The girl of the legend

He lost track. It could have been walking for fifteen, twenty, or thirty days. It was blowing an icy wind and his feet were tripping more often. He held a sachet in the left hand and a map in the right. The instructions were clear and he had known since childhood, when everyone but himself knew his destiny.

The journey was being longer than they told him and the time was getting over. The dried blood was decorating his clothes, almost destroyed on his way and getting him trapped by the branches. His face was the description of long nights without sleeping from the threat of the screams which were getting closer too quickly.

He sighed and looked up. It was there. His knees shook and his legs went to the floor. He cried excited searching for the girl of the legend between the trees. There was just a clearing of withered grass. He checked again: mountains on the left, sunrise straight ahead, and the village with the purple church on the right. He himself was on the cross. However...

The man jumped standing up. The screams were arriving and he could almost smell their breath odor. He climbed the highest tree and blended himself into the autumn leaves. That wasn´t enough for those creatures, but he stopped breathing believing blindly in the legend: he must find her.

They arrived at the clearing. Right away, they looked to the tree he was in, but kept trotting to the village, leaving a trace of their slime on the way.

He couldn´t understand but didn´t have time to think about it. When he pressed the sachet in his left hand, it started to get warm. The rule was clear: only she was allowed to look inside. He looked. Nothing happened. While tearing his eyes away from it, an energizing emotion was covering his veins.

Went down and left the map under some stones. The route disappeared and the paper changed into dry leaves merging with the others. He hadn´t seen anything like that even in the place he came from.

Started walking again. Wasn´t sure where was going. Sometimes he stopped and looked at the landscape. Sometimes he took several steps backward. Sometimes he could listen to the screams and felt scared.

It was at nightfall when he found the house. He knew it was there. The sachet shinning with silver light for a few seconds. He didn´t need the confirmation.

A young woodcutter was living there and invited him kindly to get inside to take shelter from the cold night.

Some years later, he met the girl of the legend, her first daughter. Not everything was written.