Breath baited, she lay low against the knotted tree branch.

The waning light of dusk filtered through the canopy; warm, slender rays of gold that gently brushed her skin as they passed through the reddening leaves. Soon it would give way to night’s velvet hues, and the trees would sleep, relinquishing the forest to the nocturnal animals and birds that lived within it. The days were warm at this time of year and the nights cool; cool enough to sleep comfortably under the stars without being eaten alive by tiny gnats.

That day, much like the summer, had passed with little excitement. Caw had taken to visiting the nearby village in the daylight hours, because of its sweet smelling bakery and equally enticing book shop. A higgledy-piggledy shanty building with a wonky front door, located halfway down an alleyway just off the main square. She had visited earlier that summer and was surprised at the sheer number of priceless tomes and scrolls piled within it, and wholly suspected that it was the book towers, perhaps even the dust, keeping the building upright. Love at first sight. Too long Caw had been sat on the floor of the shop, pawing through the books and pestering them to give up their secrets to her. Folly, really. The books did not belong to her. Why would they give her anything?

She’d left the shop without purchasing anything, as she had every day that week, certain that the owner would have lost patience by now and banned her from ever returning. But no, he was a rosy cheeked old soul with good humour and better tea, and seemed to enjoy the company of the young forest child and all her questions. It was on this day, as she had gotten up to leave, that he had warned her to be careful travelling home, that strangers were in the village and they didn’t look like the friendly sort.

The men had been stalking her since leaving the village and now that she had made it to the woods, away from the ordinary folk, she would have to hide. Running was certainly an option, but Caw was no good at it. Running was more Rock’s thing. He could run for days without tiring, but Caw, no. She didn’t run. Not when hiding was an option. The tree; an old, quiet horse chestnut, stood tall, her branches thick and welcoming to the forest child. Probably to the village children too, who gathered beneath her in the early Autumn months to collect the conker nuts for their games. This tree would do.

Caw climbed the branches, lithely darting upwards through the leaves until she reached a decent height, easily out of eyeshot. She rested there on the branch, her skin tingling as it took the form of the bark. The Chameleon’s gift, Oak had once called it. Eyes closed she lay, breathing slow, trusting in the old tree not to oust her. It was a good natured thing, much like the bookshop owner, she could tell. Calm and motherly, understanding of Caw’s predicament; of course it wouldn’t give her away, not to those fiends. The elder trees could always be counted on as allies. The saplings however, fearful and ambitious, their roots not yet fully formed, could not afford such loyalty. They would sell her short at the mere mention of an axe.

The crunch of leaves on the floor below quietened as her pursuers passed underneath. Thank the ancients they didn’t have a hound on them. Caw stifled a shudder. Hounds. Wretched things, maddened and only half alive. Her fate if they found her.