I perched on the familiar branch of my tree, watching the graveyard below.

The cool morning air rustled the leaves around me, and I kept low, making sure no one saw me. The old man had already started his rounds, his slow, deliberate movements barely registering in the distance.

I had come back to the place of my failure.

I stared into the open, trying to make sense of it all. I'd been so sure I could push past the fear, but when I'd gotten inside, I froze.

It wasn't just that I hesitated I hadn't been ready, not really. The optimism I'd clung to had no foundation, no actual plan. I hadn't realized that leaving the woods would require more than just willpower. It required my mind to be as prepared as my body.

I sighed, pulling my knees up to my chest. The last few days had been full of regret, replaying that moment over and over, wondering where it went wrong.

I had acted on impulse, on the naive idea that fear could simply be pushed aside. But fear wasn't going to go away. It would always be there, lurking in the background, reminding me that the world beyond the trees was unknown.

The familiar sound of birds chirping in the distance was almost comforting. Almost.

The breeze picked up, sending a chill deep inside, where my thin clothes could not warm me.

I leaned back against the trunk of the tree, letting my head fall back as I watched the branches above shift with the wind.

A twig snapped below, and I glanced down just as a deer darted through the underbrush, disappearing almost as quickly as it had come.

I wished I could be that fearless, moving from place to place without hesitation, without questioning every step. But I wasn't.

I had let the moment slip away,I'd given in so easily. I clenched my fists, feeling the rough bark beneath my fingers. Maybe I hadn't prepared myself enough. Maybe I'd underestimated how hard it would be.

The leaves rustled again, a few drifting lazily to the ground. I could feel time pressing in on me, the urgency of it all growing heavier each day. If I didn't push through the fear soon, it would only grow stronger, solidify, until it locked me in this place for good.

The image of myself frozen at the gate flashed through my mind, and I cringed. I must've looked ridiculous, like a trapped animal caught in its own fear.

A deranged animal would've had more grace. I pressed my forehead against my knees, the embarrassment sinking in deeper with each passing thought.

The woods carried a strange air about it today feeling less of a home and more of a hiding space. I was stuck, not just in the woods but in this strange limbo between wanting to change and being too afraid to do anything about it.

I stood up, brushing the leaves from my legs, and looked out toward the dirt path. The next step felt like a mountain, but I knew one thing for sure—the only way to heal this wound, to move forward, was to experience what I feared.

With a deep breath, I forced myself to take a step forward. And then another. This time, I wouldn't try to shove the fear aside.

I would let it fuel me, push me toward what needed to be done. The unknown was still terrifying, but staying here was worse. I kept reminding myself.

I kept walking, each movement careful and deliberate. The ground felt solid beneath my feet, but my legs were shaky, my muscles already anticipating the task ahead.

I paused at the base of the dirt road, hands on my knees, as I stared across the graveyard, the gate standing tall and unmoving in the distance.

I started walking slowly, my steps quiet. The wind rustled the leaves above, and I caught glimpses of sunlight breaking through the canopy.

With each step, I tried to focus on the sensation of movement, of progress, as small as it was. But every time I looked ahead and saw that gate, the familiar tightness of fear wound its way through my chest.

The old man was standing at the far end of the graveyard.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself, forcing my gaze away from the old man and the gate. My focus shifted to the ground beneath my feet, each step a small victory against the rising tide of anxiety. The cool earth felt grounding, a reminder that I was still here, still moving.

As I drew nearer to the graveyard, I noticed the details around me: the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the grass, the soft rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

It was beautiful, yet tinged with a sense of finality, a reminder that life outside my woods continued on without me.

The old man paused, glancing my way, and for a moment, our eyes met. I felt a spark of fear race through me, before he went back to work.

Shovel in hand, he dug through the rough gravel at the entrance for some unknown reason.

I marched, like a soldier into battle, ready to take on the fight with my own sanity. I moved fast, one foot in front of the other.

The path looking so much shorter at first.

Movement to the side caught my attention briefly but I pushed it aside and regained my vigor, one step at a time.

He was almost in reach.

I could see the wrinkles gracing his aged face as I had never been this close to him before.

And then in one motion, I abruptly stopped. Something hard caught my arm and pushed backward. I blinked at the sudden contact and took a moment to regain my sensibility.

I looked up, dazed and unsure. The man, also confused, looked at my shirt then my hands and my neck before finally reaching my face.

He was beautiful, almost unnaturally attractive.

His hair was a dark color, being this close I could see the individual shades of brown and black that faded into each other as my eyes transcended to take in the small beauty mark under his left eye, and his gaze was so intense that it sent a strange flutter through my stomach. His eyes were black like obsidian, the most pure blackness I had ever seen.

I had never imagined I would ever be able to be this close to him, only knowing him in my mind mainly by the topless car he drives.

In all the years I had seen him go to the same grave, he seemed an untouchable character.

Unattainable and only meant to be looked at through a safe distance.

He started to speak, but his words were drowned out by the pounding of my heart and the buzzing in my ears. I felt a heat creeping up my cheeks, and suddenly I was acutely aware of every detail—the way his lips moved, the slight tilt of his head.

"Excuse me, can I help you?"

His voice sliced through my bubble of concentration, and I startled back to reality. Unsure of what to do or say, I shook my head frantically before darting away, my plan thwarted once again.

As I fled, confusion washed over me. I couldn't shake the unsettling sensation curling in my stomach. It wasn't just nerves—it was something deeper, something I couldn't quite name. My cheeks felt hot, and I couldn't help but think he must have seen my reaction.

In spite of the disruption, I felt a little hope flutter back into my chest at the knowledge I didn't completely collapse at the sight of another human being looking at me.

It was progress, even if it was small.

The days seemed to fly by as each one was filled with one attempt after another. Each failure an inch closer to success. The autumn leaves eventually completed their descent as they vacated every tree.

The trees no longer shone with red and orange, instead their bones lay bare for the small glimpse of sun peeking through the clouds as the earth turned white and icy in the midst of winter's arrival.

I was currently huddled behind a bush, close to the fence outside the graveyard. There were people, as always sitting next to gravestones, some standing. I looked around to see if anyone looked approachable.

I could not see the old man and had not the entire hour I had been huddled. My knees ached and after some time I decided to leave.

As I passed familiar trees and the thick underbrush, I noticed the world around me transforming into a winter wonderland with the first few sheets of snow painting everything white.

The crunch of snow underfoot was oddly comforting, a sound that reminded me I was still part of this place, even if I felt like an outsider.

Instead of heading directly back to my hut, I turned toward a small clearing I often visited—a place where the snow glistened like a blanket of stars fallen to earth.

I sank to the ground, surrendering to the cold, soft snow.

I found myself lying on the ground staring at the sky, unnerved at it and its secrets as always.

The crisp afternoon air surrounded me as I inhaled curling my fingers around the snow beneath my hands, feeling its coolness.

My head swirls and sways the way it does most days when I can't find something to distract myself with. I let myself drift in the boredom almost completely detached from my body.

Suddenly, a sharp crack shattered the silence, echoing through the clearing like a thunderclap. I jolted upright, heart racing, panic gripping my chest.

My mind spun as the sound faded, replaced by an eerie stillness that felt heavy and suffocating.

A gunshot. My breath caught in my throat, and memories surged like a tide.

I was back in the deep woods, a small child, left alone and terrified. I could almost feel the panic rising in me then, the sharp smell of smoke.

The darkness had swallowed me, and I had heard those same loud cracks before—each one a reminder of my past.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe through the anxiety threatening to overwhelm me. The fear morphed into a visceral terror that the shots were coming from my hut, close by, where I kept the only companion I had—the wolf, mostly healed by now but still limping.

Frozen, I felt the memories claw at me, holding me in place, telling me to stay put.

I thought of the wolf, helpless and alone, waiting for me to return. That thought propelled me forward, breaking the paralysis that held me captive.

With a deep breath, I pushed myself to my feet, shaking off the cold and racing back toward my hut. Each step felt like a battle against the dread clawing at my insides.

The forest, usually a place of solace, now felt hostile, shadows stretching ominously as I made my way through the trees.

When I finally reached the clearing, horror washed over me. My hut, constructed from sticks and dried leather, was in ruins.

The fragile structure lay crumpled and exposed, with no cover remaining. The leather had been ripped away, leaving the sticks bare against the icy wind.

I stumbled inside, dread pooling in my stomach. The inside was a chaotic mess; most of my belongings were either taken or destroyed.

I called out for the she-wolf, but silence echoed back, a heavy blanket of despair settling over me.

My heart raced as I scanned the wreckage, each moment feeling more suffocating than the last. I dropped to my knees, digging through the rubble, the snow mixing with the remnants of my home.

"Please, please," I whispered, desperation rising.

With shaking hands, I fought through the debris, hoping against hope that she would still be alive.

But as I pushed aside the broken sticks, my breath caught when I saw her lying still beneath the wreckage, her body motionless and cold.

"No," I gasped, tears blurring my vision. I cradled her head in my hands, feeling the warmth fading from her body, the life I had fought so hard to protect now extinguished.

The cold seeped into my bones as grief washed over me, choking me.

As I knelt hunched in the snow, the world around me faded away. The fear I had faced before seemed trivial now. This was a different kind of terror, one that paralyzed me in a way I had never known.

Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the cold air, and I pressed my forehead against her fur, feeling the chill seep into my bones.

"I'm so sorry."