Almost at the end of the day, more exactly in the evening, a dark silhouette covered in ice and snow fought its way through a large field of bald and gloomy tribes. Their growing up and down, was almost as if they were searching for the last glint of sun.
From its left side a deep breath blew the old and fluttery hat from the top of the silhouette. What appeared was dirty reddish hair, braided into twenty pigtails. Each of them had a grey, black or brown feather pegged into.
It made the man, obviously a man with his broad back, look like some Indian traveler. A rare kind.
His dark skin and the even darker, almost black eyes made him intimidating. His glance could see deep, deep within what is called soul. On the outside a dark grey cloak made from unknown pelt held him warm.
When another deep breath hit him from behind followed by a real nudge, he could not leave it be. So, he turned around.
What he could see, and because of the snowfall it was not much, was his trembling horse. His loyal horse.
A spotted fur partly white and black covered its whole body. The man smirked.
His gloved hand stroke and crawled over the horse's head and like a flashlight, the lovely image of a friendly cow appeared in his mind.
A second direct hit from the horse let him stumble. For the sake of calming his comrade he stroked his horse one last time before they continued their walk.
Some time later both stopped. Before them lay the woods.
Chopped and stacked, their height was more than double as high as the man was. And he knew. He knew whose woods these were.
But he also knew that this person won't come. Not to this place.
Living a comfortable life in the village just some miles from this forest and the woods, it must have broken her. And with "broken" he meant something like brain-washed. How else could she leave her beloved forest alone? Leave him?
Now he was all alone, sorry, alone with his loyal horse-cow as they both watched the woods filling up with snow.
Suddenly the horse looked troubled. "No wonder!", thought the man. His poor horse, which already carried all his belongings could be called a snowman by now. He tried to suppress a giggle but failed.
"Silly horse. You could just have shaken of the snow, you know?" It was a question without answer. Obviously.
And finally, it was getting darker. At a fast pace. Really fast.
It made the man remember something she told him awhile ago. It was about this night. That in this night, a night only once per year, fearsome creatures appear. Of course, he didn't believe any of these stories but at the sudden sound of a bell the man jerked. One hand at his pistol the other hand around the reins, he looked around in fear.
But there was no sound. No enemy. Absolutely nothing except him and his trembling horse.
The man tried to cool himself down, to be more at ease. Nevertheless, at the sound of the second bell ring he made a 180 degree turn and faced some familiar brown eyes.
One ear of his horse winced and moved backwards. Somehow, he thought that now his horse was trying to comfort him. Saying: "It's aright. Don't be scared."
And the man listened. He already knew that he treated his horse to much like a human, but couldn't help it. The fact that the sound of the bell didn't appear a third time was proof enough, wasn't it?
After viewing the woods, his and her lovely, dark and deep forest, he turned his horse to follow their fading footsteps. There was still this one promise he must keep. This one little promise that haunted him for almost fifteen years. It has to stoop. Now! Now and forever, or else he would never be able to look at these woods without hearing the bell ring.
Little did he know about the golden bell, that lay there in the snow. Did it fell from someplace high or was the sound a while ago really out of the power of imagination?


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I wrote this short story after I read the poem "stopping by woods on a snowy evening". Maybe some of you know it, maybe not. It doesn't matter. But I hope you liked it after all.

Giuly ^^