Chapter Text
It’s afternoon when he tramps through thick snow into the forest. The winter sun is low already, but he knows it well enough to be sure, that it will last him a sufficient amount of time to make a few quick sketches.
He sees a squirrel hurry up a tree right in front of him and a smile spreads across his face. As much as he dislikes this village and the people living here, he can’t deny the beauty of the nature around him. The pine trees are thick and heavy with snow-laden branches. There is a calmness within this forest that makes him feel at home. It’s unlike anything else.
Within five minutes of walking through a light fog he is at the place he loves most. It’s a little clearing with the most beautiful trees and the perfect look into the valley below. He has drawn it a thousand times. The way the light falls in at all times of the day, the lake lying still and frozen. He knows it by heart.
If only he had paints to colour his works accordingly. But his parents won’t allow it. His mother is set on him being someone, earning loads of money and having a successful life. Artists don’t make money, she always says and he is sure she doesn’t know how much her words hurt.
He doesn’t dare sit down onto the big stone he usually likes to use as a chair. It’s freezing and he is sure he would catch a bladder infection or worse. Instead he stands and simply holds his pad while letting the coal pencil glide over it. The lines come to him naturally today.
He smiles a dimpled smile, his crooked teeth showing.
Within a few minutes he has the first piece finished. Turning around he is looking for his next inspiration and suddenly there is a loud snap coming from behind the trees.
He stills.
It is common knowledge around the village that there are wolfs in this forest. Ben has never seen one, but he also has no wish to. It’s silent for a few seconds and he doesn’t even dare to breath. Then there is another snap, this time not as loud and Ben decides to risk a glance. He creeps around the big stone until he can see behind the trees and sure enough in the distance he can see the edge of a yellow cape behind a tree.
Frowning he takes a step forward. “Who is there?” he calls out, his voice croaking as it has for the past months. He hates being fifteen.
Whoever is behind the tree moves out of his sight and he stumbles through the snow after them. They are fast, ducking and jumping and moving so swiftly that Ben can’t keep up. He follows them for a while, before stopping to catch his breath. It is then that he notices darkness is approaching. Frowning into the forest again he turns and his eyes catch onto something on the ground. It’s the track they left.
There are footprints.
Small footprints.
Of hooves.