CRAG CRY DARKNESS

She was a progeny of the colony born on the edge of a despotic civilization.  Beneath the curve of the earth, she had made this place home.  Her family had found new beginnings amidst strenuous labor upon the riverbanks that promised gold and the hills that were capped with silver. She was of mixed decent, a delicate marriage of eastern and European heritage, a fusion that lent her like this land a surprising marriage of the familiar and the unfamiliar remade into something new and remarkable. Her father was an Irish man fresh from the hills surrounding Dublin, a hard-working superstitious creature who had recognized the opportunity that hard work could tease from the earth. He had known great poverty and hardship in the past and had trod the paths of poverty for too long and yet his fiery spirit like his hair stood testimony to the world that he intended to remake with the thick callouses upon his hand and the bulge of muscle upon his back. Her mother’s past was more mysterious as she spoke hardly any about her distant beginnings, she spoke mandarin and had an exceptional grasp of the kings English learnt upon the long sea voyage that had brought her here, marked with local inclinations and   convict vernacular, she was both the same and remarkably different to those around her. 

The young family had moved by wagon from the growing hub that was Hobart town, the colony had not interested them, they had seen its like, like an echo of other desperate places, filled with the dangerous crush of humanity too eager to drown the unfamiliar with the familiar taint of spirits, the wild streets of this primitive metropolis, filled with all the distasteful sounds of civilization were quickly replaced with the quite unacquainted lands west of Hobart, a place where silence was still able to find a place, a place where they could find a place.  

In those days the journey was long and arduous, the road as it was first carved by early explorers and then beaten to a mud-filled trench by all those who came after. They had been with the early ones, brave and resolute against the backdrop of unfamiliarity, their wagon and their fire an expostulated symbol of civilization amidst the surrounds and the foreign sounds of the night.  

As they travelled on these roads, they observed all that was new and unfamiliar, they lay together upon sun-warmed rocks by the banks of swift flowing rivers, free of the civilized filth that they had become accustomed to in past places.   Whenever the sun was able to pierce the gloom filled days, they would bathe like the natives in these waters, their spirits cleansed with frigid snow melt, as though it were holy water so that they again felt more human than they had ever done.  Their fire was a sanctuary to which they retreated to, the narrow doorway of their wagon a secure sanctuary against the foreign sounds of the surrounding night. A place in which ghastly sounds would often emanate and for the daughter all her father’s stories came alive.  

Weeks passed as the travelled west towards the interior, the clean sweep of Eucalypt forests relinquished themselves to a thicker more tangled web of beauty as though a siege upon their edges was in continual flux. For the father this place was like those ancient uncultivated places that existed in his homeland, places woven with the spell of ages and saturated with an ancient mythology, home to all the ancient fears and hopes of men embodied in the mysterious folklore that was such a part of Irish culture. For the mother it was truly unique and at times she became frightened, nothing like this had existed for her before and her unease often grew unproportionally to her surrounds, and it was only the comforting firm hands of the father that coaxed her spirit away from some temporal insanity that seemed to seep out from the ancestral parts of her mind.  

For the daughter this world was a heady mix of the two, plus a wild wonderment, an undisguised curiosity, for she had nothing to base her prejudice upon.  She thought all beautiful and mysterious and it was easy for her to feel this void with made up Imaginate spirits that sought to beckon her away from sunlight and firelight and all things if only she would listen to the words the forest whispered to her.  

Her fathers stories inaugurated the land with creatures of fairy, her imagination projecting a rich tapestry of mythology upon her surrounds, the rivers swirled with archaic water spirits that brushed her ankles when she swam, the warm northly wind was full of the billow of giants breath and those that crept up from the south the icy touch of  winter witches.  It was the forests though that her imagination was drawn to the most, the mossy dampness full of the stagnant smell of vegetation, she loved how the light filtered its way through myrtle trees as their leaves sat thick upon the forest floor, eons of similar leaf fall building up from below in vast layers of spongy peat that were as soft as the most comfortable mattress. She loved how the trunks reared up around her, mottled bark  ancient with lichen each one older and more wise than the next, as though they conducted a secret communion with each other somewhere in the sky above.  She loved the ferns and moss that cloaked everything in a green that  had no comparison upon any painters pallet as though the pigments had been drawn from Eden itself. 

She had little interest in anything else around her, a quiet and secretive child she was prone to periods of deep silent introspection as though she was listening to sounds no others could hear, as she seemed to observe the movement of ghost like beings over the shoulders of the living and at times this made her parents worried and yet the peace upon her small face made none of it worth worrying about.  

In the heart of the West they came some of the first of many  drawn by the riches that the hills and valleys provided. Often on the journey they would speak to others desperately poor folk like they  who sought a change in the miserable circumstances of the places they had fled from, hoping for new prosperous beginnings and happy endings. Many came from many lands drawn by a promise a twinkle of hope that could be carved from the land.  

They were often accompanied by the natives of the land, dark skinned peoples who trod the forests like ghosts, silent save for their eerie calls that echoed like bird call from another dimensions their ancient implements of music drifting like magic upon wood fire breezes as though from alternative mystical  lands, The hypnotic drone of their wind instruments and the meditative clatter of percussion bridging some ancient connection between the two calling forth the presence of other worlds as many worlds connected and the people danced  with their ancestors. Lovelorn wanted to dance with them, to go together into their fire light and to dance with their ancestors too, she wanted to be naked, painted in the paint of their traditions, free from the cloying complexity of this culture to join with this other one and to walk the forests like a ghost with them for eternity.  

Her father was afraid though, she could see it in his eyes, a unease when ever the music started up. A flurry of wood upon the camp fire to chase away the shadows and his harmonica instantly in his hand to drown out was he perceived as noise.  Her mother quickly retreating to the solitude of the cabin where she would burry her head in linen even more desperate to lock out the catastrophe of sounds that made her spirits both anxious and glum, at these times her parents seemed to lose all patience with the small things including her, quick to anger and quick to react she kept silent and emersed herself in the magic of their sounds.  

The raging wildfire as the marvellous maelstrom of May manifested itself around me. I felt the echoes of dancing sticks clattering together in the space between us and against my body like  the gentle brush of cotton lace as invisible dancers wove within and around the fire as though luring me to their fore light. From a long way off a sound too gentle to at first acknowledge, a sweet auditory seduction of somatic senses, the caress of the infinitesimal organs of vibrato and castrato and then enough aerial displacement to be brought to full conscious with in our evolutionary giant ganglion as the song poured forth at last in my consciousness from aerial envelopes to electricity, from pure imagination to kinetic energy and ever-expanding musical possibilities. The words whispered a late-night lullaby woven excruciatingly with some miserable dull dawn and then it all rising to a midday crescendo as great swath of harmonic majors paraded out, before softly escorting the night in upon a thin trail of moonlit minors as a gently repetitive rhapsody rode the last of the song out as I imagined the dancers falling to the forest floor empty and spent, as the last of the day tumbled to the floor around them. I was almost spent as well as the chorus rose again, the distant yet enveloping drone of foreign instrumentation, the frightening call of spirits and mythology,  Harmony upon disharmony and as the night and day rose and fell around the wagon we were all cast into the wider annual progression, seasonal  transgression Spring, summer, autumn and now Winter brethren. 

The winter roamed around us, at first it came to us with the dawn, smothering the warmth of the sun beneath  the horizon,  as it was held captive against its will, allowing the night to lord a little longer over the day  until it rose free, a  picturesque mournful majesty  its energy spent within a theoretical  imprisonment where it suffered all manner of imaginary tortures  and the morning sky was turned as blood to symbolise its suffering at the mercy of the moon and the cunning sweep of sister stars that fled with the day, and the animals of the night were given extra reign upon the earth and the animals of the day were made to be locked away. It also appeared first in the evening, an early distant chill that flew silently down from the hills, a creeping crawling nasty thing that  collected at first in the valleys like a thin mist focusing and concentrating its might in the bowels of the earth  the low lands only after it had lain claim to the mountain where it reigned there as well.  

We knew of winter us of Northern Europe, and yet this place possessed a merciless cold as though the moisture in the air held onto it and concentrated it and when the winds came, the cold was pushed towards us like an unwelcome guest, invading our bones where it took up root for a very long time holding our flesh coat as though to keep it warm. 

Eventually the small colony came in to site, a mottled township on the edge of the ocean, a ratbag run of speckled makeshift shelters, huddling together as though they feared the ocean that nearly lapped upon their door steps as well as the primeval forests that encroached upon their walls as the sky enveloped the tops of their chimneys . 

They lived within a narrow band of existence crammed between  layers of oppression. They were close together as though finding some safety The town at first appeared deserted. The blustering wind that raised whispering whitecaps upon the water a strong deterrent as it filled the air with a salty sleet and the fresh smell of the sea. Habitation did exist however as each and every house produced a column of smoke from their chimneys, the warmth rising and dispersing in the cold winter air. The wagon bumped its way into the amalgamation of shelters, the main streets identity only owing to frequent use, no barrier or border to define its progress along the edge of the rocky foreshore.  

Lovelorn jumped and hopped across the rutted road impervious to the large pools of  mud and the growing might of a storm that sat menacingly upon the edge of a distant horizon. She made better time across these facilitated corrugated geographical barriers than the wagon as it lurched wildly from side to side. They came eventually to their lodgings, pulling the cold key from between the concealment of important pockets as it fell to the icy earth twice fumbled between numb fingers before it could find the lock.  

The door swung upon steadily given a abrupt push from the winds outside revealing the dim sparce interior, a basic room with seating for three, a coupled bed pushed against the wall and a small attic style sleeping quarter for one more, the toilet outside and apparently a bath house near by where water could be heated for warmth. A solemn fire place filled the remaining wall, its cavity wet and waiting to provide sanctuary from the storm outside. They moved all they could inside the door way as best they could, their presence not creating a stir in the silent twilight as the private and secretive townsfolk seemed to hold off their greetings perhaps until the following day when the weather might improve. The place under the light of  a rapidly lit fire seemed to bring the cabin to life, chasing away the shadows that seemed to congregate close by and in the distant corners so that the room became bathed in a rich welcoming glow.  

As efficiently as they could they gradually transformed the shell of a cabin into their home, moving linen to the seats and beds to add comfort, moving cherished personal effects to the rough walls for life and using the row of shelves above the table to at once clutter it up with the needs of a household and to display what small level of wealth they possessed to those that might drop by.  

Soon they had enough wood for the night, quiet rituals that had been repeated for weeks now imbedded within a new location, they were all grateful for the space that surrounded them, the solid reassurance of real walls and at last a sanctuary from the weather that had become an obnoxious unwelcome guest in the weeks that had passed. They welcomed the small flow of water from a weathered tap outside that meant they no longer had to forage around dangerous river banks in the dark. The house that was beginning to become a home soon became full of the sounds of a family as the storm outside was quickly forgotten aside from the rush of rain on a warn tin roof.  

The township was revealed the next day as the storm wore itself out. They met together and alone the other inhabitants of the town, not through ceremony or will, but through the close associations of a small town, the need for shared facilities and space. They found the small public buildings, the post office with its humble sign already worn raw by the westerly wind and the small drinking saloon that served dinner three times a week. A long and sturdy jetty peaked out from the foreshore the water link with the rest of the world. There was also a building carrying out the majority of other public functions and it was here that the various papers works were completed and the father  and mother began to understand the role of theirs in this new community.  

For Lovelorn this was of little importance, she was instantly in love with the spectacle of the ocean as it swept outwards to the horizon, strong and moody she breathed in its cold salty flavour spending the morning investigating the waters edge, bringing back deep ocean treasures to fill the shelves so the room itself began to smell not only of smoke, but of the sea.  

Over the following weeks, the new family set in to their roles within the town, each morning many of the townsfolk would begin their day loading up horses with their mining equipment before following the rough honed track into the wilderness. The track was a fairly easy affair taking its passages into the hills surrounding the village where ore had been discovered, here silver and tin was mined from the rivers and transported by boat to foreign markets from the wharf, the town was a maritime gateway to the rest of the world.  

Lovelorn would often sit absentmindedly her eyes searching lazily the lonely horizon where the word dipped around itself. She watched the first glimpse of distant salt speckled sails the boundary between sea and sky before  the vessel seemed to expand suddenly into more familiar dimensions. Little was lost to her as her gaze scraped the sky, the seasonal sea birds playing against the brooding heavens,  the rise and fall of distant conversations, with merriment and with the wind and the constant murmur of the sea.  

Life persisted like this and she was at peace, their small dwelling was filled with as much joy as their previous wagon and it held the westerly winds out. They had taken books from the tiny public library and now they had at last the lands that existed outside these walls. Their  fire place was both warm and smokeless, and they would all nearly  crawl into the chimney to escape the cold.. 

They gradually  acclimatised to the village amidst the many like minded people that called the town home, finding at first  acquaintance  of their age and then moving towards those they sensed they had a bond with. Lovelorn had struggled a little more than others, for one there were relatively few girls her age within the town and her natural reclusive thoughtfulness was at odds with the boisterous behaviour of most her age, so she more often than not fell back into her own private word, at peace with her own thoughts. For her the town on the edge of the world was best served alone. Here she could be like the whisk of the wind off on spontaneous adventures whether it was the shores or the forests that called her.   

After a year here she knew all the places. The skullduggery cliffs that bore the deep caves, warrens of waves and waterfalls. The wind swealed beaches covered in the carcases of sea monsters, the tannin stained waters that bled serendipitous beneath the lush green temperate rainforest and proved to be the easiest pathway into the mountains. To those she had not gone far, they were ominous companions, distant white crystalline conglomerates, their flanks wet with rainforest thick. She longed for them and yet she knew that now was not the time. She loved the animals here, the fretful, fleet full rat like derivatives, the big ones, the small ones, the tall ones and the cute ones. She loved to share stillness with the birds, to hear them talk over each other about all their strange dreams first thing in the morning, she loved the sunsets when the sun bathed within the sea, its light now the reality of a distant land as the darkness fell silently into the suns departure, as the sky bled around everything. 

She found the forests here to be so mysterious, these ancient environments hidden from the eyes of civilisations and industrialisation, powerful in the  ancient animosity they possessed, their forbearance flung around them like a wise secretive cloak, under these ancient canopies whole worlds persisted, tiny micro habitats that new nothing save for the fall of raindrops from above. Small places of microscopic beauty, fresh and clean with some sort of condensed purity. They prospered here where their kind had been eliminated elsewhere sheltering amidst the mountains on the edge of the world. She spent hours here below the sun speckled vegetive gallery, pathways of transparency weaved around her in the form of watery cascades, smooth liquid expanses that passed like travellers through her realm. She fell down amidst the moss the spongy surface reaching up to cushion her fall. She would lie there her brow sparkling in the light from beyond the canopy. She would lie there and let the pulse of the earth renew her. Of course there were plenty of periods to do this, the school system was lax, girls her age were expected to attend some level of formal education, basic reading, writing and arithmetic, she had mustered these long ago beyond the level of her pale skinned contemporaries. Of course there was no opportunities to divulge into the natural sciences, she wanted to know of all the natural things around her, their names, their form and their distant mysterious origin. She wanted to know the rock, the minerals of the mountain, she wanted to know their age and origin, she wanted to contemplate the millennia of their existence and let the number sit in her mind as though a million years could condense into an instance and she could contemplate a tiny snap shot of eternity from the perspective of a mountain.  

She wanted to go home….. 

 The forests in these parts went from sun drenched Edens to forbidding places cloaked in all manner of malevolent mysteries, after the shadows had swallowed the sun, they would often stretch out from places of darker deeper concealment crossing the ground and sometimes climbing other trees, they would creep up your legs as though searching for something, in these times sun fall would herald in the wind, a low lithe thing with fingers long like the touch of winter. It would hover close to the ground wet, cold and dense and find its way upon you, to search out any warmth. She would flee then, this foreign place, filled as it was with its mysterious darkness and with it upon her heel as though the darkness had condensed into swift bird flight.  

She sought the sanctity of streetlights. The town would always startle her as she came out of the forests fringe, of course before this she had caught the smell of wood smoke upon the wind, following it and the well-worn paths  that were a part of her imagination,  the door to her cottage peeled open with a familiar groan of torcher, the light opening like a growing triangle bathing the dark world before she shut the light out, she went at once to her mother to greet her and hug her and tell her that the food cooking smelt amazing and then to her father who tried to sweep her up but of course had forgotten her growth, brought forward by the west coast life style. She gave him the small trinkets she had found below the mountains, nothing things of wood and stone. They ate largely in silence as they tended to do, focusing on the food and gratitude for what this place had allowed them. Later they moved to their respective places amidst the small room, finding their positions in the conversation and in the natural hierarchy.  Lovelorn drifted here for a time the close sway of voices lulling her away.  

She could hear her father speak of the mines; the black shafts he would clamber down to dig the minerals from the earth. She could hear her mother’s reply, the sweet tone of compassion and empathy, that filled the room with a familiar common acceptance. She knew peace before she drifted even further into sleep.  

On a particular day the sky hung like a thick rich blanket above, vast billowing bovine like bulges that seemed to connect to the earth via the thin tendrils of rapidly rising wood smoke from the village, as though the clouds fed from the woodsmoke.  

The earth was silent beneath this soft maelstrom of grey light all sound seemingly sucked away as the earth languished within the mornings expectation. Lovelorn had set out before dawn, earlier, it was Saturday and she had the world to herself.  

On this day when she stood upon the threshold of the world and awaited the summoning that would send her either to the sea or the forest,  the summoning was of course purely how her mind made decisions, opening up it vicariously placed herself amidst each world until she felt the pull of one over the other.  

On this day when the air felt wet and all things were still drenched within the nights sadness, when the sun was barely a slither of light behind the mountains and it had barely visited this land she chose the sea and she followed her nose and the crisp fresh wind that brought the salt away from the sea, She made her way west of the village, deciding upon a rout that would bring her away from more familiar sights towards areas that had remained undiscovered, with a whole day at her disposal she knew of the places she would explore, a mottled crag of coastline, who’s edges were too thick to gain entry by land, but she had an idea, a small vessel had been lent to her, so far she had ventured only across local waters, gaining confidence within the shallow seas until she could manoeuvre the vessel like she could a second limb.  

It was now that she finally felt ready to take the boat to more distant secretive places. She untangled the messy rudimentary knots that held the vessel imprisoned against the shore and then with the familiar bang of oars falling into gunnels she began to row. The boat was about 12 feet long, slender and built from the premium native timbers that speckled the shores. She could smell the woods rich fragrance of the ancient timber as it sliced quietly through the water. She made quick progress as she moved from the sheltered bay towards the more exposed head lands, her back and arms burning with the weight of the water against the oars. Shuffling she slowly found an efficient space. As the dawn came alive around her so to did the living world, vast swarms of birds cascading, rising and plunging to feed upon small insects at the waters edge, dolphins cresting time and again as they followed the silent wake of her progress, peeling off to track the movement of food beneath the waves before regaining their position behind the boat. She loved these silent playful companions the way the seemed to be completely preoccupied by the playfulness of the moment and the shared company of the pod.  

After rounding the edge of the headlands she was immediately within the care of the deep ocean, the water dark and yet millpond smooth around her, the clouds above rolling within the reflection of the water and the sea Craggs rearing up majestically around her, their ancient white amalgamation of minerals similar to the white crust of waves that visited their bases. She navigated confidently around their bottoms, finding secret passages that allowed her access to a myriad of secret places, her boat teased its way between the cliffs, finding access to areas that may have never been observed by humans. As the sun climbed steadily in the sky, the white smoke rolls of the clouds quickly dissipated so that the summer sky was now a continues blue expanse, save for an odd assortment of distant storm clouds that sat secretly upon the distant horizon. The place between the cliffs was truly majestic under the dominion of the clear sky, the waters unbelievably clear so that the pathways of the dolphins within this aquatic realm where easily discernible,  as a plethora of perfect bubbles rose to the surface, behind them, such that she could imagine reaching down and by taking grasp of those lateral fins to ride the dolphin deeper into those mysterious waters.  

She sighed with longing for this experience, though content she still felt within the cradle of the boat and the majesty of the summer sun. Laying back she stretched out loosening the knots and tired spots left their by the ocean and the oars. She soon felt the need to carry on, the mysterious call of hidden inlets mustering a small amount of strength from her shoulders as she drifted forward.  

Soon she came to inlet, as though something had purposely rendered a rout between the rocks, cliffs 100m grew tall around her as she navigated deeper with in the  channel. After a small period of time she felt the boat rub uncomfortably against the bottom as she shifted her weight in order to move further forwards, soon she could move no more and rose from the boat to make landfall as she pulled the vessel by its decrepit ropes further upon the shore. The place was a sand surmounted cathedral, the walls  of which could be observed rising tenfold into the crisp morning sky. She followed the course of the walls as they whispered on and narrower ahead. Already the floor a great depository of sea born treasure spread sparingly amidst the giant discarded tendrils of sea weed that snaked desperately around each other clasping to themselves unconsciously their treasures.  

She moved up and over as though a distant sound beckoned her, far off she could still hear the sound of the sea, a distant ever-present murmur.  

The way was narrower now, the walls closing together desperately above her to create a stone tunnel that moved deeper into the cliff face. The light was dim now, and her eyes had adjusted, “slosh” she snapped momentarily away from the presumed materialisation of her goal, the way ahead narrowing off into a greater darkness. She had to get to the end, now she was crawling, slithering, the last of her curiosity giving way to less pleasant feelings. “slosh” that sound again, distant yet closer. The rocks were now oppressive upon her, and the darkness deeper around her. She was moving with less certainty. “What was she doing”. The day was out there, long past the windy rout, the sun, which she savoured still high upon the sky, and not this.  

She crept forward her head stooped ahead, nothing, no sea throne, with a spiralling Mer creature lounged upon it to at once raise a similar crown as though it had been always waiting.  

The sea  hit her with full forces, so that for a moment her conscious sat like an abstract between 2 words and then the air left her and her hands clawed for something to slow down the turmoil. Her hands scraped painfully against the dense wall of viscous crustations around her finding nil purchase against their dense uncaring carapaces. Then she felt rock, but it was but a pebble and she held it tight unconsciously as the sea washed around her. Slowly the energy subsided and she was able to raise her weary head to the caves aperture, following her bubbles to the hopeful surface. She crested and gasped, a wave, a freak wave, how could she have been so foolish, the west coast whispered stories of these occurrences and these stories were always accompanied by the presence of the dead. The water slowly died down as though sinking into the sand. She had been so lucky, save for a few scrapes and a mild concussion where her head had hit the wall she was whole. Her boat was wedged and yet whole ahead, its 1000 year old wood resistant to this water born element. She freed it with a few hard yanks and she made her shacky way back across the sand towards the light.  

She made it to the ocean quickly, her mind playing desperate delusions of deluge damnation so that her feet were quicken by her fear. It was near sun down when the small boat made it the bay. The sun falling behind her like a molten demiurge casting the edge of the ocean into fire. The land a cooled conglomerate of hardened steel against the intensifying moon light. She tied the boat expertly, promising to return to repair the small amount of damage that the wave had caused. As she rose she remembered absentmindedly the stone, she had thrown it aboard thinking well it could be lucky, she had found it just as the wave had seem to subside when the last of her strength should have surely given out. It was there lodged between wooden beams, strange it was so dark, even against the darkness. “What’s that?” The voice rose inquiringly maybe a bit intently out of the darkness. Jed “The millers boy”. Dim whit, cruel, careful. “Just a stone” I found, she turned away to go. “Didn’t look like just a stone” His pig face intense. “It was then she felt the fear. “I mean if its just a stone, surely you’d give it to me, it did look awfully interesting… “It was then she ran, something was not right and Jed was not being himself, before she could launch however, this pig faced boy had her ankle, fast in his cunning greedy desperation, his sweaty grasp clammy. She kicked out instinctively and then he had that too in his porky hands. “Where you going” China girl?” He had her was over her, crawling his way up her and his hands fumbling greedily towards her pockets, his breathe gross and hot  amidst the hairs of her neck. The grossness was enough now she would not take one more moment of this piggery. She arched up dislodging him so that he fell back and before he could rise, the evil light of greed and something else more monstruous and unfamiliar alight in his eyes again she had him across the head with the oar, he fell back, faster and more violently than he should, a crimson splash of blood covering the ground behind him like a bloody halo as he lay strangely prostrate, his limbs askew and bent angled beneath him. He was dead, for that she was certain… Her pulse rushed like blood beneath her skin, she wanted to scream and yet that would be foolish, What would they think? Was her story plausible? The rock, the stone, god why, it was just a stone, why did he want it so much and more importantly why didn’t she just give it?  

She fell away from the scene, she had no story and no defence, the miller was a trusted man of the community a wealthy downer to the towns prosperity, her parents were well respected, but they were outsiders and she a quiet, secretive, lonely girl would only attract suspicion under these strange circumstances. She must go, she could not return, this land was cruel, too cruel to those who committed murder.  The boat must go back to the ocean, but before she would use it to gain passage elsewhere. If they found it they would presume her dead, drowned at sea, with no connection to this fatal tragedy upon the shore.  She ran into the night blindly, and it seemed to gather her up and beckon her forward. Nor branch, nor stone impeded her way, she danced like a shadow into the forest grey her old world closing behind her like a pin prick of light her foot falls softer and softer, and quieter and quitter into the darkness.  

Much was talked about her and her strange disappearance, the town rocked by two magnitudes of grief for the millers son had been found his head seemingly split by  something and yet no weapon found. She?  drowned they all presumed, another lost to the wild passion of the ocean. Her parents were mortified, broken by her disappearance, sure even weeks later that she would return. After the boat was found days later the town drifted into a quiet solitude as the long summer days became stretched and then  slowly contracted like rubber bands shorter and shorter until the westerly chills again touched the land. The town and her parents of course did not hold much faith after that, nothing could survive at sea, even trapped upon an off shore island for this long, this world was too cruel and not long after a remembrance was held for her and the town slowly painfully moved on and yet the whole affair tainted by the hypothetical crime that nearly everyone presumed had been committed.  

What do you see when you enter my land, when you survey the dense thickets of my nativity? When you appraise my deep green bisections, and raise your eyes longingly to my stones capped pyrometries that rear like guardians over the tiny below.  What do you see when you survey my Pristine clean sand swept boundaries, I trust you do not see as I do, for no one sees as I do. You see as I fled that night deeper into the darkness  my arms and legs burning with a fatigue I wrenched my arms near out of my sockets navigating the small vessel out to sea, breaching the small white caps with a glorious ease. Swept on nocturnal currents towards the falling sun, I had rowed feverishly almost unconsciously I went to the island I could see it as the sun fell behind it, I knew it would be a good place. I had with me something else, save my clothes, the stone. When the bow of the boat slid snuggly against the crisp quartzite sand I was off, leaving it to its fate and the rising tide. I went deeper and I do not know why, I had the need, as though to purge myself of the guilt, to climb from these flats into the  fold of the small mountain above, to ascend through cloud born aeries and to deliver into the nooks a faithful assentation to reach the pyrometries’ of creation. 

 I went higher, the world opening up around me as the  small pockets of rainforest fell away behind me replaced with a stunted wasteland of mottled pines and mirror like lakes. topography rich with the mottled coverage of alpine flora, microscopic worlds crammed amidst rocky outcrops, their heights thick with the feet of clouds. To her this place was perfect. And to know that this place had all this time existed. For the years that she had trod the coastlines east and here she now was a part of this hidden magic. This place as though clawed dry by the weather, everything gnarled and stunted as though the very soil offered no sustenance and yet everything was allowed to only not quiet die. And yet oddly the place was magical, it was a garden,  arranged by giants at night. Everything placed in precarious harmony, unconsciously positioned by the ice, wind and snow. She loved it here and she knew it would be here that she would make her place home and she gripped the stone  tighter, here within the cradle of the mountains where she could see the sea. This is where she would make her new home.  

The stone was her salvage, creator retaker,  her saviour through those long nights when she lay beneath a canopy of stars lost amidst swirling currents of undeniable grief that gripped her heart and swirled through her subconscious and threatened to drown what was left of her.  

She had never spent this time alone, even in her most daring escapades she had found her way home before the day hung its head, but now things were vastly different. Days and nights had passed and though the initial fear had given way to something else still in the dead of the nights darkness that same feeling overwhelmed her. She wept for her papa and mama more than she did for herself, for she knew the dense wall of grief that descended over her each and ever night always lifted with the dawn for she was alive, for her parents the rising of the sun would never offer such solace.  

She kept herself busy, she had nought else to do, with the rock secured around her throat and sitting darkly upon her breast wrapped in cloth and tied with thread, she could check its presence when ever she could. Amidst the southern precarious root of the island she discovered the remnants of a hut, perhaps the left over remains of a whale station, then occupied perhaps by an abandoned convict camp. She could tell not, but enough still lay in ruin so that with some small effort she was able to repair and clean until the place became a remembrance of civilisation. Amidst the dishevelled mess the found the remnants of small things, crockery and pots, and small things enough that she felt the warm reassurance of civilisation return. She repaired the roof in the old tradition of her father, thatching the boards with the rough wind and water resistant grasses that desperately hugged the coastline until she had a secure shelter from the storms that swelled so suddenly in the oceans around. She had a close source of freshwater, tannin stained waters threading past the hut and delivering abundance from the high lands into a delicate pool that served as a place for water,  and a place to wash, in time she thought she could use the great iron pot that had boiled the meat from penguins and porpoises to bath heating the waters. She luckily had her flint, to build a fire in the small crude heath, the warmth reminding her of home. For food she had the ocean, shellfish and rock pools provided ample pickings. Wild potatoes she found inland perhaps purposefully cultivated by the islands past residencies. She had it all it seemed, enough at least to preserve her life upon this isolated mass of wave washed wonder and of course she had the highlands, only a small climb away. And she had her stone. 

Its presence was an enigma against her flesh, at times is seemed silent opaque, strangely heavy and yet not so unusual compared to other similar rocks, and yet during periods of time  it would become warm with some kind of inner heat, comforting and welcoming and when there was no heat elsewhere she was able to find it here. With the heat also came a change, often she would welcome it in the cold of the night, when the winds raced across the sky and she would wrap herself around the stone  in some sort of miserable martyrdom , the heat seemed to reach out and fill her body reaching gently, mercifully into the parts of her that were the most cold, until she could no longer remember the distinct feel of that particular discomfort, as all discomfort’s faded. Like everything did around her.   

During such times her mind was cast as though a spectator in some lucid dream she felt at peace and ease and yet fearfully she also  felt strangely disconnected  from her body and this world, every time she would give more of herself to this strange connection , more time, more of herself and every time she slipped back into normal consciousness her body felt like a different fit, as though it was no longer her own. The days persisted like this days into weeks and then into months soon she hoped she would have the courage to venture back to the village. She had thought about it a lot lately, she longed for the company of her parents, she knew she could do it with ease, secretly gaining access to her parents dwelling and swearing them both to secrecy, it was the only way she could preserve her freedom and her parents poor sanity too. For now though she would wait, the village would still be under alert, perhaps waiting for her return. Expecting her to come running foolishly through the long glass, a lonely avowal upon her guilty lips  and lying in wait between her empty ribs a foolish confession flushed  out in desperation , lowliness and despair, she knew the tears of joy still fresh  upon her face would become tears of remorse before the evening  there would be no forgiveness for her, no story that would ever save her life, she was a condemned woman and her place forever on would be as the shadow of humans, haunting the borderland between wilderness and civilisation.  

The months past….. Her island, her sanctuary became her small word. She slid  into the environment like  how a bookmark  finds its place between 2 well read pieces of ancient parchment,  confidently tucked there for future reference, barely a rustle as it finds its place between parts and pages, prologues and punctuation. with the exciting yet familiar touch of new worlds and words around her and the ever present existence of a defined beginning and an end that she would slowly  move towards seemingly free of  stark surprises and horrendous endings, It felt as though being free from mankind she had also become free from herself. she felt a peace that surprised even her with its graceful gravity.  and the familiar weight of the world so close she often shamefully wondered if she had indeed been delivered to a better more prosperous existence on the wings of foe murder, escape and mischance.  

Her home was more a home now than it had ever been, it was as though the Island had stepped inside and left behind like a hurried guest all the parts that made it beautiful for from one side of the island to the other she had collected unique natural elements and arranged them upon the walls so the place smelt equally of the forest and the sea. She was overwhelmed with a deep soulful excitement that would quickly push back the shadow of loneliness which occasionally lay like a shadow next to her, this excitement was for all the hidden places that the island offered, the excitement was for the clean sweep of time ahead of her, neither interrupted by duties or the artificial slicing of time into socially acceptable productive units, she felt as though she stood with the morning gazing out upon the horizon of a new day. There was no routine that was unnatural, she rose and fell with the sun, occasionally lighting a small smokeless fire in the tiny heath to chase away the shadows of the night. 

 She had ample daylight hours to carry out the small duties of necessity that were required for bodily survival, she tended to her garden, ensuring that the potatoes continued to crop, she often dived for food beneath the ocean, having realised she had a remarkable ability to hold her breath, as she followed the sunlight down amidst the depths where the sea creatures to which she fed upon lived. From the forest around she had some small sources of food, edible roots and berries that grew in abundance around the coastline. She mostly favoured the coastline, making sure she was invisible to sea farers who occasionally ventured into the sheltered bays, but luckily never came ashore. Occasionally she would make the journey inland to the islands solitary mountain, climbing amidst the sea mist and cloud mountains she would visit this place and spend the day beneath the ancient bowels of pine trees, occasionally swimming in the frigid clear waters of the mountain lakes that dotted its usually wind swept surface.  

One day she awoke and decided it was time, she felt remarkably strong physically and mentally and she had a distant longing for her parents, to smell their smell and feel their warmth, it had been over 6 months now and she had weathered a cold winter and as the first touches of spring sent an shimmer of colour across the land she knew it was now or never, she was scared that if she did not reconnect with her brethren she would become like the leaves and twigs, rocks and clouds that surrounded her free and opaque from human emotion.  

 At first she thought boat and all sorts of ideas cascaded through her to imagine such a structure and yet when she looked out over the great expanse of water that separated her from the mainland she had an inkling that the distance was really not that much and perhaps she could swim it. The next day when the ocean slipped towards the horizon like one great glassy mirror and the sun settled itself unobstructed high in the sky, she stripped down to nothing save for the stone in a makeshift sling upon her breast, her clothes of course had become optional, the isolation required no such touch of artificial modesty. Also the land had gradually picked them bare, a button here and a button there, a stich not mended in time and a cuff torn from a forgotten climb. Little was left of the civilization that had cradled her for the first 17 years of her young life and this passage across the ocean seemed a symbolic opportunity to give up the rest. She made it to the mouth of the sheltered horse shoe shaped bay with remarkable ease, no weariness filled her bones and even when she broke out into the swell of the open ocean she felt as fresh as she ever had, she angled her passage slightly south hoping to remain undetected by any circumstantial observation from the shore, she found land hours later, emerging from the waters into thick forest she felt momentarily naked some relique of civilisation hanging for a moment like a mirror Infront of her until she regained her island identity, she required the civilised garments not at all, her skin had been turned a rich shade of gold under the spring sun, her skin seemed almost unnaturally resilient to the harsh conditions that surrounded her, her feet comfortable against the ground as though her feet had evolved sturdy soles in the place of shoes. Her hair fell to her waist because she had nothing sharp enough to cut it with and it served some sort of immodest modesty when she was able to wrap it around her slim figure. She slept for a time in the afternoon, allowing the secrecy of the night to gradually materialize around her before she made the journey North to where the township lay.  

It was with much fear and apprehension that she moved towards her goal. What if her parents sounded the alarm believing they were bringing her to justice? What if she was sighted and a mob of men formed to chase her into the forest with burning brambles and cries of witch? She could worry not. She must trust her parents and herself, all was theory and conjuncture until she was within the safety of their walls. On the edge of the village, the night was now fully present, a slash of a murderous moon alight in the sky, dwarfed by the trajectory of racing clouds. She followed the smell of woodsmoke as she had done countless times before.  

She found her parents abode, and for a moment she had to compose her self save the sob that nearly escaped from her. Perhaps the first human sound she had made for a full winter. She though briefly about leaving just a note, a sign of her life and yet as soon as she heard the familiar sounds of their evening ritual emanating from the thin walls she could not rethink the sensibility of her decision and instead rapped secretly upon the window sill of the most distant window, all sound immediately stopped for she had used a familiar rap that she had become accustomed to using in days long past.  

A ghost surely it must be that knocked so hauntingly? Her father came out first, looking around fearfully in the darkness, perhaps expecting a ghost? “Father” she whispered from the darkness draping her hair modestly around her before she escaped into the light. Her father knew it was her by every subtle  expression that she unconsciously initiated within the darkness, immediately and the warmth of his embrace and the sudden catch of his voice in his throat when he went to utter her name was all that she needed to know that she had made the right decision, he bustled her inside as though the English were watching. Her mother had barely a moment to confirm that she was not a forest spirit before she felt the comfort of her also. She told her long story by whisper, all of them crouched heads together in secrecy. She was given her old clothes though the fill of their fibre against her skin seemed foreign and their food too rich and complex to enjoy and yet she swallowed it all down as though she had not eaten for a season.  

She heard the long laborious story concerning the millers son, pickled and pebbled with all the unnecessary details of family familiarity as she bit down her usual impatience to see the narrative out. It was revealed that her untimely end was seen as a fitting end to her unfortunate, desperate and highly peculiar crime that while lacking any proper sort of motive was a convenient way to tie up two unfortunate mysteries with the same pretty bow and largely allow the township to continue on secure that even in the natural wilderness the same laws of nature persisted. Her parent had avoided much of the fall out and nursed their secret sorrow sparingly and privately, both of them convinced that the accepted narrative fell short of anything concrete. Of course they new the reputation of the boy in the village, coming from free settler stock and considerable family influence and wealth he aired his considerable privilege with little disguise and his reputation amidst the young daughters of the township was not a secret. Even amidst the towns people who may not have spoken up against the character of the wealthy millers son a certain recognition persisted that while not acknowledged openly meant that her parents had a silent minority of people who could at least entertain the idea of another explanation and while  their support was given sparingly and secretly it meant the couple had not fled the town in the shame that would normally force similar families out. Also without any concrete proof little in the way of persecution could be carried out. Of course the town hosted a small tokenistic constable who saw that all appropriate details were added to the coroners report, but with many such incidents on the edge of civilisation occurring, the peace and prosperity of the town was put above domestic disputes and the past faded into folklore until now.  

Lovlorn had no intention of sharing the knowledge of the stone and this unspoken truce between them and the motive for his accidental murder in self defence became the unspoken bond that brought them back together. Her parents trusted her character and her privacy on the details and as she hid her eyes in shame and turned away at the initial probing her parents needed nothing more to assure them of her innocence.  

Of course she could not stay long, discovery was an imminent threat and her court case would be a perfunctory process that was executed before a proper trial could commence.  

She stayed late into the evening and early into the morning the familiarity of her departure and arrival  seemingly  undisturbed as the evening progressed with its usual small ceremonies, she soon found herself contemplating the midnight sun, an apprehensive chill in her heart as she contemplated her long journey home, she was confident she could do it even at night, actually particularly at night and yet she told her parents a comforting story of having stashed a storm broken vessel lost long ago and now repaired that she would use to travel home to console their fear, they would never believe her story. 

She took with her their love and as she swallowed back tears and promised to return again, her father stuffed into her hands a bundle of goods, small things of her own and others that she might find useful in her isolation and as she swore to return as soon as it was safe to do so she swallowed down a grief that she had not realised she carried.  

She secured the stone around her neck at once, letting it fall naturally against her breast the familiar warmth lending her strength so that the water felt welcoming like a moon washed bath that spread out to the horizon of the night. She would soon be home. 

In the weeks, months that followed she repeated this journey, delving back into civilization, it appeared that maybe she could have sustained this new inclusion of familiarity and happiness until she heard something from her parents that had cast her untimely demise and the demise of the millers son into the shadow of current transgressions, a child had gone missing in the mountains. The child had been there until it simply wasn’t. No one could account for its disappearance. The crew had taken the children with them, which was often the tradition if work crews were required in the mountains on weekends, or other such times when there was no other alternative care and the children were aware of the dangers and never wandered and were always under the adults close supervision. The other children within the small group could venture no information either, aside from a fictional  obviously embellished tale of forest ravens who had so it was told followed the children and yet no adult amidst the party could recall seeing any of them. Of course Lovelorn herself had been weaved into the story amidst some families, the slant eyed forest witch was responsible for the majority of unexplainable transgressions including the disappearance of odd items and wayward children.  

Each time Lovelorn returned her parents seemed to sense a change in her, a change that wasn’t completely hidden to herself. They unavoidably gave air to their observations in typical no tact fashion. “My you have grown” considering her foraging diet and potatoes this seemed rather peculiar as she now stood taller than both her parents by a considerable measure. “My your eyes are sharp” putting it down to old age and their degrading eye sight ,her ability to find objects within complete darkness became s relatable joke amongst them. Her eyes had changed also or so they said almost luminous  in the darkness like a night creature, her father jokingly coyly that perhaps the witchy stories were true. She had noticed this herself, stealing small glances in reflective surfaces she had some knowledge of the considerable changes that  had transpired, The humble mirror within their small bathroom at last woke her up to how much so, these details swept aside by a breeze upon settled waters before ow she has the clarity required to assess this change.  

She was as she was, the bone structure and general facial composition aligned to her youth and yet different, in a subtle way as though an artist had taken her features and secretly altered them at night, her ears were more prominent than they had been and her eyes did seem to carry an unnatural luminance that were even apparent within the low dusty light of a candle frame. Her body was not only taller, but seemingly stronger, the muscles defined and yet still delicate as though her body  had selected the most optimal condition for survival. Her breasts were full, much fuller than they had been, tanned to a similar composition as the rest of her, her legs long and lithe and also rippling  with a similar barley concealed power, she was in the peak of youth and yet she had been given something more. She had sensed these changes more intuitionally, the swim she had first completed was easier, for efficiency sake and secrecy she could now glide under water for hundreds of metres and even a strong swell seemed not to tire her. Her clothing was no longer needed, her feet while still appearing as normal could handle the merciless country better than any British shod shoe. Her skin seemingly impregnatable to the small wounds that the land loved to inflict.  

She also knew she possessed an almost inhuman animal like perception of the world around her, she had always. Been aware, aware of the world around her and yet now that awareness was different, deeper, wider and more penetrating. She had frequently relied on this sense to evade detection amidst her many secretive visits. Casting her awareness into the darkness around her she could feel perambulations in the environment subtle messages reaching her as though she could extend some extra perception into the night. Of course she had rationalised all this as a natural adaptation to her new environment, a natural response to her lifestyle and yet as she gazed at the stranger within the mirror and sensed the absence of the stone she knew this was undoubtedly not the case something had been at work within her for a long time now and she was fearful for its reason and its result.  

As for the children they remained at large, a mystery for the small hamlet a deep sense of numbing sadness that gripped the whole town and yet only made its appearance when no one was looking, it could be noticed mostly during idle moments, when the weight of loss broke through the thin facade of reality, like a foot breaks through ice, a startling moment of uncontrollable discomfort and shock, how close these two worlds align, sitting side by side, 2 alternate places divided by the fragile nature of ice. Of course there wasn’t time to comprehend the deep penetrating cold and discomfort, there wasn’t time to contemplate the deep division that separated worlds,  the thin veil of mortality that inanimate objects wore like a cloak, thrown back to revile the darkness beneath only the need for survival, to yank the foot free and to trudge on through the snow, to bury the awareness of death with the simulacra of life. Each of the towns folk found there own way to manage, some combed the mountains searching for signs, others became philosophical and a small number hopeful that they would yet return. Then it happened again, again despite all the presumed fail safes that had been enacted, this time one, alone disappearing from a small gathering out enjoying the turn of the Fagus where the mountain sides became enshrouded in the tapestry of the sun, richer amber hues transforming the landscape , simply here and then gone as though the earth had swallowed them up. The other children at a loss, but then these strange stories of forest ravens, that no one else saw.  

By the time Lovelorn heard this story it was some days after the disappearance, her parents talking over the top of each other in their haste to explain the situation, each trapped in the panic of the moment the shear savagery of reality transforming their voices into the desperate wailing of frightened animals, so that it became difficult to trace the trail of events, what was thin alien language she could hear beneath their voices? This language which spoke of undefinable fears, these words embalmed with desperate meaning, these expressions as though those that had already passed had come to control their expressions? She felt removed, lost, but as she lost herself she found a reason and a purpose, might she find these young ones? With these gifts surely she above all others had some chance of returning these young souls to daylight?  

That evening she did not return to her island abode as planned, instead she slep in her small bed until the early morning and disappeared into the daylight as though she had never been. 

She took the torn twisted path east, breaching the lower more familiar environments she for a moment revisited the long ago moments of her youth where the world was not so complex. She remembered lazing lackaday with in these natural monuments as the world became perforated with dappled sunlight as the mighty trees above filtered the available light. She knew now things were different, she felt as though she was revisiting a childhood dream with the fresh capacity of an adult, no longer did she fear the darkness and the winds from the west.  

She made incredible speed and the lands seem to blur beneath her feet even as her sensors took in every detail. She made it to the clearing, as described by her parents, this forest grotto still wet with the mornings dew, crisp fronds of fern light and the cushion of moss and rot. The esteemed pines stood near by, ancient sentries that surveyed the edge of the forest as it broke open upon the back of the button grass. Here is where they had disappeared. She stood for a moment, letting her senses spread out, searching for disturbances, perambulations in the environment as she clutched the stone unconsciously. 

She moved forward letting her intuition guide her steps, for others there would have been nothing, but amidst the tranquil chaos of nature, small clues made by the scurrying of even smaller feet became apparent. A broken twig their, the brush of moss from a fallen log and a spiders web not yet rebuilt.  

She moved deeper and deeper still. Into the woods did the path take her, under the ancient canopies did she travel and through olden corridors did she go. Traversing silent crossroads unmarked by sign or post and passing through doors of both spirit and wood that opened at her touch.  

Soon she came to elsewhere, a place where a dark past lurked, the ground saturated as though something under the earth remained impermeable to this liquid life, so that it sat on the surface where it could slowly dilute the poisons that were contained there. She could see the foot prints not too old, but preserved in the peat as though someone had passed only hours before and another 2 sets older and less distinct.  

She could see the ravens now, distant shadows in the sky and trees, concentrated ominously, their beaks pointed towards her as their attentions bore down on her with the weight of evil and an cruel intelligence that birds should never have possessed.  

Long had she known of these creatures, most were as others simply birds, others were different, she had seen them overhead rushing towards unknown goals, the dim flicker of burning brands in their talons as they dropped their fiery loads upon the unsuspecting forest below and as the world billowed with flame and wood smoke their cries of victory had echoed across the land. This was their home, this was evident. The forest was all but gone now, it had completed its inexplicable slide into the barons to be consumed by the mud that clung to everything, the mud was thick now and yet the children’s footsteps continued panning out across the barons as though something had led them through the darkness. She followed carefully, she had no guide and the path was treacherous. What was this place? She could sense something akin to her stone, pulling at her conscious, the same, but far more concentrated as though a great mass of it existed beneath her. She moved onwards bypassing primeval logs that bore the girth of ages, once long ago, a primeval forest had existed here.  

Almost on cue the clouds seemed to have gathered, as though this place controlled the very weather, this strange influence sweeping up into the sky, this three dimensional world prison to its far reaching malevolence.  

She moved on, now nothing seemed to exist except the mud and the poisons that seemed to seep out of the earth. Occasionally she recognised strange objects within the preternatural darkness, great objects of yellow machinations, claw like appendages designed to swallow, trees and eat the earth, as though she was perceiving some alternate industrial nightmare. She could hear at times, the tearing and crushing of trees, she could hear their pain. She moved on, the mud deeper and yet the foot steps continued.  And then Infront of her rising above the baron earth, something else, a shadowy amalgamation of brittle bone coloured limbs. Sharp angular conglomerates of chaotic limbs, deviod of natural symmetry and not a leaf upon them to indicate life, and yet as she stumbled closer she realised the tree was very much alive.  

What was this thing, her mind all most overcome by the distortion of nature, something was wrong here. Something unnatural worked its way into her mind and she felt the weight of despair.  

The tree loomed closer until she stood despairingly under its blistered bone like bowls, as its roots spread out like arteries filled with congealed black blood and bile.  

Now she could here voices in her head, repeating the same phrase “I am Nasaguagu, sleep”. And some strange helpless melancholy filled her. “She could, just for a moment, rest….” Then she saw them and the horror of their imprisonment woke her from the demented dream. She could see limbs and heads consumed and transformed and it was though the border between limbs and limbs had merged, what she first thought was a mud dappled tree root, now took on the shape of a thigh bone and a nettled knot of thick roots now a rib cage, skulls, like wood burls perched at odd angles amidst the revolting clutter of ancient limbs.  

Some time later the children returned home, delivered from the darkness by another darkness, the community in disbelief. Wild tale of wrathful witches that matched familiar descriptions and yet when they went to investigate the next day, nothing, save the blood upon the forest floor and a single giant feather as though some mighty raptor had been there.