A Beginning

Michael had, over the years, gotten good at telling when steps were getting close to his home. He couldn’t tell how much it was hearing and how much it was feeling them. The forest was never quiet, but Michael was familiar with all its noises, the animals threading through the underbrush, the wind shaking and bending branches, whipping ferns on windy days. It wasn’t a windy day, and everything had been the usual as Michael tended to his garden in the late afternoon sun, humming softly along to the birdsong all around him. So the steps were an obvious disturbance and quickly noticed. Michael’s expression darkened. Steps were bad news.