It was a scene out of a dream. The thick canopy shrouded the forest in darkness, leaf spirits and glowing faerie fires happily dancing across the faint spring breeze. A few of these glowing lights weren’t so happy, however. No, they seemed visibly upset as they raced across the trees, screaming a guttural wail that sounded like something out of a nightmare. Nightmares were dreams too, after all.

Nat Bandwood, witch doctor trainee under the notorious Buck Bandwood himself, ran from the screaming lights, her legs burning from the strain. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to come all the way out here on her own. She’d never admit that to anyone else, though.

Her staff bumped against her back with each labored step. The big stick: favored tool of witch doctors and angry mothers alike. For some reason, most people never expected someone in her line of work to handle things using brute force. One thing Buck preached to her every day was that while elaborate magics looked fancy, a good knock across the head was good enough for most situations. Hence, he’d trained her specifically on how best to apply her big stick to any given threat. The problem was that the ‘big stick’ approach didn’t work so well on angry incorporeal lights.

She had a backup plan for exactly this kind of situation. A little charm she’d made the night before that would temporarily ward off the spirits. Her strategy was absolutely foolproof; she should have been completely safe from every threat.

She’d dropped her backup plan in a ditch half a mile ago.

Nat kept on running. She’d be safe as long as she could make it to the raft she’d prepared by the river earlier that morning. Backup plan number two. But the path back only seemed to grow longer with each step she took. Was it getting darker, too? She cursed as she almost tripped over a root hidden below the underbrush. Maybe even the trees were against her, now.

It didn’t matter. She just had to keep running, then she’d make it to safety. Run, safety. She panted, her ears ringing, legs pumping against the damp, moss-covered ground. The forest was pitch black now, save for a few strands of sunlight filtering in through the canopy. Just a bit further and she’d make it to the river, and she could ride it downstream out of the forest.

Nat slowed, and realized she couldn’t hear anything. She looked around as she picked her way forward with her stick. She’d thought it was just the ringing in her ears drowning out the screams, but the things had gone quiet. Had she lost them?

Of course she hadn’t. The lights reappeared in the distance. Larger now, glowing a bright, sickly yellow. Like overgrown bile-colored fireflies, if you took out the fly part. They were directly ahead of her. She took a step back, looked around. They were behind her as well. And her left, her right. Surrounded on all sides.

Nat shivered. No way out. They approached, moving forward as one. Floating toward her, their light pulsing across the fallen leaves. Silent. They weren’t screaming anymore.

She breathed heavily as she held her staff out in front of her, as if warding them off—for all the good that would do. The stick would pass right through them. Still, it gave her some peace of mind. She looked at the figures ahead of her. She thought she could see them looking back, for all they had no eyes.

She had one option left now, only one chance to make it out of here safely. And for that, she needed the things to come closer before she could do anything to them. Just a few more steps before they’d be close enough.

Backup plan number three—if anyone was counting. She closed her eyes, reached her hand inside her pocket and felt at a little pouch. This would only work for a few seconds, at most. A child’s trick. Buck had warned her this wasn't very reliable, but what did that old fart know about anything? Besides, she didn’t have much of a choice.

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She opened her eyes, blinked. They were closer now. Too close. Three steps left. She took the pouch out of her pocket, cradled it in her hands. Two steps. She breathed out, pinched a little strip sticking out of the pouch. One. The lights were almost upon her now, holes opening up in their forms like mouths—holes leading to nowhere that opened wider and wider— 

She pulled the spark strip out of the pouch, threw it on the ground, and squeezed her eyes shut.

It hit the ground, exploded into a flash of red light. The floating lights dimmed in the flash, scattered as they shrieked.

Half a second later, the flash stopped. Nat opened her eyes and held her breath as she looked around. The spirits were gone.

She whooped, and began running toward the river once more, almost slipping on the wet leaves as she did.

“Hah, it actually worked! Suck it, old man! ‘Not reliable’, you said? Who’s the real witch doctor now! Me! I’m the real witch doctor! I’m gonna—”

She broke off as something screamed in the distance. Not even five seconds? So much for backup plan number three. But at least it had opened up the way. She stomped forward.

The river lay ahead of her. She could see it now, hear the water crashing against the banks, streaming down toward the Whitewater. The sound of salvation. The lights screamed at her from behind. The sound of not-so-much-salvation. Anti-salvation.

She half ran, half stumbled her way to the river. Coming out here really had been a mistake, hadn’t it? Her boots caught on some tangling vines on the underbrush. She cursed, wrestled them free and kept going. She really should have listened to Buck. Her stubbornness had landed her in trouble a few times before, but she’d always made it out in one piece. Maybe this would be the last. One chance too many. She clambered on top of a fallen tree, looking around the riverbank for her raft.

There it was. She spotted it pushed up against a rock, the water lapping across its side. By some miracle, it hadn’t washed away in the rising waters, or fallen apart. Sturdy ropework, that. Nat nodded to herself, pleased and only slightly smug at her handiwork. Knots were a simple thing, when you got down to it. They always made it sound so complicated.

She stumbled over to the raft and pushed it toward the water as the screams grew closer. Only a few more seconds until they would catch up; she had to go now.

"I really hope this works."

One last heave, and it was done. The raft splashed into the water. Nat jumped on, turned around to wave goodbye to the angry spirits as she rode down the river. Her face broke out into a grin, laughing.

"Until next time, losers! And they said this place was dangerous. I guess I'm just that good, huh? What kind of trainee can do all this? Might as well give me the full title already. Can't wait to stick this in Pale's face tonight. Try scoffing at me one more time and I'll break your nose even more crooked, you..."

She broke off as she looked down at the raft. Was it just her, or were the branches drifting away from each other?

"Oh."

As it turned out, knots weren't as simple as she'd thought them to be. The forest had graciously deigned to give her a final lesson in humility. It would serve her well in the days to come.

The raft burst apart in the currents. Nat grabbed onto a branch, holding on for dear life as she gurgled for breath.

——-

Nat washed up on the riverbank, and collapsed on the dirt. The river had swept her down for almost half an hour. Blue skies, no trees in sight. Maybe she'd just sleep here for a while.

She looked up at the sound of footsteps, and saw someone walking toward her. A young man with a slightly crooked nose and short black hair, leading a donkey by the reins. He crouched down next to her head.

“Buck said you'd be around here.”

Pale said, a tinge of smugness in his voice as he sneered down at her.

The donkey looked like it was sneering as well, if such a thing was possible. It sneezed at the back of Pale's head.

Nat frowned up at the sky, tried to sit up, and failed. She sighed.

“Of course he did.”

She closed her eyes and fell asleep.