"Mommy! Help!"
The sapling sprints through the woods at a frantic gait, arms flailing wildly with terror as it desperately scrambles through the undergrowth. Branches snag at its dress. Sharp stones cut at its bare feet. Tears sting its eyes, turning the dark forest around it into a chaotic whirlpool of black watercolor shadows threatening to drag the sapling into its depths. But still it runs forward, with bleary eyes and burning lungs, desperate to escape its pursuer.
"Arthur! Arthur stop! Please!"
The knight plows through brush and bramble, heralded by a cacophony of snapped twigs and clanging metal. Beneath her armor, she drowns in a cold sweat of desperation that rivals even its quarry. Frenzied eyes scanning the darkness. She can't lose him. Not when he's so close.
She stumbles to a halt, bracing herself against a tree. Getting her bearings. Catching her breath. Thinking.
He can't have gotten far, not in his state. I just have to find him first. I have to find him before he finds...
The knight freezes. Her breath catches in her throat. She grits her teeth and strains her ears.
Somewhere in the woods. A whimpering. No. A strange, sorrowful moan.
She moves, slowly. She can't risk startling him. All she needs is a chance to get close enough to grab him, then maybe-
"Oh gods... Oh gods no... Arthur..."
In a ditch not four yards from her. The sapling. Covered in dirt. Face ruddy with tears. Curled up, its legs tucked close to its chest. Eyes shut tight with terror. Shivering. Crooning a strange, sonorous cry of hopelessness.
The knight takes a step forward. She reaches behind her, fumbling around her rucksack for her lantern, all the while not daring to take her eyes off the creature sniveling before her. Her hand finds purchase. Quickly, she draws the lamp out and sparks it to life, shining the light upon the ditch.
"Oh gods!" she gasps.
The thing before her is the size of a child, no taller than her knee. Its ornate dress of white silk and blue ribbons has been cut to shreds by the pursuit, its tatters enveloping it like a shroud.
The tangled mat of hair on its head is the color of wheatgrass, marred by grime and decorated with daisies that seem to sprout from its locks. From its scalp, a pair of horns. Small, like twigs.
Slowly, its eyes open. Amber. Wide with confused panic. They settle on the knight. She takes a step back, now shaking herself.
What... What has that witch done with my son?
Arthur was a healthy young boy. Flaxen hair, like his late father's. Skin tanned from days spent out in the fields, training to take up his mother's profession. A strong boy. A courageous boy.
A boy of fourteen years of age... And she has reduced him to this... child!
The sight of the sapling fills the knight with dread. She hesitates for a moment.
The witch was known to take young folk. Mostly boys, like Arthur. Like a temptress she draws them into the woods, promising companionship, doting affection, according to the tales at least. Yet once within her clutches, she would mold them like poppets, twisting them into her mirror image.
It was this dreadful thought that gives the knight pause.
How can I be sure that this is my son?
Carefully, she takes a step towards the ditch's edge. The sapling's eyes, wet with tears, regard her with fearful trepidation. Its pitiful moaning has caught in its throat, producing a terrified whimper. The knight gently places her lantern on the ground and holds her arms out.
"Arthur? Arthur, my boy, is that you?" she whispers gently, almost choking on her own tears. "It's me, son... It's me..."
She watches the creature's face for anything, any sign of recognition. Nothing. No response but a fearful, effeminate yelp as it shrinks further into the dirt, as if it sought to bury itself out of her sight. Her outstretched hands ball into fists, trembling.
"Please..." she begs. "Give me a sign... Give me anything..."
The sapling, fighting the urge to shut out the world around it, peeks out from behind its arms.
"M-Mommy?"
For a moment, the knight's heart skips a beat.
"Arthur!?"
Slowly, the sapling rises to its feet, wiping away the tears from its eyes. In an instant, the terror on its face melts away, replaced by a sudden exuberance.
"Mommy!" it cries out, scrambling up the side of the ditch on its hands and knees.
For a moment, it's as if the knight has forgotten her son's true age, enraptured by memories of when her boy was just that. A boy. A child clamoring for his mother.
She drops to her knees, reaching down to pull her son to his feet. For a moment, she sees his face. Beneath a layer of grime and behind its alien eyes, it's him. She's sure of it.
"C'mon son!" she yells. "I'm getting you out of here! We have to hurry, we need to-"
"Mommy!"
In a blur of motion, the sapling shakes off the knight's grip and scurries past her.
"There you are! My cute little sapling!"
The voice dispels the sounds of the forest, its rustling boughs and furtive life. The knight's blood freezes in her veins, and the woods freeze along with her.
She can hear them, behind her. Strange cooing. It has him.
It has my son.
The knight swallows, hard, before rising to her feet. One hand finds its way to the hilt of her sword, while the other makes a sign over her chest. Protection. Superstition. Anything for what's coming.
She turns around.
The witch stands amidst a gap among the trees, silhouetted by moonlight. From where she stands, the knight can see that it had truly sculpted her son into a small facsimile of herself. From her faunlike horns to her strangely elegant dress, the witch appears as if a matured version of the child clinging to its leg.
Crouched, she embraces the sapling, gently running her hands through its leafy hair. Her face is placid. Warm.
"There there..." she whispers. "It's okay... You're safe now..."
For a moment, the knight struggles to find her recourse. Her head is awash with emotion, relief and elation swept away by a tide of dawning horror. She tries to speak, but her mouth...
"That's... That's my son..." she rasps.
The witch continues to coddle the sapling.
"That's my boy!" the knight screams, drawing her sword.
The two freeze. Again, the sapling's contorts into a fearful grimace. It ducks behind the witch's dress, clutching its hem as a shield.
"Mommy! She's gonna take me! I'm scared!"
The witch hushes it, scooping the sapling up into her arms. It wraps its tiny little arms around her neck, burying its face in her chest with a muffled whine.
The sight fills the knight with rage.
"What have you done to him!? What have you done to my son!?"
Another muffled shriek from the sapling. It hides within the foliage of the witch's hair.
Her eyes are amber, just like its creation, but somehow they seem to glow in the moonlight. Luminescent with some baleful energy, they regard the knight with a strangely curious gaze, like a cat might stare at a mouse that had wandered into its home.
"It's okay." she whispers into the sapling's ear, eyes still locked on the knight. "Everything's gonna be alright. You're not going anywhere."
She smiles at her.
"You're right where you belong."
"Damn you!" the knight yells. "That isn't your child, you bitch! It's my son!"
The witch's smile fades, replaced by an oddly sympathetic look. One of pity.
"Your son has returned to nature. I've freed him from pain, given him the life he was always meant for."
She pulls the sapling closer, her touch bestowing calm.
"Your son is gone, but it's better this way. Can't you see that?"
The knight grits her teeth. For a moment they stand there, motionless. Staring.
With a yawp, the knight lunges forward, bringing her blade above her head.
Her wrist twists in its gauntlet as the sword catches on a branch. Her charge comes to an abrupt halt as her posture buckles.
She jerks her head upwards, catching a glimpse of the limb yanking the weapon out of her hand and up into the darkness.
For a moment, she looks back at the witch. At her son. Desperate to see his face, his real face.
She opens her mouth, but before her plea can escape her throat the roots already have her.
"No!" she screams.
They wrap around her shin, pulling her off her feet. She slams against the ground in a deafening crash of metal. Her chin splits. A jet of blood sprays across the leaves. The taste of iron fills her mouth.
She can feel them slither around her leg, nearly tight enough to crush her plate. No hope of slipping away.
She manages one last glimpse of the witch. Of the sapling. Her son. He looks at her. It looks at her. Uncomprehending.
"Arthur-"
The witch dismisses her with a gesture.
Screaming, the knight flies back through the underbrush, hands desperate for purchase on anything. That could save her.
For a moment, she's weightless. And then she crashes, hard, into the ditch. Tears, blood, and darkness blind her. All she can hear is the terrible noise of the earth rising up around her, tendrils snaking through the dirt, wrapping around her.
"No! Please, gods no!"
They twist around her neck, her limbs, her ribcage. She feels bones snapping beneath her armor. Her eyes well with blood.
The roots drag her down into the churning dirt.
"Please! Help! Arthur!"
The last thing the knight sees is the witch shake her head, carrying her sapling away into the darkness of the woods.
And after that? Nothing.
The sun shines through the canopy, bathing the forest in a welcoming glow. Spring has arrived in earnest, and nature has returned to life after a long slumber.
In a glen, the saplings frolic among patches of lilies, petals as brilliantly white as their dresses. They chase one another, pick armfuls of flowers to weave crowns from, or simply enjoy basking in the sun's rays.
One of their number skips off into the trees. A curious bent has overtaken it, a child's urge to explore off on its own. It hums to itself a song that it has just remembered, though it's not sure from where. From one of the other saplings, maybe? From mommy? Dosen't matter.
The sapling rounds a corner and comes to a skidding halt. Something gives it pause. It stops smiling and goes silent.
Slowly, it approaches the tree. Young. Only a few years old, it seems. An oak, rising out of a small concave in the forest floor.
It tilts its head, curious. Two limbs stretch out from the oak's trunk, stretching out towards where the sapling stands. A knot on the bark between them twists in a strange shape. A scary shape. A shape that makes the sapling nervous, for some reason.
But the tree feels familiar, somehow.
It takes a step forward.
"There you are!"
The sapling spins around. In a clearing, back the way it came. Mommy!
She stands, arms wide, ready to embrace the sapling as it runs up. Behind her, the rest of the saplings stand, each of them curious themselves.
Mommy hugs the sapling tight.
"Now what did I say about wandering off? It's dangerous!" she tells it. "Remember, there's nothing out here for saplings like you."
"Okay mommy!" the sapling nods.
Gently, she ushers the sapling back among its peers. But for a moment, it gazes over its shoulder, back at the tree.
"No more of that..." mommy says, getting its attention. "We'll have to hurry back to the cottage if we're gonna make it in time for supper!"
The saplings respond with a chorus of cheers. Together, they link hands, the wayward sapling being lucky enough to hold mommy's.
With a beatific smile on her face, she leads the saplings away from the clearing, back home to the cottage, leaving the tree alone in the woods.