Deep within the trees, a man known only as Michael fought off the tired hunger of sleep as he navigated the woodlands. Michael might not be his real name, but it was the one he answered to. His clothes had seen better days, and the worn soles of his shoes let the groundwater seep through to his socks. His skin and hair were so pale he could easily have passed for an albino, were it not for his eyes. Those eyes, sparkling with a brilliant electric blue, always appeared to be in communication with another world.
Around him, the aftermath of the storm was evident. Broken branches littered the ground, their raw russet ends sharp and splintered. Trees had been stripped of their leaves, and in places he found his path blocked where an entire trunk had fallen.
The boys who worked these woodlands would be busy, Michael thought. Those animals whose homes had been destroyed would need to find new hiding places. He too needed a new place to hide and, in the depths of the forestry, he intended to find it.
The woods grew darker as he moved further in, the sun’s autumnal rays only just managing to filter between the branches. He knew no-one would find him here. No-one would wander this far into the forest unless they were lost. Michael was not lost. Far from it. He knew the woodland so well he could navigate its secret routes without the need of map or compass.
This was where he sometimes slept when he knew he wouldn’t be welcome anywhere else. He hadn’t been welcome anywhere for some time now, but nor had he been sleeping in the woods. He simply hadn’t been sleeping at all.
Michael couldn’t remember how long it had been since he last slept, and had no idea how much longer he could hold out from sleeping. But he had to keep going as long as he could. Whatever happened, he could not fall asleep until he reached the clearing. Once he reached the clearing he would be safe.
There were other places he could be. There were other places he should be. Michael wanted to avoid them all. He had to stay away from anyone who might want to see him, anyone who was looking for him, anyone who was waiting for him to return.
Sooner or later he knew he would have to face them and, when he did, he would have no choice but confess to his actions. Then he would have to accept whatever punishment was delivered.
Stopping to lift a branch blocking his path, the vision flashed before him again. The girl. Standing on the clifftop, her long hair knotted by the rain. As the wind and the waves called to each other in a volley of deafening roars, Michael had known her time was close at hand. A final flash of lightning lit her in silhouette as the moon was suffocated by the clouds.
As he remembered this, Michael felt an itch above his left wrist. He tried his best to ignore it. He was close now, close enough to feel it. Casting his head up, he sniffed the air for some clue to lead him. He was in the heart of the forest, where the trees were packed so densely they created an atmosphere of dark claustrophobia, and the intertwining branches shielded him from the skies.
Walking a little further, Michael reached the clearing. This was where his travels ended. An orange light shone across the grove as Michael dropped to his knees. Leaning forward, he traced a wide arc through the dead leaves carpeting the ground. Then he began to lift loose handfuls of twigs, twisting them together until they formed lengths of primitive twine. He was lost to his work now, all thoughts of sleep and the storm surrendered to his ritualistic labour.
Michael was safe. No-one would find him here. They couldn’t touch him now. The eels were lost to the sea and forbidden from leaving the water. That dead girl’s secret was his to keep. When the sun set, he would want to see her body. While the sky was still light, however, he would remain in his forest shrine.