Chapter 4:
Three Years in the Forest
THE FORTUNE-TELLER CAME to see me many times after that. She came to chat with me and gave me lesser potions. She’d share her meals, too.
Things only got worse for me. Within a year, I couldn’t go home anymore. I’d stand outside bawling and throw rocks at the windows, but then Dad would come out and beat me up. It hurt more than anything I’d ever felt before, and Mom didn’t even try to stop him.
The potions helped, even if they were lesser. My body was covered in scars, but I didn’t cry over them.
In a way, it was a relief to hide in the woods. I didn’t want to run into anyone, so I got better at avoiding people in the trees and the brush.
I read the books from the fortune-teller’s bag over and over to drill the knowledge into my head. Edible fruits, poisonous plants, medicinal herbs—I could tell them apart on sight now. My life in the forest had become more comfortable. Making myself sick from eating poisonous plants was just a bad memory.
There was also a book on trapping game. I learned what I could and found some traps I could make on my own. It took a few tries, but before long I was catching prey. I thought I could hear Past Me screaming while I gutted and cleaned my kills, but that might’ve been my imagination. I was just excited to have meat again!
After three grueling years in the forest, I was strong. I could run long distances through the trees. I got better at catching small game animals, too. I could treat my own wounds with medicinal herbs, but it was usually better to use a lesser potion. Life in the woods wasn’t so bad!
The fortune-teller visited me every two weeks…or she was supposed to, anyway. But over a month had passed, so I decided to go to the village for the first time in years to check on her. The people I passed couldn’t hide their surprised looks—maybe they’d assumed I was dead. As if I’d die that easily!
I went to the fortune-teller’s house, but no one answered. Had something happened? Now I was really worried.
I could hear whispers of the villagers behind me. When I listened closer, what I heard made my heart ache—it was as if those bystanders were squeezing it with their own hands, but…I’d gotten my answer.
I turned and ran deep into the woods. The fortune-teller was dead. She’d gotten a cold, people said, and it would’ve been so easy for her to be cured. If the chief had just given her a potion…
But the chief refused. The chief refused, and it was all because of me…because she’d been nice to me. She’d become hated by all in the village for showing me kindness, and I hadn’t even known. It was all my fault…
I fled back to my hiding spot. I was numb; I couldn’t do anything. I was sad, but…I didn’t cry. Why couldn’t I cry?
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