@secretsurvivalist | Northern Daughters
"Seven hells," Chuck muttered to herself as she stumbled on yet another hidden branch. As she traversed further and further away from her family's home, the snow got deeper and thus hid any obstacles from her view. She had fallen on her face at least twice already, the fur coat she wore thankfully keeping most of the cold out except for a few of the most bitter chunks of ice. The bag she carried still safely tucked away, unharmed. Her companions, two of her family's livestock guardian dogs, were fairing much better as they were better designed for this adventure. There were only two reasons she'd even be out this far but she'd never be so foolish to go into the woods this deep without those dogs. As they hopped through the snow, the often serious and alert pair were almost puppies again - in a split second they could be on the attack, but today they knew the familiar path. They weren't looking to return any escaped sheep or cows this time. Chuck made this hike every week, sometimes more often in the warmer months.
Children in the North were often told stories of the woods. Of vicious wild people who would eat their toes or boil them into soup. Of monsters and nightmares come to life. Things to keep them away. Things that never really took hold in the heart of the shepherd's daughter. When she was little, she'd hear those stories but they didn't scare her. No. They lit a fire in her mind, imagination going wild. Maybe it was a symptom of being the lone child in this small hamlet. Maybe it made sense that she would hear stories about frightening things and figure that surely where there is something to be afraid of - there must be something to scare. There must be something kind. So Chuck would wander, eventually scaring her parents enough times that her father would indulge her adventures. He figured if he walked with her, taught her the forest that maybe she'd find it less enticing.
She saw someone like her, someone curious. Someone wild. Someone who didn't mean to be seen. They caught eyes from across a clearing, both hidden slightly in shadow and trying not to spook the other. Chuck raised her hand in greeting. The someone, a girl, watched her carefully and just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.
Eventually Chuck stole off to the forest enough times that her parents asked she bring some of the family dogs with her so they didn't need to leave the farm. They knew she'd be safe, they'd taught her enough. Only when she was on her own, she started to seek out the someone, the girl, she'd seen. For a while she thought she might've imagined her but Chuck kept thinking back to those stories. One thing she'd learned from her parents, her grandmother: stories come from somewhere. Stories weren't whole pictures. Stories began with people. With a resolve that is inherent in a determined young girl, Chuck found her way back to that clearing. It took weeks before she felt like she made any progress - especially because she'd make it out after her chores and would need to make it back before dark. But eventually she found a sign. It was mostly by accident, she'd fallen from a tree branch and found herself literally face to face with a trail marker. A sign.
A while still later (weeks?), she found herself with an arrow trained at her face while the two guardian dogs on her flanks had their hackles up ready to spring. With a sharp tut, the dogs remained tight and at the ready but they retreated slightly. "Hi," her voice came out small but shockingly even. Her eyes remained trained on the arrow aimed at her as she raised her hands a little, "my name is Chuck, well Charlotte but no one calls me that." She had no way of knowing if this girl could understand her; she just went with what she felt like was the right path. "I saw you before," her gaze left the arrow and landed on the girl, "do you want to share my sandwich?" Men have fought wars based on lesser threats and here a young girl offers another a branch of peace. From that day, from that moment, forward the friendship blossomed. Sandwiches in the snow, a bow and arrow placed gently to the side, the dogs created a warm barrier.
Years passed, her parents knew of the friendship their daughter had with a local girl. They did not know that girl was a wildling. It was safer that way, kept them safe. Kept Erin - not 'that girl' anymore - safe.
Chuck kept her gaze on the surroundings, making sure she wasn't seeing any of the warning markers that Erin had taught her over the years. The path was clear. The path was full of snow and hidden branches, but clear. Eventually she made her way to a small cave, tucked inside a stone cliff side that barely has an opening. Chuck knew it was there because Erin had showed it to her. It was a peaceful refuge they could meet up in to protect them from the elements, to protect them from unwanted eyes. She got a small fire going in the makeshift firepit, the dogs curled up together on some of the spare furs the girls had accumulated to make this place a comfy meeting place. "I hope she gets here soon," she joined the dogs on the furs, grabbing one of them by the face and speaking conspiratorially to them, "I have so much to tell her."
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