Chapter 5

5

K aitlin

The early morning mist clings to the forest floor as I make my way along the narrow trail, my boots crunching softly on the fallen leaves. It's been two weeks since Mazon showed me the hidden cave, and in that time, my life has transformed in ways I never could have imagined.

I pause at the crest of a small hill, taking a moment to catch my breath and survey my surroundings. The forest feels different now, less mysterious but no less magical. I can identify various plants, know which berries are safe to eat, and even recognize some of the animal tracks I see in the soft earth.

As I move again, a twig snaps behind me. I spin around, my heart racing, only to see a startled deer bounding away into the underbrush. I let out a shaky laugh, shaking my head at my jumpiness. But I can't help the prickle of unease that crawls up my spine. Mazon had warned me that not all of his kind were as accepting of humans as he was.

I push the thought aside and continue on my way. I'm heading into town today, my first venture back to civilization since I arrived at the cabin. As much as I love the solitude of the forest, I need supplies and, if I'm honest with myself, a bit of human interaction.

The small town of Pine Ridge comes into view as I round a bend in the road. It's a quaint place, with a main street lined with wooden buildings that look like they have changed little in the last century. As I walk down the sidewalk, I can feel eyes on me. Whispers follow in my wake.

"That's her, the woman who moved into the old Charles place."

"I heard she's been living all alone up there in those woods."

"Doesn't she know it's not safe? There are... things in those forests."

I keep my head high, trying to ignore the murmurs. At the general store, I load up on essentials of canned goods, fresh vegetables, and some first aid supplies. As the owner, a gruff-looking man with a salt-and-pepper beard, rings up my purchases, he fixes me with a stern look.

"You be careful up there in those woods, miss," he says, his voice gruff but not unkind. "There's been talk of strange happenings lately. Big footprints found near the old logging road, weird noises in the night. Some folks are saying it might be, well..." He trails off, looking embarrassed.

"Bigfoot?" I supply, keeping my face neutral.

He nods, looking relieved that I said it and not him. "I know it sounds crazy, but there's a lot of forest out there. Who knows what might be hiding in it?"

As I make my way back to the cabin, I can't shake the feeling of being watched. The forest, which has become so familiar to me over the past weeks, suddenly feels alien and threatening. Every rustle in the bushes, every snapping twig, sets my nerves on edge.

Mazon steps out from behind a large oak tree, his presence immediately calming my frayed nerves.

"Kaitlin," he greets me, his deep voice warm. "I saw you returning from town. Are you ready for today's lesson?"

I nod, grateful for the distraction from my unsettling thoughts. "What are we learning today?"

Mazon's eyes twinkle with enthusiasm. "Today, we focus on advanced tracking and evasion techniques. These skills could save your life one day."

For the next few hours, Mazon guides me through the forest, teaching me to read the subtle signs that animals and other beings leave behind. He shows me how to identify different tracks, how to tell how old they are, and how to predict where the creature might be heading.

"See these bent ferns?" he says, pointing to a barely noticeable disturbance in the undergrowth. "A deer passed through here not more than an hour ago. And look here at the way the moss is scraped off this log. That tells us it was a buck, rubbing his antlers."

I marvel at how much information I can glean from such tiny clues as I absorb every detail. As the lesson progresses, we move on to evasion techniques.

"Sometimes, the best defense is not being found in the first place," Mazon explains. He teaches me how to walk without leaving tracks, how to use natural features of the landscape to mask my scent, and how to move silently through even the densest underbrush.

By the time the sun sets, I'm exhausted but exhilarated. My muscles ache from the physical exertion, but my mind feels sharper, more attuned to the surrounding forest.

"You've done well today, Kaitlin," Mazon says as we near my cabin. "Your progress is remarkable. Remember, these skills take years to master, but you're on the right path."

His praise warms me, and I can't help but beam with pride. "Thank you, Mazon. For everything."

We say our goodbyes at the edge of the clearing where my cabin stands. As Mazon melts back into the forest, I feel a pang of loneliness, quickly followed by a surge of determination. I'm growing stronger every day, more capable of surviving in this wild place.

With a deep breath, I push open the cabin door and step inside. The familiar scent of pine and old wood wraps around me like a comforting blanket. I drop my pack by the door and head to the kitchen, my stomach rumbling after the long day of training with Mazon.

Opening the fridge, I spot the venison Mazon had brought me a few days ago. The sight of it brings a smile to my face as I remember the day he taught me how to properly clean and prepare the meat. It had been a messy, slightly gruesome process, but Mazon's patience and gentle guidance had made it feel almost sacred.

"Every part of the deer has a purpose," he had explained, his large hands moving with surprising delicacy. "We honor the animal by using everything and wasting nothing."

Now, as I pull out the carefully wrapped package, I'm struck by how natural this feels. Just a month ago, the thought of preparing wild game would have sent me running for the nearest takeout menu. But here I am, about to cook venison I helped prepare myself. It's a skill I never thought I'd need in my previous life as a city-dwelling writer. Now, it feels as natural as brewing a cup of coffee.

I decide to try out a new recipe I've been mulling over. Pulling out my well-worn notebook, I flip to a page where I've scribbled down ideas for a venison stew with wild mushrooms and herbs I've foraged from the forest. The page is a mess of crossed-out lines and margin notes, a testament to my learning process.

As I gather my ingredients, I can't help but marvel at how much my life has changed. The mushrooms - chanterelles and morels - I had collected myself, under Mazon's watchful eye. The herbs - thyme, rosemary, and a local variety of sage Mazon called forest whisper came from a small garden I've started on the cabin's south side.

I chop the onions, carrots, and potatoes from my last trip to town, along with the wild mushrooms. The rhythmic sound of the knife on the cutting board is soothing, almost meditative. As I work, I find my mind wandering back to the fear I felt earlier when I suspected someone was watching me. The terror it initially sparked has faded, replaced by a simmering anger and determination.

The sizzle of the venison hitting the hot pan pulls me back to the present. The rich, gamey scent fills the kitchen, reminding me of how far I've come. Just a month ago, I would have been ordering takeout, oblivious to the wonders and dangers lurking in the wilderness. Now, here I am, cooking wild game and foraged ingredients like some modern-day frontierswoman.

As I brown the meat, I recall Mazon's lessons on building flavors. "Cooking is like the forest," he had said, his eyes twinkling. "Each ingredient adds its own note to the symphony of flavors." Following his advice, I add the onions to the pan, letting them caramelize alongside the venison.

Next come the mushrooms, their earthy aroma mingling with the meat and onions. I can almost hear Mazon's deep voice explaining the importance of each ingredient, not just for flavor but for nourishment. "The forest provides everything we need," he often says. "We just need to learn how to listen and receive its gifts."

I add the remaining vegetables, then pour in some homemade stock, another skill Mazon had taught me. As the stew simmers, I sprinkle in the herbs, their fragrant oils releasing into the steam. The cabin fills with a rich, comforting aroma that speaks of home and safety.

While the stew simmers, I set the table for one, a familiar pang of loneliness hitting me as I do so. The single plate, the solitary glass emphasizing the quiet of the cabin. But as I look out the window at the darkening forest, I remind myself that I'm not truly alone. Mazon is out there, and I feel more connected to this wild place than I ever did in the bustling city.

I stir the stew one last time, tasting it to check the seasoning. It's delicious - rich, complex, and deeply satisfying. As I ladle it into a bowl, I feel a surge of pride. This meal represents so much more than just food. It's a testament to how much I've learned, how much I've grown.

The first spoonful is a revelation. The venison is tender, the vegetables perfectly cooked, and the broth is full of depth and flavor. Each bite tells a story - of the forest, of Mazon's teachings, of my journey. I close my eyes, savoring the taste and the moment.

I'm just about to take another bite when I hear it, a loud, deliberate pounding on the cabin door. The sound echoes through the small space, causing me to jump and nearly spill my stew. The peaceful atmosphere shatters, reality crashing back in with jarring force.

For a moment, I freeze, my heart racing.

Is it Mazon? But no, he wouldn't knock like that. Could it be someone from town? Or worse, one of the hostile Bigfoot?

The pounding comes again, more insistent this time. Slowly, I make my way to the door, grabbing the heavy flashlight I keep nearby for protection. My hand trembles slightly as I reach for the doorknob.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and then yank the door open, flashlight raised and ready.

But there's no one there.

Confused, I step out onto the porch, sweeping the flashlight beam across the clearing. The forest is quiet, almost too quiet. No crickets chirping, no owls hooting. It's as if the whole wood is holding its breath.

As I turn to go back inside, something catches my eye. There, nailed to the door frame, is a piece of bark. My blood runs cold as I realize there's something carved into its surface.

With shaking hands, I pry the bark from the door and bring it inside, slamming and locking the door behind me. Under the bright kitchen light, the message becomes clear.

FINAL WARNING. LEAVE OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCES.

The bark slips from my numb fingers, clattering to the floor. The sound seems to echo in the suddenly too-quiet cabin. My delicious stew sits forgotten on the table as I sink into a chair, my mind reeling.

This is no longer just about me. Whatever is happening, whatever conflict is brewing between humans and Bigfoot, I'm caught in the middle of it. And Mazon... Where does he fit into all this?

As the night deepens outside my windows, I realize sleep will be a long time coming. Instead, I pull out my notebook and begin to write, documenting everything that's happened since I moved here. If I'm going to face this threat, I need to understand it.

And as I write, a determination grows within me. I came here seeking a new chapter in my life, and I've found so much more than I ever expected. I've found strength I didn't know I possessed, a connection to nature I never knew I was missing, and in Mazon, a friend unlike any other.

No, I won't be driven away by fear tactics and threats. Whatever comes next, I'll face it. Because this forest, this cabin, this new life, it's mine now. And I'm not giving it up without a fight.