Chapter 3

B etsy

Betsy woke to a symphony of aches and pains that would make an octogenarian yoga instructor wince. Every muscle in her body seemed to be staging its own personal revolt against the very concept of movement. As she gingerly sat up, wincing at the protests of her lower back, memories of yesterday's forest fiasco came flooding back.

"Well," she groaned, running a hand through her tangled hair, "at least I'm not wolf chow. Small victories, Betsy. Small victories."

She glanced down at her arms, now adorned with an impressive array of angry red welts courtesy of her run-in with Mother Nature's least favorite plant. The poison ivy rash itched with the fury of a thousand tiny, vindictive elves armed with feathers and bad attitudes.

"Note to self," Betsy muttered as she gingerly applied more calamine lotion, "next time you want to play Forest Stumped, maybe start with a plant identification book. Or, you know, common sense."

As she shuffled towards the bathroom, moving with all the grace of a rusty robot, Betsy caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her hair looked like it had been styled by a particularly enthusiastic tornado, and there were more leaves stuck to her than to most trees.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced to her reflection, striking a pose that immediately made her regret having joints, "I give you the fearsome Forest Queen, ruler of all she stumbles over, mistaker of poison ivy for breath mints, and official wolf pack entertainer. Fear my botany skills, tremble at my sense of direction."

With a self-deprecating chuckle, Betsy set about making herself look less like something that had been dragged backward through a hedge and more like a semi-functional human being. By the time she'd detangled her hair and dressed in clothes that didn't look like they'd gone three rounds with an angry bear, she was feeling almost human again.

The siren call of caffeine led her to the kitchen, where she set about brewing a pot of coffee strong enough to wake the dead, or at least strong enough to jolt her system into something resembling alertness.

As the rich aroma of brewing coffee filled the cabin, Betsy's stomach let out a growl that could have been mistaken for a small earthquake. "All right, all right," she soothed her rumbling belly, "I hear you. Let's see what gourmet delights we have in store today."

A rummage through the cupboards yielded a slightly stale granola bar and an apple that had seen better days. "Breakfast of champions," Betsy declared, holding up her meager feast. "Gordon Ramsay, eat your heart out."

She tried to Door Dash, but no one delivered way out here. She was going to have to finish unpacking and take the truck to the nearest town for supplies.

Coffee in hand and granola bar perched precariously between her teeth, Betsy made her way to the front porch. The morning air was crisp and clean, filled with the songs of birds and the gentle rustle of leaves. It was the kind of scene that would have made Disney animators weep with joy.

"Okay, I'll give you this one, Nature," Betsy admitted, taking a sip of her coffee. "You do mornings pretty well. Even if you are trying to kill me with..." She trailed off, her eyes widening as they landed on something that definitely hadn't been there the night before.

There, sitting innocently on her porch as if it had every right to be there, was her forgotten basket. The very same basket she'd dropped in her mad dash to escape becoming the special of the day on the wolf pack's menu.

"How did that get here?" Betsy muttered, approaching the basket cautiously, half expecting it to sprout legs and scuttle away.

She peered inside, her eyebrows climbing towards her hairline. The basket was filled with yummy mushrooms and an assortment of leaves that looked suspiciously like... actual mint. Real, non-rash-inducing, mojito-worthy mint.

"Okay, forest," Betsy said, her voice a mix of awe and confusion, "if this is your way of apologizing for the whole poison ivy incident, I accept. But also, what the actual fudgesicles is going on?"

It was then, as she stood puzzling over her mysteriously returned and well stocked basket, that Betsy noticed something else. Something that sent a shiver of excitement and fear racing down her spine like a caffeinated squirrel.

Footprints. Enormous, distinctly non-human footprints, leading away from her porch and into the forest.

Betsy's mind raced faster than a cheetah on espresso. This was it. Proof that she wasn't going completely bonkers. Something had been out there last night. Something big enough to scare off a pack of wolves with a single howl. Something that, apparently, had a better grasp of herbal identification than she did.

"All right," she muttered, pacing back and forth on the porch, her coffee sloshing dangerously. "Let's think this through. On the one hand, following mysterious giant footprints into the forest is on the same level of Hansel and Gretel investigating the witch's house."

The responsible, sensible part of her brain (a part that had been woefully underused lately) was screaming at her to stay put, to call... someone. The forest ranger, the police, her mother, anyone.

But the larger part of her brain, the part that had led her to abandon her cushy corporate job for a life of forest-based misadventures, was practically doing backflips of excitement.

"Oh, what the heck," Betsy declared, throwing her hands up in defeat. "I've already tangoed with poison ivy and waltzed with wolves. Might as well go for the hat trick of forest dangers."

Following the footprints was both easier and harder than Betsy had anticipated. On one hand, they were about as subtle as a neon sign in a library. On the other hand, the forest seemed determined to throw every obstacle in her path, from inconveniently placed roots to low-hanging branches that seemed to take personal offense to her presence.

"If I find out I'm on some hidden camera show," Betsy grumbled, extracting herself from a particularly clingy bush, "I'm going to be seriously peeved. And also probably internet famous, so it's a real toss-up."

As she ventured deeper into the forest, the landscape began to change. The trees grew taller, their canopies blocking out more of the sky. The underbrush became denser, and the sounds of the forest took on a different quality—deeper, more primal.

Betsy's nervous energy manifested in a running commentary that would have put most sports announcers to shame. "And here we see the intrepid explorer, Betsy Ferris, venturing where no slightly unhinged ex-corporate drone has gone before. Will she find the elusive Bigfoot? Will she instead discover a new species of poison ivy? The suspense is killing me, folks!"

Despite her bravado, Betsy couldn't ignore the growing knot of nervousness in her stomach. The forest, which had seemed almost playful in its attempts to trip her up earlier, now felt watchful. Alert. As if every tree, every bush, every flutter of leaves was observing her, waiting to see what she would do next.

"You're just working yourself up," she muttered, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. There's nothing out here but trees and squirrels and... oh sweet mother of muffins."

Betsy froze, her heart leaping into her throat as she reached the edge of a small clearing. There, in the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, stood the largest, most imposing creature she had ever seen.

It—he?—was easily eight feet tall, with a broad, muscular frame covered in thick, dark fur. Powerful arms ended in hands that looked capable of uprooting small trees. And yet, despite his intimidating size, there was something gentle about the way he moved.

Betsy's mind short-circuited, caught between blind panic and utter fascination. This was Bigfoot. Sasquatch. The missing link. And he was currently helping a baby bird back into its nest.

She watched, slack-jawed, as the massive creature carefully cradled a tiny, fluffy chick in one enormous hand. With a gentleness that seemed at odds with his size, he reached up and deposited the bird back in its nest, high up in a nearby tree.

As the Sasquatch tended to the bird, Betsy noticed something extraordinary. The forest around him seemed to come alive in a way she'd never seen before. The air shimmered with an almost imperceptible glow, and the leaves rustled in perfect harmony, as if the entire clearing was sighing in contentment. Even the usual cacophony of forest sounds—the chirping of insects, the calls of various birds—seemed to quiet, creating an aura of peace and tranquility that centered on the gentle giant.

"Well, slap me silly and call me Susie," Betsy thought, her fear momentarily forgotten in the face of this absolutely bonkers scene. "I've found the world's largest, furriest Disney prince."

As if to drive home the point, a young deer emerged from the underbrush, approaching the Sasquatch without a hint of fear. The creature—Betsy found she couldn't keep thinking of him as an 'it'—knelt down, running a gentle hand over the fawn's spotted back.

The juxtaposition was mind-boggling. This being, who looked like he could bench-press her pickup truck, was treating the forest creatures with more tenderness than most humans showed their houseplants. And more than that, the forest itself seemed to respond to his presence, as if he were not just a part of nature, but somehow its beating heart.

Betsy's fear began to ebb, replaced by a growing curiosity and... something else. Something she wasn't quite ready to name. There was an undeniable majesty to the creature, a wild beauty that stirred something primal deep within her.

"Okay, universe," she thought, her eyes never leaving the Sasquatch, "I get it. You win. This is officially the coolest, weirdest, most amazing thing I've ever seen. I take back every bad thing I said about the forest. Except for the poison ivy. That was still a jerk move."

Just then, as if the universe had decided Betsy's life wasn't quite interesting enough, the wind shifted. A breeze, cool and playful, danced through the clearing, ruffling Betsy's hair and carrying her scent straight to the creature.

The change was instantaneous. His head snapped up, nostrils flaring. In a movement almost too fast for Betsy's eyes to follow, he whirled around, his gaze locking onto her with laser-like intensity.

Betsy's heart, which had just begun to settle into a somewhat normal rhythm, decided to go for gold in the Olympic speed- beating event. She froze, caught in the Sasquatch's stare like a deer in headlights—if the headlights belonged to the world's sexiest, furriest semi-truck.

Wait... sexiest? Where had that come from?

But as she stood there, unable to move, unable to even breathe, Betsy couldn't deny the sudden, intense attraction that surged through her. His eyes, dark and intelligent, seemed to peer straight into her soul. His powerful frame radiated a raw, untamed energy that made every hair on her body stand on end.

"Oh boy," Betsy squeaked, her voice barely above a whisper. "I am in so much trouble."

The tension in the clearing was thick enough to cut with a knife—a really big knife, given the size of the Sasquatch. Neither of them moved, locked in a staring contest that was equal parts terrifying and something that made Betsy's knees weak and her pulse race in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

She knew she should run. Every survival instinct, every bit of common sense she possessed was screaming at her to turn tail and sprint back to the cabin as fast as her legs could carry her. But she couldn't move. Didn't want to move.

Because in that moment, as impossible as it seemed, Betsy felt a connection. A spark of recognition, of understanding, that defied all logic. It was as if some part of her, some deep, primal part she hadn't even known existed, was suddenly wide awake and singing.

"Well," she thought, a slightly hysterical giggle bubbling up in her throat, "Grandma always did say I'd know when I met my soulmate. Though I'm pretty sure she didn't expect him to be quite so furry."

The Sasquatch took a step forward, his movement cautious but purposeful. Betsy's breath caught. He was even more impressive up close, his presence filling the clearing like a force of nature.

"Hi there," Betsy managed, her voice a mix of terror and awe. "I'm Betsy. Francine's granddaughter. Thanks for the mint and mushrooms. And for not eating me. Both are equally appreciated."

The creature tilted his head, regarding her with an expression that seemed almost curious. There was an intelligence in those eyes, a depth of understanding that sent a shiver down Betsy's spine.

And then, just as Betsy was considering whether it would be inappropriate to ask a Sasquatch for his number, the forest around them faded into insignificance. Betsy felt like she was teetering on the edge of something monumental, something that would change her life forever.

As she stood there, heart pounding, mind reeling, one thought crystallized with startling clarity: whatever happened next, there was no going back. This moment, this encounter, was the point of no return.

And despite every rational thought screaming in protest, Betsy knew she didn't want to go back. She was exactly where she was meant to be.

The Sasquatch's eyes seemed to bore into her, filled with an intensity that both thrilled and terrified her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and Betsy found herself holding her breath, waiting for whatever earth-shattering revelation was about to come.

This was it. The moment that would define everything that came after.

Betsy Ferris, former corporate drone turned wannabe herbalist, stood face to face with a creature of myth and legend. And somehow, inexplicably, it felt like coming home.