. The bird began to struggled as the girl’s hold loosened and after a moment her mother had the bundle opened. The little brown bird fluttered and jumped from the girl’s hands to the ground. Maya cried out in dismay and surprise and her mother sat back on her heels to avoid the flapping wings near her face. The bird’s beady black eyes looked at the woman, then settled on Maya for a long moment. There was something in the look that the girl had never seen in the eyes of an animal before. The bird broke the connection, ruffled its feathers to loosen the dried mud and blood, took two short hops and lifted itself into the air with a flutter of wings.

“But,” Maya started, then stopped.

“Maya,” her mother’s voice was returning to its earlier level of frustration.

“Momma, it was hurt. I swear,” tears sprang anew to the girl’s eyes.

Unable to remain upset at her daughter the woman pulled Maya into her arms and soothed her with motherly expertise. She shushed the sobbing girl and rubbed her back gently. After a moment the girl stiffened and cried out in pain.

“What is it dear, did I hurt you?” The woman held her daughter out at arm’s length to see if she was injured.

Maya was grimacing in pain and holding her stomach.

“Momma, my tummy hurts,” Maya coughed and blood flecked her lips.

To her mother’s horror the little girl’s eyes rolled back and she pitched forward into the woman’s arms.