Song, Spirit of the Forest

The smell of burnt coffee hits first, mixing with the sharp scent of citonella at the Old Buck Cafe, the general store at the trailhead on Old Buck Road in the tiny town of Bitter End. It's a chaotic clutter of freeze-dried meals, locally made walking sticks, and hand-knitted scarves. The few tables and chairs set up around the coffee machine are taken up by hikers eager to start or desperate to finish the trail.

There's a man roosted up against the wall, practically scenery, with skin weathered like old leather bag, and he’s banging aggressively on the table at two terrified-looking college kids with pristine backpacks. Hanging around his neck, swaying as he gestures, is a leather strap strung through what looks like a slice of antler, stained from years of sweat and dust.

“You think I'm joking?” The old man rasps as he taps the bit of antler with a dirty fingernail. “Grandma wasn't no fool. She knew the signs. The sleepless nights. The way your ears start to twitch at the wind. She made me carve it right off the beast's head while it was sleeping. The undeer.” He leans in closer, his eyes wide and wild. “One bite, and you're gone. Just like that poor girl... Song. Met her right here a year ago, never left the trail. She's out there now, guarding the woods with black hooves and a hunger for disrespect. You go out looking to poach a bear, or you drop a wrapper, she'll come for you.”

The two hikers shift in their seats, forcing smiles as they try to sip their coffee without making eye contact. “Right, right... the undeer,” one mutters while looking for an exit strategy. “We'll stick to the trail. Thanks for the tip, man.”

The old man doesn't seem to notice their skepticism. He just grips his antler pendant tighter, his gaze drifting toward the dense wall of trees looming just outside the window. “You think it's a joke,” he mutters, more to himself now, “But the forest remembers. It keeps what it takes.”