There was a shout somewhere in the distance, a wordless, primal sound. She flinched, looking up and around. It seemed to awaken her to all other noises. A high-pitched whine filled her ears, ringing, warbling. She glanced around even more frantic to find the source of the sound, until she discovered that it was sourceless.
Just as it started to fade, the shout came again.
She clambered to her feet, nearly thrown back to the ground by her own momentum, the sudden, explosive push through her hips. Her legs trembled slightly before they stilled, stable. She tested her knees, bending and bouncing. She rocked through her toes and heels, testing her balance. Another shout soon came, but it was longer, sharper; a wild, troubled wail spawning from the trees. She glanced around frantically, spinning in place until she spotted a shape in the trees. The sound seemed loudest when she looked in that direction.
She took a few steps forward, squinting at the shape. It looked like another being, maybe around the same size as her, sitting on his haunches. Flat chested and thin, with shorter hair. A boy.
Quickly, she scrambled towards the boy, pushing off of trees to keep herself upright before she dropped to her knees before him. He still had dirt on his eyes. “Stop,” she attempted. It came out scratchy, unformed. She made a noise in the back of her throat. “Stop!” She repeated. Startled, he stopped screaming.
“Are you in pain?”
She watched him inhale, his tongue flicking out to lick his lip. His throat must have been raw from the shouting. Her throat was dry from her own few sounds. Rough and jagged, like the tree bark. “No,” he answered.
“Why were you shouting?”
“I-I don’t know.” He turned his head, blind. It dawned on her suddenly that he still couldn’t see. She gently rested her hands on his face, staying still when he jumped and fumbled to cover them with his own. “I was alone.”
“It’s me,” she soothed. He moved his hands to grip her wrists, one hand traveling to her elbow. “I’m here. Let me help you.” Her thumbs swiped over his eyes with the lightest pressure, brushing away the mud.
“Who are you?”
She paused. There was nothing where she was reaching, yet. Only the faintest idea of self-image, sprawling with every further second she thought on it. She thought of the dark, thick hair that barely went past her breast, her skin that looked a different shade from the boy’s even in the dark. She found no answer, and decided that, for the moment, that was alright.
“I don’t know,” she said, and kept cleaning his eyes. Then, “Who are you?”
He stilled. “I don’t know.” Distress entered his voice. His spine straightened, lengthened from the hunch he was in.
She made what she hoped was a calming noise. “It will come to us. Stay still.”
His eyes were still squeezed shut once the mud was gone. His brow quivered, trembling under the strain of his fear. “Is that better?” she asked gently.
“They’re…less heavy.”
“The mud is gone. You can open your eyes now.” He hesitated, squeezing her wrist. “It’s pretty,” she added. “Dark, but pretty. You will see things and know what they are, and the knowing will bring you comfort. You’ll see me, and I will guide you. But you’ll only be scared if you stay in the dark.”
The boy frowned. “But you just said it was dark out there too,” he said. She rolled her eyes.
“There’s light from the moon.”
“What moon?”
“You will see,” she stressed impatiently. An idea came to her then. She pulled back abruptly, swift enough to escape his hold. He lurched forward at the sudden loss, reaching for her. When he was met with empty air he jerked himself back onto his haunches. His eyes snapped open. They seemed to glow in the dark, irises accented by the silvery sheen of the moon. They were golden.
He scowled at her. “That was mean. I thought you had left.”
She stood, brushing the earth from her legs. She moved towards him again with an outstretched hand. “You needed a push,” she explained.
He looked at her hand skeptically before grasping it, standing on shaky legs. His toes flexed in the dirt. He was taller than her. Still thin, small-shouldered with skinny arms and legs, caught halfway between a boy and a man. “Will you do that again?” he asked. His eyes flitted over her face, searching for truth with burning eyes.
“Push you?” she said. The answer left her mouth before she truly thought of it. “Yes. Every time that something must be done for your own good.”
“Leave me,” he clarified. His fingers dug into the bones of her hand. She was not this fearful when she came alive, only moments earlier. There was something within him that was tender. Skittish. Wild and frenzied. He was nursing off of her calm curiosity. If he had not screamed, she would have picked a direction and walked. If he had not screamed, she suspected, he would still be on his knees, fumbling blindly and panicking in the dark.
But he called, and she came. They were linked now, in any way that mattered. She was the first face he saw, and to him there would be no greater comfort.
