The Woodwo and the Naiad

He planted his foot softly on the grass. Silence was his friend now, had to be, for discovery would mean the end. The ground was soft underfoot; the green blades gently stroked his calloused soles. Shoes only hindered the hunt.

All around him the forest hummed with life; birds called to each other, insects buzzed to and fro and squirrels hopped and scrambled from branch to branch. He listened carefully, feeling the sounds of the forest enter his heart. There was a gentle breeze in the air, whispering among the mighty trunks and their foliage. Oswulf stayed his movements and bathed in the sounds and the feelings they brought. It calmed him, cooled his temper and washed away his anxiety. His heart beat in rhythm to the slow, steady pace of the moist emerald world around him. He could smell the new flowers, their fresh buds white, purple, red, blue. This was his home. Here he was at peace. But he had to move on.

Oswulf crept through the trees, agonisingly slow; he was a shadow in the undergrowth, an unseen force moving steadily to its goal. Rushing would not further his cause, a deer can smell a man in the wind, feel his footsteps in the grass, hear his every sigh and heartbeat. He could not allow that.

He came to a worn path and recognised the area around him. This was the right way. He was getting closer. Oswulf harboured several worries in his breast, chief among them were the tracks he had seen that morning.
They gnawed at his mind as he journeyed alone. Where had they come from? How fresh were they? They could not be found, he hoped.

He was getting closer, and could hear a stream running its course. He pictured the clear refreshing water, and smiled at the thought of its cool liquid passing his lips, trickling down his throat, massaging his tired limbs. But that would come after.

He stopped behind a large oak. He could see the stream now… there was a person in it.