The night passed smoothly. The day broke.
Birds atop trees chirped. The heat of the sun touched ever so lightly on the jungle floor, escaping through the gaps between massive trees, which covered the whole jungle as if in defiance of the very light shone by the sun. Some trees were entangled with one another, catching the sunlight before it could reach the ground, while others left the slightest space between their tops, barely avoiding contact—just enough for light to slip through and fall upon the little child lying on the forest floor, limbs sprawled, unmoving.
Then—a movement.Its index finger twitched.Then the hands folded.The head lifted, and small palms pressed against the wounded forehead—still aching. Marks from something blunt were visible on the child's skin.
The child cried again, but this time the cries stopped sooner than before. Though loud at first, the voice was swallowed by the vast, dark, hollow forest. The child had no more energy left to cry—or even to squeal. The voice was gone.
Frantically shifting its head left and right, the child took in the forest for the first time. Its eyes opened wide. But there was no time to admire its beauty or understand what it was. The child was already running out of energy. With no food or water to consume—or even an understanding of what food or drink was—the child's head dropped again. This time, it rolled onto its back, now staring straight up at the towering trees. But there was no future for the child, or so one might think. No food to eat, no teeth to chew, not even knowledge of how to eat.
The child again lost consciousness, mouth wide open. It fell into a deep sleep, not knowing whether it would still be alive upon waking.
And so, the jungle fell into silence once again.No chirping of birds.No movement in the wild.No predators hunting.Just a still, echoing hush...
Then—suddenly—everything went dark. The last tinges of sunlight vanished. Covered. A chill swept through the atmosphere.Tip-tap. Tip-tap.It had started raining. The forest was going to be drenched. The rain fell slow at first, then picked up speed—a heavy downpour, soaking the child who lay on its back, mouth still open. The only thing keeping the child from being washed away was a small ridge. The rain wasn't strong enough to flood over the small ridges or mounds, just enough to soak everything through.
The child lay there, unaware of what was happening around it. Droplets of water, clinging to tree leaves above, began falling. Some landed directly into the child's open mouth, slowly and little by little, filling the small stomach. Though it wasn't much, the contact with the leaves and other organic parts carried with it soluble particles—just enough to nourish the child's starving body.
The downpour stopped. Light returned to the surface, but it was already dusk. A faint reddish hue filled the surroundings, though not enough to pierce the thick web of leaves above.
The child—fed for the first time—opened its eyes. It blinked many times, finally taking in its surroundings without the haze of hunger. Its eyes opened wide. The vast forest made it curious. It tried to move toward the arched root it had been lying atop, but its little legs lacked control. It tried—again and again—and managed only to roll onto its front. That alone exhausted it. It lay there, eyes open, glancing around. The bushes. The leaves. The ground. The soil. The water flowing beside it in a thin, snake-like form.
The child reached out a hand toward the small stream, but it was too far. Tired, it gave up. Fidgeting, its eyes glanced around again—and then locked on the root it had been laid upon. It stared.
And then it happened.Suddenly, a chill ran down the child's spine.Its body froze—not from exhaustion, but from fear.The first fear it had ever felt.Then came the warnings. Birds and other creatures atop the trees cried out. Something was moving. The child, though just a day old, instinctively knew—it didn't want to see whatever it was.
But it couldn't move. Not from paralysis—but from dread.
And so, it lay there, facing the ground. It didn't know words, but somehow, it knew how to pray and so it prayed—and prayed so that whatever this thing was—it wouldn't reach here.
But the cries of the creatures above didn't stop. They only grew louder. Something was coming.
The child felt it. A subtle shift beneath its body. A vibration in the earth.
Something was approaching from behind.
The child, terrified, managed to glance back—but saw nothing. Still, the warning calls continued. Maybe it was still far?
The child didn't want to find out. Gathering all its strength, it forced its fragile limbs to move. It couldn't walk. It couldn't crawl. But it rolled.Slowly—slowly—towards the large tree near the arched root, hiding behind it.
The child curled into itself, eyes closed tightly, instinctively shielding its body.
Moments later, The Olf emerged—walking toward the thin stream where it had seen the child the day before. It stopped just beside it, sniffing the air, trying to reclaim its lost meal from before it went for the big hunt.
But this time, there was nothing.No child.No life nearby.Sniffing. Sniffing. Sniffing.It found nothing.
Just a few meters away, the child lay face-down, curled in silence. It didn't know what this creature was or why it was afraid, but it knew one thing: it did not want to see it.
Moments earlier, its senses had been screaming—alarming it of something life-threatening nearby. Now, the child remained frozen, its body silent while its senses screamed in terror.
It didn't know when it would be over, but it didn't make a sound.Its body was still—its senses relentlessly warning of the danger ahead.
The rain had washed away every trace of the child's presence. The moisture-filled air brought a strange renewal, masking any scent. The Olf could not track the little target it had marked.
Disappointed, it scanned the area, sensing nothing of value. Its heavy paws pressed into the earth, and then—it moved on.
Slowly, as the Olf departed, the forest began to calm.The birds quieted.The child's rapid heartbeat slowed.Its senses dulled.But the fear remained.
The child didn't understand what had happened—but it knew to stay hidden. The curled-up position was all it had, all it knew of safety.
And so, the night dawned.
The child drifted into a restless sleep, curled tightly, with no assurance of what the future held—no assurance of survival.