R. J. Frogvarian
Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a boy at the edge of a forest. He lived in a small, single-room house with a small bed, a pot to cook with, and a book of stories. He fed himself with what he found in the forest – fruits, fungi, furry creatures he hunted, always taking only what was necessary for his survival.
One day, as he ventured into the forest, he heard a cry of great pain. Then again. Again. Cautiously he followed the sound. Soon he came upon a clearing. In the middle of it was a fallen tree and under it, a great crow twice his size. The crow shrieked and cried and shook, trying to free itself from under the tree. The boy watched with awe. Then, slowly, he approached. The crow’s eyes darted towards him. It watched as he walked towards the tree and pushed. He pushed and pushed and pushed, until the great bird was free. It shook once more and let out another wavering shriek. The boy could see its wing was broken, and though the crow was calm, he could see pain in its eyes. He took a few branches from the tree and bound them with vines, making a support for the wing. However, it was getting dark, and the boy could not linger. He placed a rabbit, the result of today’s hunt, in front of the crow.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise,” he said. And it was true.
That night, the boy worked tirelessly. He took his bed apart, the wood and the sheets becoming a much better support. The next day again he ventured into the clearing. The crow was there, watching the boy with shining eyes. Strangely, he noticed, the bird seemed smaller than the day before. Shaking the thought away, he got to work. He removed the makeshift supports and tended to the wound, applying various ointments and herbal remedies. While he worked, the crow cawed and cawed and cawed softly. The boy hummed along. He affixed the new supports – they fit quite well. Once again, he placed his prey in front of the bird – this time a fox.
He sat in front of the bird, watching it intently.
“Why were you stuck?” the boy asked. “What happened to you?”
The bird only cawed and pecked at the fox, still watching the boy. As the crow ate, dusk arrived again, and it was time to leave.
“I will be back again. I promise,” he said. And it was true.
That night the boy gathered meats, vegetables, and water from a nearby stream. He set a small fire under his pot and started on a stew. In the morning, he grabbed the pot, a small wooden bowl, and some bread, and ventured to the clearing once again. Once he arrived the crow’s head shot towards him, its eyes shining with expectancy. It cawed and cawed softly. The boy hummed along as he set the pot in front of it and dipped his bowl in. He then sat in front of the crow. Has it grown smaller once more? But the support was still just the right size… Again he shook the thought away.
The crow waited and watched patiently. Once he was seated it dipped its beak into the pot and ate.
“Are you the queen of this forest?” the boy asked, “Or its protector?”
The crow said nothing.
“I hope you don’t mind me living here. I don’t take more than I need, I promise.”
The two ate together in silence, the boy dipping his bowl into the pot from time to time, until there was nothing left. Dusk had settled in, and it was time to go.
“I will be back again. I promise,” the boy said. And it was true.
The next day the boy awoke, packed his book of stories, and ventured back to the clearing. He could hear the crow’s caws from far away now, unalarmed, gentle, and he hummed along.
In front of the crow he placed his latest catch, a salmon from a nearby river. The crow seemed so small now, its beak was in the height of the boy’s nose.
“I hope you’re not getting weaker because of me,” the boy murmured. He checked the support on the crow’s wing. “It’s healing well,” he said.
The crow ate. The boy sat beside her. He opened his book. The crow’s eyes sparkled at the sight of colourful pictures and beautiful cursive. The boy started to read. He read the crow fables, faerie tales, legends, and myths of their world. He read of mighty kings and cunning jesters, of humble farmers and brilliant inventors. He read of magic and of the mundane. He read into the evening. As the sun set, he and the crow were huddled together. He read into the night. As it was time to sleep, the boy turned to the crow.
“I shall stay here. I promise,” the boy said. And it was true. The next morning, the boy opened his eyes to the branches and the skies and the chirping of birds. His bag was under his head like a pillow and his cloak placed gently on his body. He looked around; he could not find the crow.
“Dear crow?” he cried out, “Have you shrunk so much I cannot see you any more?” His voice grew quiet, “Or have you finally flown away from me…” Slowly he gathered his belongings. As he fastened his cloak, he heard singing, a gentle tune and a soft voice.
The boy followed the song. It lead him to a stream near the clearing. At the stream there was a girl, around the boy’s age, singing a song, bathing. Her hair, black as the night, reached down under her waist. Her head was topped with a crown of flowers. The boy was barely able to breath. He smiled, so filled with happiness, and sat onto the grass. “So, I have healed you after all,” he whispered and hummed along.
After a few glorious minutes the girl spotted him. She smiled warmly, grabbed a blanket of leaves and wrapped it around herself like a dress. With bare feet she walked on the grass towards the boy. Her right arm was held within a perfectly fitted support. Bright eyes looked at the boy.
The girl stopped two steps short of him. The boy stood up.
“I must thank you so,” she spoke. Her voice was like the ringing of a bell, like the gentle caress of a summer wind. “For your kindness, for your care. For your understanding.” She stepped forward and placed a kiss upon the boy’s cheek. Again, she smiled.
The boy’s face flushed.
“I only did what was right,” he murmured, “Nothing more.”
“You did much more,” the girl said, “If not now, then before. You are as much a part of this forest as any blade of grass. You never take what you do not need, and give back to the land whenever possible.
“My name is Val,” she continued, “And I would be delighted if you were the protector of this forest.”
Tears appeared in the boy’s eyes. He wiped them away. “I- I am not sure if I could-” the boy stammered.
“I believe you could. It is what you have done for so long. You love the forest… “ the girl’s face became flush as well, “You-”
“I love you,” the boy said. And it was true.
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