5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Mac

A fter watching the sunset and putting away the items from the grocery store, the exhaustion from the long journey to Ireland settled heavily in me. Barely an hour after the light disappeared from the sky, I curled in the bed and fell into a heavy dreamless sleep.

I'm thankful for the exhaustion making me drift off early, but when the light woke me the following morning, it still felt far too soon. Yet, it was already nine in the morning. I slept better than I had in a long time, as though something about being here settled something inside me.

After having some warm bread with honey for breakfast, I grabbed my camera and set out to explore. I couldn't stop thinking about the different colors of the forest and how desperately I felt the need to explore it as I ate and drank my coffee.

Soft moss settles under my shoes, creating a sort of padding as I walk into the dense forest. It's beautiful and enchanting, with an almost magnetic energy, calling to me in subtle waves. It makes me venture off the path and further into the depth of the forest on a trail that seems less frequented.

Occasionally, I catch glimpses of what look like large fireflies flitting between the trees. The shadows cast by the canopy block some of the sun, making the little glimmers of light that sneak through even brighter. It adds an otherworldly glow to the space, as if nature itself is alive with its own quiet magic.

There's an eerie silence in parts of the forest, a stillness that feels both calming and unsettling, as if the woods are holding their breath. Every now and then, the rustling of leaves or the distant chirp of a bird breaks the tranquility, but mostly, it feels like I'm alone in a hidden world. Without thinking, I start humming one of the old melodies my great-grandmother taught me, the tune weaving through the trees as my voice breaks the quiet.

I focus on the plant life and trees around me, appreciating the rich greens, oranges, browns and the delicate blossoms. There's something soothing in the way the leaves and grass sway in the gentle breeze, as though dancing to the song.

As I move, I snap pictures of the intricate details—moss-covered rocks, the gnarled roots of ancient trees, the small wildflowers hidden beneath tall ferns. Each shot feels like capturing a piece of this world's essence, something I want to keep with me long after I leave.

I look around me, searching for more images to capture, my voice unconsciously lifting as I sing the old songs I have treasured every day since I had to say goodbye to my great-grandmother. They make me feel closer to her. The melodies flow naturally, carrying on the wind like they belong here as much as I do. After capturing another shot of sunlight filtering through the leaves and casting a heart shape shimmer, I straighten, ready to continue wandering. But something at the edge of my vision catches my attention.

I turn a little further and startle at the sight of a man standing on the path, his hand resting casually on a nearby tree. He watches me with an expression that is both calm and curious. His beauty is striking, taking my breath away with just one look. His long brown hair falls past his shoulder in a straight line, but "brown" seems an inadequate description. It almost appears to have absorbed the different hues of the tree bark beside him, woven into rich, earthy tones that shimmer subtly in the dappled light. His green eyes are startlingly bright, almost glowing against the backdrop of the forest. His features are fine, with an ethereal quality, and his arms—lean and muscular—are bare, exposed by the sleeveless linen shirt he wears.

For a moment, I can't move, captivated by the way his muscles flex as he pushes away from the tree, stepping toward me with an effortless grace.

"I did not mean to startle you," he says, his voice smooth and warm, with a faint lilt that I can't quite place. It takes a moment for his words to register, my mind still swirling with the unexpectedness of his appearance.

The subtle twitch of his lips tells me he's trying not to laugh at my stunned reaction. There's a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, though it feels kind rather than mocking.

"I—it's alright," I finally manage, feeling a little flustered. The forest around us seems to hum with a newfound energy, as though it too is aware of the unexpected encounter. "I wasn't expecting... company."

For a moment I scold myself because what woman treks through the woods alone in a country they know very little about. Apparently that would be me. Now, I'm alone with a man who could very easily overpower me and I have no idea what to say or do next.

He smiles, and it feels as though the entire forest smiles with him. There's something unearthly about him, something that feels both ancient and ageless, like he belongs to this place in a way I can't quite grasp. I lower my camera, realizing that I had instinctively raised it when I first saw him, ready to capture the moment as though it were a scene from a dream.

"You're not alone out here," he says softly, as if sharing a secret with the trees. "This forest is alive with more than just the plants and animals. It has a life of its own." His hand braces on a tree as if he were feeling for its heartbeat. "Haven't you felt it?"

I blink, the sensation he's describing striking a chord deep within me. I have felt something here—something ancient, something watching—but I hadn't fully acknowledged it until now. My gaze drifts back to the fireflies, or what I thought were fireflies, still darting between the trees. They suddenly seem almost too large, too bright.

"Who are you?" I ask, my voice a little steadier now, though the air between us feels charged, like the moment just before a summer storm.

He takes another step toward me, and I feel as though the distance between us is closing in more ways than just physical space. My mind tells me to take a step back, to not let this stranger near me, but my body says something different. It tells me I need to stay. When I don't move, his smile deepens slightly, and there's something both playful and mysterious in his eyes.

I shake my head, trying to dismiss the thoughts swirling in my mind as silly. He must come from the village. There's no other explanation. Maybe the forest just has a strange effect on me, making everything seem more magical than it really is.

He catches my brief look of confusion, and with a slight tilt of his head, he says, "My name is Cianán."

Cianán . I don't even know the meaning of the name, but something tells me it suits him. I nod, forcing myself to focus. "I'm Mac," I respond automatically.

Something flickers across his face—a subtle shift, but enough to make me pause. His fine features draw together into a brief frown before his expression smooths out. "That's not your real name," he says softly, his voice carrying an unshakable certainty.

My heart skips a beat. How could he possibly know that? A thousand thoughts rush through my mind, but I quickly brush them away. Mac probably isn't a common name around here. That must be it. But the way he said it feels different, more knowing, as if he's looking straight through me.

I swallow hard and manage to respond. "It's McKenna," I admit, my voice quieter now, as though giving him the real name somehow deepens the moment.

Cianán's gaze softens, though the frown lingers for a heartbeat longer before his face relaxes. "McKenna," he repeats, testing the name on his tongue like it holds meaning beyond its sound. There's a weight to the way he says it, and for a second, I feel exposed, as if by sharing my name, I've given him something more.

"You have a beautiful voice," Cianán says suddenly, his eyes locking onto mine. My face heats up instantly, and I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. I wasn't expecting him to comment on my singing, especially since I only ever sing when I'm alone. I had felt alone in the forest, lost in the moment, unaware that anyone was listening.

"I—thank you," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. My gaze drops, briefly taking in the necklace he is wearing, something black that looks like crossed over antlers, before dropping further to the forest floor, where leaves and roots twist and curl underfoot. I can't quite meet his eyes; it's too much, too personal. The thought of him hearing me sing makes me feel vulnerable in a way I hadn't expected.

Cianán takes another step closer, his expression gentle but curious. "What was that song?" he asks, his voice low, as if he's afraid to disturb the quiet magic of the woods around us.

I force myself to look up at him, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. "It's just something I learned from my great-grandmother," I say, trying to sound casual, though my heart is still racing. The truth is, the song has always felt special to me, I'm not sure if it was how connected it made me feel to her, or to the stories she told. But I'm not sure how to explain that to him without sounding strange.

Cianán seems to sense the significance of my words. His eyes flicker with understanding, though he says nothing more about it. Instead, he simply watches me, his gaze soft and contemplative, as if he's trying to piece together some hidden puzzle.

There is a stillness to the forest now that I hadn't noticed. I don't know what to say next, so I turn my attention back to my camera, fiddling with the settings as a way to ground myself. But I can still feel Cianán's presence, quiet and steady, like he's content to just be here, in this moment with me.

After a long pause, he speaks again. "Your great-grandmother must have been a remarkable woman to pass down a song like that." There's a hint of reverence in his voice, as though he understands the weight of my memories.

"She was," I reply softly, a small smile tugging at my lips. I can't help but feel a surge of warmth at the mention of her.

Cianán's eyes hold mine as he tilts his head slightly, his expression thoughtful. "The song came from around here," he says. "But you... you don't."

I can't stop a soft laugh from escaping, the sound catching in my throat. There's something endearing about the way he phrases things, with that lilt and a touch of something else—something I can't quite place. It makes me feel both amused and oddly connected to him.

"Well, that's probably because I'm from America," I admit, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest. "I'm just here on vacation."

As soon as the words leave my lips, I notice a subtle shift in the air around us. Cianán takes a small step back, and my gaze immediately follows, trying to catch any hint of what might have caused the change. I wonder if my being American has somehow affected his perception of me. But when I look up, I find him simply observing me with an expression of curious interest.

His eyes slide over me slowly, as if he's taking in every detail. The heat that enters his gaze makes me blush again, a warm flush spreading across my cheeks. There's something in his eyes that feels both intimate and distant, like he's seeing through me, but he wants to remain a mystery himself.

Cianán's smile returns, though it's softer now, tinged with a hint of regret. "I should get back," he says softly, his voice carrying a note of finality. "I'm afraid I've taken up too much of your time."

I nod slightly, returning his smile with a soft, understanding gesture. "It's no trouble at all. I probably distracted you from your work."

His smile widens a fraction, and there's a fleeting glimmer of something—maybe amusement, maybe sadness—before he steps away. I look down at my camera for a moment but when I look back up, he has already left and I find myself standing alone again, the forest quiet around me.

The magical feeling of the forest still lingers but it's more subtle now, and the image of Cianán in my mind feels like a fleeting yet vivid dream. Like a picture of something too bright and too colorful. Something that deep down I yearn to recreate or see again.

The sunlight filtering through the leaves now seems to have a different quality, as though touched by the presence of the man who had just disappeared into the woods. I find myself lost in thought, replaying the details of our conversation and the way his green eyes had held mine with such intensity.

I glance at the images on my camera, but they seem mundane compared to the vivid reality that just unfolded. The intricate details of moss-covered rocks and wildflowers now pale in comparison to Cianán. I'm struck by a sense of wonder and longing, as if his presence awakened something deep within me, something that makes the rest of the world feel less vibrant in comparison. I'm sure I'll see him again in the village at some point while I'm here—perhaps tonight when I have dinner at the pub.

My stomach rumbles at the thought and with a sigh, I start to retrace my steps, hoping to find my way back to the cottage. I wandered more than originally planned, and the forest is a lot deeper than I first imagined.

Glancing back I stumble slightly, there is something about the forest behind me now that feels darker, more haunting. As though the trees themselves don't want to let me leave. Maybe it's a good thing I'm turning back now, I could have easily gotten lost if I kept going.