6.

I take a step back as he fixes his gaze more steadily on my face and begins to sit up. He looks perplexed and I can see why; he thinks I am Echo, that for all her apparent harshness there is a part of her who cares, who wanted to save him. “Echo,” he struggles to speak and I can hear the catch in his voice, the longing to understand her, to speak to her. Her, not me; he is so caught up with the enigma that surrounds her that he fails to see the differences between us, wanting only that strange girl that he can’t stop thinking about. Well, I can’t be her and I won’t pretend to either.



Before I know it, I am running away, not so fast as to arouse his suspicion, but fast enough that I am already out of sight before he manages to yell out for me to wait. I run blindly through the trees for a while, not really knowing where to go; under usual circumstances I would seek sanctuary in my clearing but as that is where I have just left him, it is out of the question.


The trees begin to thicken around me and I know that I am venturing further into the woods than is my jurisdiction. I can feel the change in temperature as I move further into the shadow of the mountain, the smells around me transitioning from the light scent of dewy grass to the heady odour of baking rock. I cannot see overhead as a canopy of thick branches and leaves hides the sky, but I can tell that if I were to see the sun, it would be wrapped in a hazy blanket of heat waves, rolling slowly towards the earth. I am beginning to feel short of breath but still I push on, enjoying the elastic feeling of my muscles as they pump my legs ever faster, carrying me to a place that I have never been.


Up ahead I can see the light beginning to spread out wider, suggesting a thinning in the trees, I tuck my head down further and run flat out until I feel the roots beneath my feet growing sparse and the looming presence of spectral oaks change to the open air of a clearing. I close my eyes and lift my head, feeling the orange rays of the sun heat my eyelids. My hair is plastered to my face, still wet from the lake, and my dress clings to my body like a second skin. I feel like I am standing in an oven, the heat closing in all around me, but the feeling is pleasant. I make myself let go of everything, losing myself in the welcoming silence of my surroundings. It is then that I realise that I am not alone.


My eyes snap open as a shiver of fear slithers down my spine – nothing to do with the wet clothing - and sure enough, there it is; the beast that I saved the boy from. It fixes me with a baleful glare, already having regenerated its eyes, and I can feel it’s anger and recognition – I am the creature who hurt it. Once again I am frozen; rooted to the spot, rendered useless without the surge of adrenaline that bade me forward to save the boy. The beast, or Deinos as I now recognise it, paws at the ground restlessly waiting to charge. Deinos flicks his head agitatedly, showering water from his wet mane; I can see his nostrils narrowed warningly and his ears lie flat against his neck.


Every instinct in my body screams for me to run, to get as far away as possible from this man-eating beast, but there seems to be a malfunction in my muscles; the message just isn’t getting through. I keep my eyes locked on his, staring down into what seems to me, the very pits of hell. I see his eyes narrow and feel the tension build in his muscles, as he gets ready to gallop towards me. My breathing is shallow and fast, barely allowing any oxygen into my lungs, finally I close my eyes – steeling myself for the inevitable.


I hear the thunderous sounds of hooves against the ground as he approaches and it feels as if every particle of my being has gone rigid with fear and anticipation. I can see the darkness gathering in the periphery of my eyes and I know that I am about to pass out. Finally I hear a bloodcurdling shriek as Deinos triumphs over his easy victim, every hair on my body stands to attention and I feel as if my muscles will snap with the tension. One last sound, an earth-cracking roar and again the thud of hooves, and then, I fall.

5.

She was right there when I woke up, leaning over me, looking anxious – worrying whether I was okay, I suppose. I knew she’d rescued me because she was as drenched as I was. There Echo stood, just watching and waiting. It was weird at first, but I guess that’s what you do after you’ve saved someone and I probably owed her some gratitude.

I opened my mouth to utter a ‘thank you’, but instead produced a strangled croak. My throat still burned. I squirmed about, struggling to sit up, deciding that maybe I could gesticulate my gratefulness instead. To this, Echo responded oddly. Now, I know by now I should have understood that Echo was insane, but it still surprised me. As I sat up, she took a few steps backwards as though she was afraid of me or something – as if whatever touched me had an unspeakable disease that I’d decidedly caught from interaction.

“Echo,” I managed to croak. With this, she bowed her head resolutely and ran away. “Wait!” I called, my throat searing. My advice to you is not to scream after taking in far too much water too rapidly.

But anyway, that was it. I’d gone back to finally get over Echo, but instead: someone stole my bike; I was attacked, and then Echo saved my life and ran away afterwards. I was absolutely confused and my brain was wracked with intrigue.

I wobbled into a stance and frowned at the fact that every goddamn muscle in my body ached with a terrible vigour… and I had to wobble all the way home that way, too… just fantastic. What the hell was it that could push someone into a lake and cause them so much pain?

It took me about three hours – I kid you not – to get home. It was as arduous as anything you can imagine, but by the end of it I kind of became accustomed to the pain and it was part of me. I’d like to say that that’s my attitude to everything and that’s how I manage through life, but it’s not. I’d also like to say that as soon as I got home I didn’t grab my phone and immediately ring a so-called friend to tell them what happened – that instead I just removed my wet clothes and endured my loneliness like a man, but I didn’t.

I did have a bit of pride, though. I didn’t phone one of my ‘better’ friends; they obviously didn’t deserve it. In fact, I called one of my very worst friends. His name was David Hardy and he was one of those guys whom everybody calls by their last name as opposed to their first. I guess it had something to do with the catchiness, the ring it had to it, but I know beyond a doubt that it was also attributed to him due to his nature. Hardy was the hardest motherfucker to please, ever, in the history of time. He didn’t like anything; he found nothing funny… Man, Hardy redefined the word ‘pessimistic’. Surely you’ve seen or read Winnie The Pooh, right? There’s a donkey from that called Eeyore who, compared to old Hardy, seems like the happiest creature to walk the earth.

After a few rings, the line finally connected and I was met by the quintessential ‘Hardy’ greeting: “What?”

“Hey, man, it’s Myles,” – that’s my name, by the by – “how’s it going?” I regretted this casual utterance as soon as it slipped from my mouth. Hardy was not one for small talk – if you didn’t have anything good to say, he would rather you didn’t speak at all.

“Here we go… What do you want, Myles?” If you didn’t know Hardy, you wouldn’t be able to stand him. But I did and I knew this was all part of the package.

“Hardy, I’ve got the maddest story to tell. Yesterday, man, I was bored as hell just sitting at home doing nothing, like, really really bored, so I decided to take a bike ride. I didn’t know where I was gonna go, but I just rode. So, I came to this lake nearby that mountain. You know that mountain they’re always on about in Geography? What’s it called? Anyway, I rode up that way and came by this lake. And at this lake was this girl, Hardy, she was honestly beautiful.” At this point, Hardy made no point of suppressing an all-too loud sigh, but I knew if I gave in he’d hang up. I was in my stride.

“Really, Hardy, imagine all the girls at our school – or our alma mater, what the hell do we call it, now? Anyway, Hardy, imagine all of them; some of those girls are really pretty – albeit bitchy, but nonetheless – they can look really nice when they want to, can’t they?” I paused long enough for effect, but not long enough for him to respond. “Well, this girl at the lake… Let me put it this way, if she came to our school she would instantly be hated by the girls and loved by the guys, d’you know what I mean? Agh, no, that doesn’t do her justice, man. She truly is the most beautiful female I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t –”

“Hardy, you can’t understand unless you’ve seen her. Anyway, that’s not even the weirdest part. I mean, firstly, what is she doing just chilling near this obscure lake? Why is she there? That’s the thing. Her being there is weird, but she was the one getting really angry at me for being there like she owned the place. It really is bizarre.”

“MYLES! Stop rambling and get to the point. Why do I need to know this? Of what concern is it to me?” Don’t ask me how, but Hardy always managed to sound expressly posh. He didn’t come from a particularly wealthy background; he went to the same shitty public school as me, but he managed to always sound so damn eloquent. This might have something to do with why he had few friends. Nobody likes somebody who sounds like they’re trying to be better than them. I kind of pitied him, though.

“Hardy, I was attacked by a creature up there and she saved my life. One moment she hates me – I think she told me I ruin everything – and the next moment she’s saving my life and running off into the woods.”

“Sounds like Superwoman,” Hardy drawled, every syllable dripping with sarcasm. “To me, she seems like a bi-polar feral child. It won’t do you any good to go back to her. I assume that’s why you called me, for advice?”

“She’s not crazy-crazy or anything; she seems… I don’t know, but she’s not feral, though. “

“Well, if what I say has absolutely no import, then why have you called me?” Every conversation with Hardy was like a battle.

“I…” Shit. If I didn’t come up with something fast, I’d have lost him. Why can’t people understand that sometimes you just need to talk? “You’re smart, Hardy. I need your help.”

“With what?” He asked, his voice filled with scepticism, completely unmoved by the cajolement.

“I don’t know, man. Can’t you come down there with me, make sure I’m not going crazy?”

“You want me to meet your Psychotic Saviour by the Lake Side?” He said, mockingly.

“Please?” I can’t believe I’d stooped so low. In retrospect, sometimes I think Hardy did it on purpose, you know? He assigned himself such a persona so as to capture the other social rejects, like a large sarcastic spider with a web spun of scorn.

He laughed a deep, hearty laugh before replying. “Okay, Myles. Only because this could be rather interesting, but I shall join you in meeting this fantasy girl.”

“Wait, don’t you believe me?”

“Of course not,” he sighed deeply. That was another one of Hardy’s many charming qualities: he did a lot of things ‘deeply’. “Don’t think I’m oblivious to the fact your friends have probably completely severed contact with you. This seems like an elaborate act in the name of loneliness.”

“Hardy, meet me at the Mojo Café tomorrow at nine and I’ll prove it to you. Bring your walking shoes, too.”

“Indeed,” was his last word before he hung up. I had absolutely no conviction, or trust, that Hardy would appear, but in the state that I was in, I knew I’d wait. And I swear, Hardy knew it too.

4.

There is a loud crack overhead as a large branch snaps from its trunk and begins its free fall towards the ground roughly 5 metres away from where Echo stands.

“I told you not to make me mad, just go!” I yell turning my back on her and starting in the other direction. She doesn’t listen; instead she storms up behind me and grabs me by the arm.

“You’re not listening to me Elsie. LISTEN. You don’t know what you’re doing; you need to stay away from him. He’s a human; they’re bad news.”

This is the first real argument Echo and I have had in centuries, the first time she has used any sort of aggression towards me. I know I should feel afraid – Echo is rumoured to be the fiercest nymphet since Daphne: a huntress who speared and tore apart a suitor who disguised himself as a female nymph to join her hunting party – and yet, all I feel is rage (an extremely uncommon emotion for most nymphs). Who is she to tell me what I can or can’t do?
It’s not like I want to run away with him. I just want to talk. She doesn’t understand what it’s like to be alone, to be the only one who doesn’t fit in with the norm, to be a freak. I need this, I need to know what’s out there away from the woods and mountains and lakes. I need to talk to someone who isn’t programmed with this uniform desire to protect and stay in one place. I need to experience real interaction with someone who can’t just read the thoughts straight out of my head, read them but not really understand them.
My arm is beginning to bruise under her grip but she doesn’t loosen her hold, she stares unflinchingly into my eyes her own displaying a myriad of colours like that of the ocean besieged by a storm. I can see her resolution beginning to break. I’m not going to give in, I think. She sighs, “Fine have it your way.” She releases my arm and runs off, darting through the trees, moving so fast she’s a blur. I don’t know where she’s going but I know it can’t be good; she never gives in this easy.
I return to my favourite part of the woods, the clearing where Echo and I had lay before the boy showed up. I can’t stop thinking about him; it is almost nightfall and I can’t help but wait for tomorrow, for his return.
He will return. He must, I know it – he likes her, she fascinates him and it is in human nature to go to any lengths to satisfy their curiosity. Tomorrow, however, will not be hers, I will station myself by the lake all night and all the next day if I have to; I have never wanted anything more than I want to talk to him right now. This worries me; it could go badly I know; he may not like me, what if he thinks I’m Echo and doesn’t speak to me because he’s still angry with her? What if he sees me sitting here and decides not to get off his bike but to ride past and go home?
My thoughts are a confused blur, each question whizzing around relentlessly without an answer, along with the image of his enchanting figure riding off along the dirt track, clouds of dust rising in his wake. I know he will be thinking about her and this hurts me more than I can explain, though I reason that it is because I know the hurt he will suffer by her hand if he is to see her again.
“Elsie?” a familiar voice rings out from the woods nearby. I look up and see Zane picking his way through the teeming undergrowth of the wood towards my clearing. Zane, like me, is a land nymph assigned to the glens below the mountain, we have grown up together and he often comes to visit me.
I feel a familiar pang of guilt as he strides closer, a warm smile lighting his face. Zane has been in love with me for half a century and I haven’t yet been able to return the sentiment. To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure what it means; I have never experienced it. Love for me consists only of my feelings towards my surroundings and my friends. I have never known or even seen the love that exists between a male and a female nor do I long to have it.
The males in my race, Zane included, are cut from the same cloth – they share the same thoughts and feelings, they understand only one thing – the environment and their desire to protect it. It’s not that I don’t like Zane, I do, it’s just that… well, I’ve said it before: he doesn’t understand me
Zane is probably the most caring and passionate person I know. He attends to his duties in such a zealous manner that he is world-renowned amongst our people as the best caretaker in existence and his affability has earned him the respect and love of all creatures in our land. He is so attuned to nature that even his appearance seems to mirror it; he has a mossy beard that grows thick and auburn across his strong jaw, his hair is soft and free-flowing like a cascade of autumn leaves and his body is sharp and chiselled like the peaks of the mountain under whose shadow he dwells.
“Why so glum honey-oak?” he chimes happily. I smile despite myself, honey-oak? Really? He chuckles reading the thought. “Seemed cooler in my head,” he shrugs insouciantly. So what did you do? He thinks at me. I look confused.
“What do you mean”? I ask.
“Well, I just saw Echo and the elders coming this way and they seemed sort of…annoyed?” his voice rises at the end as if he’s asking a question. I look up at him stricken, so that was what she’s up to. “Wow, so you did do something to upset them?” He sounds awed. I roll my eyes. I don’t know, kind of, I guess, maybe? I think uncertainly, I mean I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong yet; I haven’t even spoken to him and even if I did it’s not exactly against the law.
“Who’s him?” Zane asks, once again an intruder in my mind. Instinctively I cut off my memories from today blocking them from his view.
“No-one,” I respond cagily, I don’t understand why I feel so guilty, like a child who has just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Zane looks puzzled at both my tone and the mental wall I have just built to impede his search for the information in my head but before he can ask, we hear the approach of a large party – Echo and the elders.
It is by now well within the dead of night and though my clearing is well lit with the soft light of more than a dozen lanterns perched precariously on many well placed branches and toadstools, the encircling woods are almost pitch black with the density of the trees. Through them and to the right of the clearing we can see the warm glow of torches approaching and the occasional snap of a twig as they march steadily towards us. I feel my heart accelerate and I can sense Zane’s eyes on my face but I try to keep my head blank; he can judge my crimes for himself when they get here.
The outfit steps gravely into the clearing, it consists of four elders and Echo. I look at her, feeling both wounded and shocked that she would take such harsh steps for such a small crime. I don’t understand what’s wrong with her.
The elders are all dressed in long ochre robes, they are – as their name suggests – the eldest male nymphs of our tribe and they are thus accosted with the duty to watch over and protect our people. They are not brought into matters lightly. I have never before been to an elder’s trial and have thus seen them only from afar. Contrary to my thoughts, they appear as what would be, in human years, middle-aged; their faces are not wizened and their hair grows not grey but blonde and brown and black. None look angry and yet my head is bowed in a sort of reverent shame as I steal glances at them from under my eyelashes.
Be at ease, my child, we are only here to talk. They are thinking in unison as they move closer to where I stand with Zane. The one with blonde hair motions to another who in turn passes him his torch, he moves back to the outer edge of trees and speaks to a branch, which obligingly bends towards him and takes both torches, holding them against it’s trunk like a bracket. The others sit in a semi-circle amongst a patch of narcissus and indicate for the rest of us to join. I step hesitantly towards them and place myself as far away as is polite. Echo hangs behind them looking awkward and out of place (a feat not easily managed by her). Zane comes and sits at the side in gap between me and the elders giving Echo the excuse to sit opposite him – still not really choosing a side.
You seem confused, they note, do not worry, we have only come to advise you, there are things you don’t know – things that Echo does. She has asked us to tell you about them. It is not all of them speaking now but the one who sits directly opposite me; he has jet black hair and his face, though undeniably handsome, seems weathered slightly – he must be from the mountain.
“Our story starts long ago, in the days before technology and urbanisation; a time in which we lived in harmony with our human brothers.” He speaks aloud, his voice deep and wistful, both Zane and I look perplexed.
“ It is often said that in this time, it is not they, but we who ruled the land. It was a time when mythology and real life merged into one seamless existence; it was not then thought necessary to hide our existence from others. The humans lived in villages, happy and secluded, leaving us to the forests and fields and mountains. In turn we allowed them land on which to farm and grow and live and the occasional company of our tribe. Our females were fond of their men and the men were fond of them in return, they often came in search of nymphets to keep them company and we were only too glad to indulge. Fairies flit constantly over the land, dragons dwelled upon mountaintops and elves built colonies in the countrysides. It seemed that we had created an infallible bridge between the races, a way in which we could all meet our needs and still live peacefully. It became an unspoken pact, the humans would leave us to protect nature and all others and we would let them use the land to live.” He pauses and another picks up the story.
“We were, however, betrayed. It is within their nature to consume all that they can and then move on; they began to expand rapidly, to advance their machinery. They developed tools to aid their expansion and feed their people but all at the cost of our planet. They turned on all, crusading against the dragons, capturing and using the fairies for their own mean, warring with the elves, until all became extinct. Their women began to turn on us with hate, our females were called whores, sirens who tricked the men into being with them even though it had been their men who had sworn to love and honour and cherish our kind. Slowly the bridge began to crumble. The relations between our kind and theirs were becoming extinct; we ceased to exist to them – a myth, a fairytale, not real. They continued to consume the land, moving from one place to another destroying all in their path. The earth was consumed with war, the ceaseless battle to protect what was rightfully ours, and then came the weaponry – guns and tanks and planes. The realisation was made, we cannot stop them, our homes have been destroyed and our people lessened, we have now only to hope for survival.”
“You are taught as a youngling never to trust the humans, to stay away from them at all costs, you are given the general idea but never taught why.” Another begins, “ Mankind are a burden on this planet, they hold nothing sacred, they are savage beasts that are out solely for their own gain. Nothing is held sacred in their eyes; they have extinguished whole races of beings and still do not relent. Know this my child; learn from it. Do not get involved with such beings, they will only hurt you”
Everyone falls silent, the atmosphere is somber and tears lie stagnant in my eyes. Maybe he’s not like that. I think, unable to control the impulse. Echo’s head snaps up and she glares at me furiously.
“How can you listen to that and still doubt what I said, he IS trouble” She growls. Zane shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat while the elders hold their gaze solemnly from Echo to me. She can still hear the doubt in my head and it feeds her anger. “Fine, if that wasn’t enough, if you think that’s the only danger they hold, I have another story for you.” Her voice has a steely edge, reluctant but determined, the elders look surprised. You do not have to share this story if it is against your wishes Echo, they think. Echo sighs but continues to glare at me. No she needs to hear this.
“Centuries ago there was a wood nymph who lived in Greece. She fell in love with a human, he was the most beautiful man in the land but he was vain and cruel and incapable of equalling such an emotion. He shunned the nymph cold-heartedly though she loved him more than words could do justice; heartbroken she fled to the mountains where it is said she spent the remainder of her days, pining for the love of a man who cared nothing for her, until she wasted away and became one with the mountain.”
I fail to see the significance, it seems to me like just another story made by the nymphs to emphasise the unworthy nature of humans and so I wonder why they all look so grave. Echo sees that I do not understand and she is again infuriated. Do you want that to happen to you? Just stay away from him he’s bad news, she yells internally. But I don’t love him, I wont love him, I don’t even know what love is. I argue back. Echo screams aloud startling the birds nearby, it is by now late into the morning and the sky is a light, cloudy blue. Echo wrenches herself up from her seat and whirlwinds out of the clearing. I begin to run after her but I can still hear the thoughts of those behind me.
She’s already in love with him. It belongs to Zane and it is full of pain.
I look back but continue my pursuit; I know where she’ll go, back to the lake – to wait for him, to get to him before I do. I arrive too late; he is already there, lying on the grass. He feels at one with nature, at home, I smile despite my urgency – he’s not like other humans, I think. Echo has darted past him unseen, she steals his bike leaving him no means of escape. I see her up ahead and run after her. She sees me approach and steps out onto the bank warily, speaking to him as she does. I stop in my tracks, should I go out? Will he be glad for interruption or annoyed? I am torn between the instinct to protect him and my need to preserve his good will towards myself so that I can learn more about him, about the world.
Meanwhile Echo has moved closer to him, poking him with her foot, I grit my teeth, don’t hurt him, I think. Fine but only if he leaves, she retorts. She tells him to go but he replies with a question. I can see her patience wearing thin; she bellows a response her anger making her tap into her control of the surroundings, making her shake the trees.
I can hear something approaching from the distance, it sounds like an animal, she hears it too and pauses to listen. The realisation hits us both at the same time. I am going to leave him here, if you want to die too, fine, stay, it’ll be less painful like this anyway, she thinks before flitting away. I stand frozen in horror, do I save him or do I run? I don’t even know him I should save myself, they’re wrong, I don’t love him, I should leave him to die. My knees feel weak, why can’t I move? Move, please, MOVE I think desperately. He seems to be doing a better job of that than me, he runs for his bike but it’s not there; Echo has already taken it, he wheels around lost, looking for the direction of Echo but without real hope. I start forward without conscious thought but before I have reached the bank, it gets there first, careening towards the boy and bowling him off his feet, dragging him into the lake.
I don’t have time to think about it, I sprint forward and dive headfirst into the water. The boy is unconscious and it is dragging him through the water to the other shore. I shoot forward and launch myself at its head, growing my fingers into sharp talons to claw at its eyes. I catch it by surprise and hold it’s head in a vice-like grip, sinking my talons into its eyes as far as they will go. It is blinded but enraged. It releases its hold on the boy and I scoop him up, swimming furiously back to the bank. He is still unconscious; I hang his fragile form over my shoulder and run for the woods, getting as much distance between the beast and us as I can.
I reach my clearing and lie him down on the grass directly in the beam of sunshine that pervades the area so that he can dry off. His breathing seems fast and laborious; he must have swallowed some water. I drop to his side and press my hand to his chest making him cough it all up, he groans and his eyelids flinch as if he were about to wake up. I stand up and take a step back while his breathing slowly begins to return to normal, his eyes flicker and then open and he stares directly up at the sky before he turns his head and sees me.

3.

I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her. And I don’t mean that in the gushy, romantic way either. I won’t lie – she was beautiful, extraordinary, but it was in my best interest that I didn’t fall in love or anything. Girls are like that; they infect your mind and strip you of your sanity. You might think they’re these perfect creatures, but believe me when I say: they’re out to destroy us all, one heart at a time.

So, when I did think of Echo, I made sure not to think of her perfect body or her encapsulating eyes or her sweet voice. I made sure not to postulate this near-infallible creature and then agonise over why the hell she was so rude to me. But why was she so rude? I didn’t understand what I had done. Moreover, what was she doing there? Why was she dressed so incongruently with her surroundings? She seemed like she had just got back from her prom, not as though she’d taken an hour-long bike ride to get there.

I thought about going back and not going back and what it’d do to me if I didn’t go back and what I’d say if I did go back. What made me think she would even go back?

I shook my head despairingly the next morning, having dreamt of Echo strolling about the lake. I needed to stay away, some sort of distraction. Instinctively, I grabbed my phone to check for messages. Nothing. My friends, who I was beginning to suspect I would never see again, weren’t there for me. Telling my parents was out of the question. I mean, they’re cool and all, but – as a rule of thumb – you don’t talk to your parents about the mysterious, bitchy, but most beautiful girl you met at the lake (which, incidentally, they don’t know about) who is in the process of stealing your sanity. Besides, it was nine o’clock and they were already off to their hot-shot jobs, which they had in order to keep me happy. We teens have high demands, apparently.

Anyway, my point is, I had no distractions. I sat in my bed, tossing my obsolete mobile from hand to hand and thinking of Echo. She was like a song stuck in my head and, for me, the only real way of ridding my mind of said song is by listening to it. I had to go back. I was always going to, anyway. I jumped out of bed resolutely, deciding that I would go back, see that she wasn’t there, and return back to my friendless life.

There wasn’t time for breakfast; I had to get this done and over with. I grabbed a few cereal bars and took off, in practically the same clothes as the day before. The journey was the same, but it felt different. The wind blew my hair everywhere and the novelty of adventure was lost to me. Instead, I was worried. Fear coursed through my veins for many a reason and I knew exactly why, but I refused to make it a conscious thought. I hated myself for it; I honestly did.

The infinitesimal incline (that you can feel all the same, after an hours’ ride, by the way) began to flatten and I arrived at the lake. Absolutely nothing had changed. It was still as scenic as yesterday. The mountain loomed overhead like some great protector and the lake multiplied the world’s beauty. It was nice that no one was there, but it could still feel so welcoming, so tranquil. It made me think of the expendability of friends or even love or parents. The truth is, when it comes down to it, your happiness depends on you and you alone. It’s relative to how you receive experiences. So when Echo didn’t appear, I was actually glad. Who needed her? This place was mine; the perfect escape.

I lay in some grass and spread eagle, as I would at home on my room’s carpet, and closed my eyes. The chirps of birds, the baying of animals from the mountain, the soft ripple of the lake – it all welcomed and encompassed me, until the thin line between being human and belonging to nature faded and I understood what it felt to be free. I didn’t need anyone.

“I thought you’d be back,” she sighed.

Shit. I was instantly broken from my state of meditation. Shit, shit, shit. I kept my eyes closed, fancying she might disappear that way. I was in an awful panic, honestly.

“What do you want … whatever-your-name-is?” She prodded my side with a bare toe, forcing me to spasm. So much for playing dead.

I inhaled, preparing myself, and then opened my eyes while simultaneously propping myself up. “Hey, you,” I proclaimed in my falsest, most ironic voice.

“Go home, for the love of God.” She frowned, her eyes fierce.

I’m not going to lie – it hurt. She stood with her hands on her hips, staring directly at me, showing no signs of humour. “Why do you hate me so much?” I tried to say without sounding too hurt. I’m not sure if it worked.

She tucked a strand of her hair behind her left ear and turned to the lake. She wasn’t going to respond; I knew it.

“Listen, until I get answers, this is my place as much as it is yours.”

“That’s the problem with people like you; you think just because you found a place, it automatically becomes yours. Don’t you see the fallacy, the injustice of that logic?” She had her back to me, but the tone of her voice implied desperation. Why was she getting so worked up? Women are crazy; I swear to god.

“I… The only reason I said that was because you’re acting as if you own the place!” I rebuked.

“No!” She yelled, spinning around and shaking every leaf of every tree in the vicinity. Her ire made me fear my safety. “I bet you think it’s normal, don’t you? Humans have been storming upon land that isn’t theirs forever, haven’t they? Finders – keepers?”

“No… W-what’s your problem?”

She opened her mouth to unleash another can of whoop-ass on me, but suddenly paused. She looked out into the trees and her wild look of fury was replaced with one of steely determination. She glanced over to the mountain and then back at me. What was she doing?

“You ruin everything,” she spat with stark disgust and suddenly ran nimbly off into the distance.

She was gone. I stood there feeling a sense of urgency in the atmosphere, but at a loss as to why I needed to be urgent. All the same, I ran in the opposite direction – the direction of my bike.

It wasn’t there. I looked around, completely and utterly confused. I knew I had left it there because that’s where the path back to the road was. No one could have stolen it, could they?

I ran to catch Echo, but the attempt was futile. Who was I kidding? I had no idea where she went. Goddamn it, I was losing my sanity. The sweat of fear humidified my hair, causing it to paste disgustingly all over my face. I was dizzy, but immobilised: scared and agitated.

There was a low rumble nearby. It wasn’t the rumble of a car or even the rumble of thunder. Thunder I could handle. This was the low rumble of a beast. It was coming from my three-o’clock, in the trees. I had no means of escape and the only other person around had already run off. Hyperventilation kicked in and I stood there, waiting for something to happen.

And it did. The next sequence happened inexplicably fast. A great black shadow knocked me from my feet and dragged me into the lake. The force at which we hit the water threw me into unconsciousness. Or at least that’s what I assume happened because when I woke up, I was drenched in water.

2.

How is it that you can be surrounded with people and still feel alone? Actually, I guess that’s not the right question. If it were merely people, then sure: your head is your own; your thoughts and feelings remain yours unless you choose to share them and so loneliness is comprehensible. What is more puzzling is how I can feel alone. You see, I’m not just any old person; I’m part of a collective, an ancient race of … well, nymphs. I’m not supposed to feel alone, we’re all connected – part of nature, of each other, one mind – it’s not normal.
It’s just that sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who wonders if there’s something more out there, something more tangible than just looking after the trees and springs that we’re bound to protect - something real. I mean don’t get me wrong, I appreciate nature, sure; the creative beauty of it surrounds us and I know, just as the others do, that it’s all part of an intricate weave, a beautiful loom of life where every living organism is a thread that adds to the whole breathtaking tapestry.
But that just adds to my argument. I mean, if the world can be this complex in just its basics then how is it that my life falls so short of any other meaning? Why is it that my existence is as shallow and one-dimensional as a puddle?
“How can you even think that?!” I hear a snort behind me and Echo dances nimbly into my line of vision.
“ You do realise it’s rude to eavesdrop on peoples thoughts?” I reply evenly. I’m not really annoyed with her; she may not understand me, but Echo is the only real friend I’ve had in a while.
“You know I can’t help it. If I could I would - I’d rather not listen to your thoughts, anyway. They’re so strange.”
I sigh. We’ve been over this before and there’s no use in trying to explain. Echo sashays closer and then drops deftly to the ground beside me. I am sprawled across the floor, my fingers twined in the mossy grass and my hair fanned out around my head, wet with dew.
The clearing is beautiful: it's one of my favourite places to come and think. The trees around are dense and the woody smell of oak mixed with the sweet pang of narcissus that grows in thick patches along the ground is enticing. Nearby, hidden through the trees, is a lake as smooth and transparent as glass and from it rises the soft sound of cicadas clear and soothing.
Echo scoots closer and lifts my hand from the ground, threading her fingers through mine. “I wish there was something I could do,” she says, her blue eyes gazing at me intensely. I smile and squeeze her hand gently to acknowledge the sentiment.
My face is reflected in her eyes, an almost mirror image of her own - though my eyes are shades of green instead of blue and my hair straight instead of wavy. This reflects our duties: Echo is bound to the lake; she watches over it maternally, allowing the small insects and animals to partake in its life-giving waters but warding off bigger animals and humans. I am bound to the woods, living amongst the trees as they grow and bend towards the sun, protecting their home. Thus her eyes reflect every cadence of blue that can be found in the depths of her waters while mine take on the lilts of grass and moss and ferns, which vary according to season.
Today the outer-most parts of her iris seem to compliment the sky, which is what I had been contemplating before her arrival – a soft crystal blue - cloudless and inviting. What would it be like, I wondered, to be a bird – to fly through the endless expanse of sky, free and untethered.
Echo suddenly bolts upright. “There is a boy by the lake,” she states before darting off into the trees. I follow lightly, curious as to how she will deal with him.
The boy sits on the edge of the embankment, staring avidly into the water. From this distance I can’t make out his features, but Echo is already near him sitting on a boulder waiting for him to notice. I move closer staying within the line of trunks to keep unnoticed. Now I can see his face and it astonishes me.
He is stunning. His golden blond hair undulates from his scalp framing his slightly broad, peach face and softening his Greek-straight nose. His eyes are the same oak brown as the trees in which I stand and his lips, overly full for a boy, are parted lightly in amazement. His figure is small and fragile-looking – a stark contrast to the overbearing musculature of the men in our race.
Echo calls out, her thoughts targeting my attention, shouting her disapproval of my admiration. The boy looks up and notes the frown in her voice, thinking it is aimed at him. He admires her appearance while she calls in her head for me to leave. I stay where I am, determined to know more about him and also to make sure she doesn’t deal with him too harshly.
She rises and speaks to him again, asking him to leave but he doesn’t seem to hear. She is annoyed but I ask her silently to be nice. He is examining her face, marvelling at her beauty – the colour of her eyes. This causes me an inexplicable pang of regret.
I long to rush over and join them, to talk to this boy, a human, belonging to the parts of the world I have never seen. Echo is listening to his thoughts and unthinkingly comments on them. I yell a warning in my head, they do not posses or understand our powers, and they can’t know our existence. The boy is alarmed and embarrassed; he stutters a reply but she quickly rectifies her mistake.
She continues with her hostilities but now I am glad for them; he seems to be getting aggravated and replies almost as brusquely as her.
However he is wrong, she does – for all intents and purposes – own this place and he has no right to be here. His race are notorious for their uncouth violation of nature. Looking at him, it is hard to imagine he can do any harm here but I know that where he has come others will surely follow.
My feelings are torn between the desire to know him, to know the world to which he belongs, and the inherent need to protect my surroundings. He contemplates her age, thinking that she is the same as him. I laugh internally as does she. Sixteen to us is the same as newborn to a pensioner; we are as old as the wind, as time itself, and have grown with the earth.
The boy turns to leave, grabbing at his…bike: two wheels built into a metal frame with a seat and handlebars. It is fast and agile and enables him to move smoothly over the land – almost like a bird in flight or a fish in water. I watch him leave, wishing that I had the means to follow, praying inexcusably for him to return.