Runaway, Part One: Protector

       Her father hunted monsters.

       This was the first thing Nina understood about her father, a broad, deep-spoken man who towered over her tiny frame, whose presence had always been a comfort to her. Her earliest memory was that of him arriving home just as dawn swept away the morning’s fog, a crossbow slung across one shoulder and a beast draped over the other. Nina, who couldn’t have been more than four at the time, listened in awe as her father wove a tale of vicious monsters that he and his fellow hunters had encountered, tracked, and slain. He had taken her to the woods that lay, wild and untamed, behind their home, and assured her that the beasts he encountered in his expedition would no longer creep from between the trees and destroy their home.

       Nina played with toys crafted from the bones her father kept as trophies. She fought imaginary dragons with bows, knives, and swords carved of horn and ivory. She learned to shoot a bow when most children still struggled to tie their shoes, and was soon nearly as skilled as her father. Nina rarely saw her mother, who was a meek, mild nurse, and when they were able to spend time together, her mother taught Nina to wrap injuries and apply medicines, per her father’s insistence. When they did have time together, her mother would playfully run fingers through Nina’s unruly orange curls. She would joke that Nina had seen the way her mother’s hair loosely curled and ran with it. It was the only trait they really shared in common.

       She longed for the day her father would bring her along on his expeditions to protect their town, but, until then, she spent every free moment wandering the forest that encircled their village, imagining what it would be like when she was finally allowed to venture into its deepest wilds. 

       Her father told her stories about the horrendous acts monsters were capable of, from the indiscriminate slaughter of travelers to armies of them surrounding entire villages, forcing their inhabitants to starve to death. His favorite tale, however, concerned demons. He would always begin the tale in the same way, telling Nina that, long ago, their town had been a much more dangerous place to live. In fact, the night Nina was born, he had to patrol the very woods that sat behind their home, alert for any threats that could disturb his young wife. It had been then that he heard the faint, hiccuping cry of an infant from somewhere within the tangled trees. He crept into the undergrowth to investigate, only to find no evidence of a child, or, indeed, anyone, where the cries had originated. It was at that point when the demon had ambushed him.

       He would trace the scars he received from the encounter, which curved along his right shoulder and down to his left leg, as he related the courageous fight he put up in defending himself against the tricky tactics of the demon, who warped his vision and muddled his thoughts. Nevertheless, her father had prevailed, and Nina was always left in awe of his skill and bravery. If he was feeling particularly proud, her father would pull out the demon’s pelt and let Nina admire its course, cream-speckled brown feathers, its knobby scales, and its rope-like forked tail. It was fragile, not fit for display, but it was by far her father’s proudest achievement. 

       Nina had never seen a living monster–only the bodies her father brought home–but those, combined with blurred photos and her father’s visceral descriptions, affirmed her hatred of them. If it weren’t for the efforts of her father and his hunters, Nina knew, their village would be overrun in a season. However, there was also fear–at first just the blind terror of a child, it had quietly blossomed into an all-encompassing dread of the creatures that threatened her life and home. How could she, so much less than her father, hope to match beasts such as these? Would she be strong enough to protect her home? She had asked her father this, once, and he had dismissed it out of hand. She was his child. She had been born for this.

       The thought filled Nina with comfort.

       The seasons flew and Nina soon found herself sitting in the dining room, her father and his friends looming over her. As the first blizzard of the year roared around the house, she listened attentively to their route planning. Fewer and fewer monsters had been straying near the village, so this year’s expeditions would bring the group deeper into the wilderness than ever before. And finally, finally, Nina could be a part of it. She could help defend her home, just as she had always wanted. 

       On the darkest, coldest day of the season, Nina finally turned 13, old enough to join the hunt. She spent the day firing her bow into the woods, imaging the monsters that would lurk within come spring. 

       But when the sun had finally thawed the earth, and the world was green once more, she was already long gone.