Mark disliked swearing. It signified a certain lack of self-control. Of letting life get to you.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” He paused for a moment to take a breath.

Swearing also made you feel better. Sometimes.

Feeling the grass itching against his face, he scrambled back to his feet, carefully trying to keep his jacket off the ground.

Back on his feet, he assessed the damage. His pants were ruined beyond salvation. Hours of hiking had left rips and deep stains behind. He did not care that much since he bought two or three pairs with every jacket. Suit pants did not have a long life expectancy.

The shoes were a different matter. Made for an office environment, they had clearly suffered and so had his feet. Leaning on his stick he lifted one foot and inspected the shoe from all sides. The leather had deep scratches and water had soaked through, leaving his blistered feet cold, damp, and very uncomfortable.

At least I kept the jacket dry, he thought, lowering his foot back down. For the thousandth time since last night, his hand wandered to the jacket’s inside pocket but he stopped himself before taking out the cigarettes.

With a last weary sigh, Mark turned around. What had he fallen over this time? Looking down, he frowned.

In the grass before him lay the body of a deer. And there, protruding from its side, right behind the shoulder, was a wooden stick. A broken arrow?

Then he noticed the blood in the fur.

Damn, he thought, quickly checking his pants again. To his relief he found no bloodstains. Not that it mattered at this point.

Curious, he reached out for the deer. He hesitated right before his fingers touched the fur. Was it safe to touch the dead animal? Catching rabies would be just the thing to make this day complete, he thought.

While he contemplated his misery, he noticed blood dripping from the wound. If the blood had not coagulated yet, did that not mean that this was fresh?

He straightened up and looked around. If the deer had run away after having been shot, the hunters might be looking for it. Maybe they were close by.

“Hello,” he shouted. “Is anybody here? I found your… animal!”

He waited for about five seconds before trying again.

“Hello! Is anybody there?”

Somebody rose from the grass at the edge of the clearing. A girl.

How long had she been there, watching him?

“Hello,” Mark said, waving.

The girl hesitated before raising her arm to return his greeting. She showed no intention to come closer.

Why are you nervous, Mark thought? You’re the one with the bow.

“I fell over your deer,” he said. “But it’s still… clean?” He groaned on the inside. What did he know about hunting?

Still, the girl did not react.

“Your arrow broke,” Mark said. He tried to sound as natural as possible but small talk was not his forte. Especially not with children. Children carrying weapons.

The girl seemed to have come to a decision. Watching him with caution, she slowly moved closer.

She was definitely a strange one. Her shining, straight black hair was held in place by a cloth bandana. Tanned skin. Maybe fifteen or sixteen? Mark had never been good at estimating age.

She was short. Maybe 150cm tall. Definitely not more than 155. Much shorter than Anne at that age. His jaw tightened for a moment as he remembered.

The girl was quite athletic. Her bare arms and the way she moved spoke of somebody who put in the time. Mark appreciated that in people.

Her clothes were a different matter. The bandana had a certain charm. Dirty-white decorated with a simple stitching. But her dress, if it could be called that, not so much. It had the shape of a tube with holes for her head and arms. Barely reaching over the middle of her calf, it was only given some form by a simple belt.

Maybe there was a re-enactment event going on around here. Or the girl belonged with some kind of survivalist commune. Mark did not really care. What he needed was a phone, a shower, and room service. His mobile’s battery had eventually given up before ever finding a network.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He noticed the girl was just carrying a bow. No arrows. That Mark could see at least. He relaxed a bit.

The girl stopped at a safe distance. She was watching his every move with visible suspicion.

“Hello, I am Mark Douglas”, he began, “I am afraid I crashed my car last night. And then got lost. Could you help me find a place with a phone?“

The girl just stared at him. Her gaze wandered up his dirty ripped pants, over his sweaty white shirt, and lingered on the walking stick.

This close he could see her big dark eyes. A Middle Easterner perhaps?

“I am Atissa,” she said. “Are you perhaps… a magi?”

There was hesitation in her question. Maybe hope? Or just curiosity? Mark was not sure. He could not even tell if she had understood anything he had said so far.

“I am a consultant with Foster Tanaka & Partners. I landed at Calgary Airport yesterday evening, got a rental, and drove it into a ditch. I have been wandering through the forest all night.”

The girl, Atissa, didn't look like she understood what he had said. After two long seconds, she pointed at Mark’s walking stick. “I've heard stories. In those magi carry staffs like that.”

Mark glanced at the piece of wood in his hands. He had only noticed the carvings that decorated the upper third of the stick when the sun came up. He found them rather tasteless and mismatched. The patterns varied wildly from each other. Some had been carved with care, others looked like they had been scratched in with a pocket knife by an unmotivated boy scout.

“I found this”, he raised the decorated stick, “when I tripped over it last night. I have no clue who lost it.” It had turned out to be a lucky find he had come to appreciate during his unintended hiking trip.

The girl just continued to stare at him, the confusion building on her face.

Suddenly, Mark felt very tired. He was sweaty and dirty, and his legs ached. His feet had gotten the worst of it. He decided to sit down for a moment, dirty nature be damned.

Placing the jacket into his lap to keep it out of the dirt, he felt the bulge in the inside pocket again. Oh, what the hell, he thought, taking out the cigarettes.

Disgusted with his own weakness, Mark lit one and drew in the aroma of tobacco and nicotine. The disgusting taste filled his throat, and he relaxed.

“What is that?”

Mark startled. The girl was standing right next to him. When had she gotten so close? Her demeanor had switched from guarded watchfulness to open curiosity.

“Cigarettes?” he asked, frowning. “You have never seen cigarettes?”

She shook her head.

Mark looked at the small white stick in his hands. “They are filled with tobacco. Do you know what tobacco is?”

“No.”

“Well, you light it and inhale the smoke. And then it gives you cancer.” Communicating with this girl was a pain. I should bring her into the next soft skills workshop and watch her make the trainers cry. The thought made him smile.

“Can I try?”

There was such innocence in the question that Mark took a second before he answered. “How old are you? Fourteen? Your parents wouldn’t like that.”

A shadow fell over Atissa’s eyes. “I don’t have parents...and I’m almost fifteen!”

She stated it so resolutely as if the one year made any difference.

“Look”, Mark said, “I can’t give cigarettes to…somebody your age. It’s not good for you.”

“Why?”

“It's bad for your skin and teeth,” he said. “And if you are young, it could also stunt your growth, I think.”

That seemed to shock her “You mean I would not grow anymore?”

“Could be,” Mark said, surprised by her reaction. In truth, he had no idea if cigarettes could interfere with the growth of an almost fifteen-year-old. But if the argument worked, he would take it.

He drew on the shrinking white stubble.

The girl continued to stare down at him. “If it’s bad for you, why do you do it?”

“I’m already fully grown,” Mark said. He considered the glowing tip for a moment. “And sometimes you need something numbing, I guess.”

Atissa frowned, cocking her head as if thinking about his words.

“What about that?” Mark asked quickly, nodding towards the dead animal laying in the grass next to him.

“Oh, right!” With smooth movements, she stepped over to her catch. “It’s a big one.”

Atissa unstrung her bow and placed it on the grass. Then she pulled a knife with a short yellow blade from her belt. Rolling the dead deer on its back she started to gut it.

It was one of the most gruesome things Mark had ever seen outside of a screen. Atissa seemed practiced in this work, her hands moving with quick efficiency. Before he knew it the short girl was pulling organs out of the deer’s belly.

“You’re…good at that,” he said.

Atissa looked up from her work. Her hands and forearms were red almost to the elbow “Hm? Oh, yes. Gutting was one of the first things uncle Tatros taught me when I was little. He always let me do it when he took me on the hunt with him.” Her eyes became distant for a second. “I think he didn’t like to do it, so he took me out with him more.” Smiling, she continued her work.

The possibility that this girl belonged to some survivalist community became more probable. Mark would have to be careful, especially if he ran into the adults. Who knows how they might react to a guy running around in the woods in a business suit?

“How far is it to the next town?” he asked as innocently as possible.

“Logger’s Home is not far,” she said, placing another organ Mark couldn’t identify on the grass. “It is the biggest settlement on this side of the valley. I can show you the way if you want to.”

“Thank you,” Mark said, wondering what kind of valley she was talking about. “I really need a shower and a phone. Can you recommend a local hotel?”

Atissa’s mouth dropped open as she seemingly tried to work out what to say in response. Once again that glazed expression passed over her face as if she hadn’t understood anything Mark had said.

“I need a place to rest and to get something to eat,” he said. “I have been lost in the woods since last night. First, I couldn’t find the road and then I couldn’t even trace my way back to my car.”

“If you want to, you can come to our place,” Atissa said carefully. “We have food and uncle Tatros can lend you a tunic. He has three.” She said it as if the number was significant.

“Thank you,” Mark said, jumping on the chance to talk to an adult. He probably would have to talk to an adult. Atissa seemed to be wholly unaware of the outside world. “By any chance, do you know how far we are from Calgary? Or Edmonton?”

Atissa looked at him blankly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know these places. The city of Riadnos lies behind the western mountains but I have never been there.”

Mark sighed internally. He had driven north from Calgary. It wasn’t possible that the closest city was beyond the Rockies. He really needed to talk to an adult.

“Do you need help carrying that?”