Freya drove down the back roads, coming back from a family gathering. She imagined herself curled up in her recliner with a good book, and soft music playing in the background after dealing with her hectic family.
"Sweetheart," her mother said, "you need to learn to be nicer, more motherly. How will you find a good man-"
"I'm fine," Freya interrupted in a huff. "I don't want a life bending my back for someone."
"Well," her mother replied, speaking through a huff like Freya, "I don't see how else you would understand how it hurts you, coming to these gatherings less and less!" Her mother frowned while thinning her lips, trying to hold them back from trembling, "I'm only worried about you." She let out a long, tired sigh, and looked off somewhere Freya couldn't see.
"I had enough people telling me to settle down, or be at places I don't want to be," Freya said. "I'm going home, goodbye."
Freya left, ignoring her mother's protests and her other families' comments. This gathering and gatherings before had her family say all the same things. They either said it to her face, or she overheard it in those snide comments people use when they gossip; It's as though they never done similar things. A niece called her the grinch once. Her mother saying something became the nail on the coffin. No one wanted her there, so she'll never go to another one. Time alone is the best thing for her. She always came home stressed to those things.
At the halfway point, the engine light came on. Freya mumbled under her breath and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Another thing she had to deal with. She still had a couple hours before she'll get home, or to even a place to have someone look at her car. She hoped her car could make it until then, but as soon as her car started sputtering, it died. Having no choice, she pulled over to the side of the road, and sat there in her irritation for a bit, then Freya fished for her phone hidden inside her small backpack to dial the number for a tow truck.
She paced back and forth beside her car as the phone rang. It neared the end of the fourth ring before it picked up. Freya couldn't hear anything but static on the other end. She kept talking on the phone, like some miracle would suddenly help her hear what the other person was saying.
"Hello? Hello?" Freya said, "Oh, heck with it," and she hung up.
She paced some more, looked from the road she still has to drive, and the forest that could potentially take her where she needed to go. Freya thought there might be a path for her to take. The sun still hung high in the sky, so there might be enough time to get where she needs to go before it sets. At least, she could get some shade from the blistering heat. A path taken by hunters might be seen in the entrance of the forest if Freya looked, so she went down the ditch that preceded the forest. On the way up, she tripped.
"This is not a good sign," she said.
Once she found a relatively used path, she went back to the car to get some supplies. It might be some time before it gets dark, but going as though she'll have to camp outside is always a good plan. She tugged her survival kit, that comes in a bookbag, from the back of her trunk. She double checked the contents to make sure everything was inside. She put on the bracelet with the compass, clipped the tactical knife to the banding of her pants, and stuffed her smaller bookbag inside, and went back to the path she found. Her uncle had taken her and his kids camping a couple times growing up. He taught her some survival tactics during that time, so she could fare better in the forest than walking aimlessly down the road.
She made sure not to trip up the ditch this time and made her way into the forest. The deeper she went, the thicker the canopy got, letting in less sunlight. Some of the rays filtered through, so she could see flecks of dust floating around it. She never cared about the camping trips, and only found what her uncle taught her useful, but the one thing she enjoyed was seeing those flecks in the ray of sunlight, and the trees hanging over her that created an atmosphere of isolation she felt the most comfortable in. Until she thought too much about the dust getting in her nose or eyes, then she avoided the rays as she walked by. Lots of bird calls echoed all around her.
Every time Freya decided on a path a Raven would fly down, and tell her, "No, the other way!" and won't stop bothering her until she listened. This happened often enough where she crossed her arms and looked up at the sky. Freya knew how to navigate around the woods, so there was no telling why the Raven got so antsy with which direction she took. The Raven yelled at her again a few hours later. Freya threw up her hands.
"All Right! Stop yelling at me and tell me where I should go, you insufferable bird."
"Great. Follow me."
The Raven took flight over her head. Freya ducked her head, then turned in the direction of the Raven.
"You didn't have to be so dramatic about it!"
Freya rolled her eyes and dragged her feet to follow him. The Raven would circle above her head when she would lag behind. Freya had to sit down occasionally, and the Raven would just sit at a nearby branch watching her. She ignored him during those times. She fell at one point, when the ground was particularly wet, and she glared at the Raven as if he were at fault.
"If you're leading me to my death," she said, "I will haunt you 'till you die."
The Raven shook his head, then continued guiding her to who knows where. Freya began to see roses cropped up here and there as she followed the Raven, until he landed near a wall of vines. Different sized thorns covered them, and some were tinged in purple dripping with some sort of liquid with a similar color. Freya looked along the vines and saw buds, and guessed they were roses that hadn't bloomed yet. She gave the Raven a skeptical look.
"So, you're actually, actively, trying to kill me?"
The Raven drilled his eyes into her. His feathers puffed up and shook his body. The words must've offended him. He flew off, but his wings halfway through morphed into arms, a beak into a mouth, and feathers into skin. His hair matched the color of his feathers, but for a moment, his eyes glowed red like a demon. He blinked. His eyes stopped glowing and softened as he approached her. He dug his hands into his pants pocket and pulled out a cloth he wrapped his hands in, then he grabbed a vine and pulled it aside like a curtain. He motioned Freya to enter.
Freya walked by him to see a clearing. A hut with a fence stood in the center of it all with roses, wildflowers, and bushes sporadically placed around it. Vines that looked exactly like the ones they walked through roped around the fence that reminded Freya of a barbed fence. The Raven nudged her toward the hut.
"You must ask permission to go on from here," he said.
"I wasn't aware that a forest was owned," she said dryly. His expectant expression didn't change, so she groaned. "Fine. Fine."
The door of the hut was worn out where even Freya could take it off the hinges if she wanted to. More flowers were on the inside of the fence than the outside. Mostly roses. Freya looked back at the Raven, and he gave her what seemed like an encouraging smile, but it turned out more awkward. She faced the door again and knocked. She backed away when the door opened. Who walked out of the hut stood an old woman that came up below her chest. The woman's eyes were milky, but still managed to focus on her and the Raven with a squint. She didn't have a friendly expression on her face.
"What do'cha want?" The woman rasped out.
"Can I have your permission to pass through?"
The old woman leaned against her doorway with her arms crossed and looked at Freya's toes all the way up to her face again. She made a rude noise with her nose.
"No," she replied.
"No?" Freya said. Her tone became exasperated, mirroring the old woman by crossing her arms as well.
The old woman almost sounded gleeful when she repeated her refusal.
"Okay," Freya breathed out, "Is there anyway I could change that answer? Maybe?"
The old woman didn't answer, she just stood in front of Freya with her arms crossed, as though daring her to do something.
"Look," Freya said, "I just need to get back home. That's all. I'm not going to start living here or come back to bother you again."
"Can't help ya, hon."
"All right," Freya said.
She marched away from the hut and stomped past the Raven to where she needed to go, apparently. She lost all patience from the conversation and just decided to go with or without the woman's blessing.
Before she could enter, the old woman appeared right in her path. Freya could describe the old woman's face to be unkind, but now, her eyebrows hung over her eyes, and a deep frown made her wrinkles deeper than before so that she looked much older, and meaner. Her eyes held a fire that nearly had Freya move away from her.
"What do you think you're doing?" the old woman said. The raspy voice held a stronger, deeper, threatening tone.
"I-"
The Raven yanked her away from the old woman, so that he stood a little bit in front of Freya.
"I'm so sorry, grandmother," he said with a slight bow, "this girl doesn't know who she's speaking. Please, I mean to guide her if you would let us pass."
The old woman looked from the Raven to Freya, back to the Raven again. Her lips formed a pout, contemplating something Freya couldn't fathom. Nor did she want to. If the Raven could talk with the old woman before, why couldn't he talk to her then?
"As you wish," the old woman said it slowly, reluctant to say the words. "But!" she said when the Raven's shoulders started to relax, "this girl must do some things for me before I would ever let you both pass." The old woman's eyes focused her milky eyes on Freya and smiled. Her teeth were sharp. "You must do these things: Bring me back the harp from the river, to play it to the goat in the midlands, then pour milk from the goat in a goblet found on the alter nearby where you found the river and ask the Green Man for his blessing."
On the way out of the clearing, the old woman called after them, "And no help from the Raven! Or you will regret it."
Freya stood at lower ground, being still to listen to the forest around her. The birds' calls still surround her in a cacophony, so it made it hard to listen for the river. Instead, she searched the sky for the birds since there are so many. Hopefully they'll lead her to where she needs to go. She tried to follow the other ravens to lead her to the water, but apparently, when the old woman said no help from the Raven, she meant all the ravens. She turned toward the one that had led her through the forest, who despite not being able to help her, still followed close behind.
"How does this woman expect me to find the river, when your friends are so loud, and they can't help me?"
Of course, the Raven didn't answer. Freya huffed and tried to follow the trail she attempted to go on before. She didn't want to walk aimlessly, but she didn't want to just stand there. She wondered if going into the forest was worth it, but it's not like she can go back now. She stole a glance up where the Raven flew above her. He might not even let her at this point, who knows what the old woman meant when she said that Freya would regret getting help. She couldn't take the chance of what might happen if she dropped this whole errand trip all together.
Freya dropped against the tree when she finally saw the river. The old woman must expect her to suffer a great deal before she went back to her.
"I bet she's laughing at me right around now," she said, and took another glance at the Raven who was perched near her. He picked at his feathers.
As soon as Freya rested, she looked around the river to find the harp hidden inside a cave while carefully avoiding a bear. By the time she came back outside, her heart hammered against her rib cage and the blood pulsed in her ears. She felt like she was going to collapse, but the faster she got this done, the faster she could go home, so she made it to the midlands where the goats roamed. She remembered then when she set the harp down to play for the goat, that she didn't know how to play. Freya gritted her teeth. She shook her head. No need to get irritated, play the harp as best as she could. She played the first notes, and watched as the goats ran away. The Raven cawed, sounding a lot like a laugh. Freya glared at the Raven and the noise only got louder. She made goats run away, that's how bad she played. Freya sighed. She didn't want to laugh, but she had to bite her lip to stop it. The Raven's laugh was infectious, she had to admit.
"Forget you," Freya said. "I'm making camp."
Freya had to try a couple times to get the fire going. She watched her Uncle make a fire plenty times before, but it's different actually doing it herself.
The Raven turned human once again to sit by her next to the fire.
"Enjoying yourself?" Freya asked.
The Raven regarded her for a moment.
"Are you?"
"No."
"Then no."
Freya leaned on her knees to gaze into the fire, watching the flicker of the flame and listen to the crackling of the wood.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Hmm," The Raven said, then he shrugged, "you needed my help, that's all."
"That's all?"
The Raven nodded.
Freya scoffed.
"I didn't ask for it, you know."
"Didn't have to," he replied then smiled.
A cold wind went by. Freya shivered and went up closer to the fire. For some reason, she still felt cold. She felt the heat, and she knew it wasn't that cold this time of year as it's the summertime, but she still felt like her body temperature being a few degrees colder still. When was the last time the cold bothered her? She thought back and couldn't remember. It would be the middle of the winter, cold enough for snow, yet she didn't have to put as many layers as her family did. She couldn't remember a time before high school. Her eyebrows knitted together. Freya rubbed her arms to get more warmth. She shook her head to take out the restless thoughts. That doesn't matter right now.
As Freya was deep in her thoughts, she didn't notice the Raven sitting closer to her. She jumped when he grabbed her hands and started to rub his hands over hers. His legs didn't quite touch hers, as he tried to lean away from her, only invading her space enough to warm up her hands. She would've pulled away her hands, but he did manage to warm her hands enough that is spread through her. He didn't allow his hands to linger over hers and folded them in his lap. He scooted a little away and gazed at the fire as though he didn't warm her hands a second ago. Freya appreciated it. After that, there wasn't any more talking. The Raven morphed back sometime later to leave her to sleep in her tent from her book bag. The next morning, she tried playing the harp again. This time, somehow, she was able to play it well enough to get goat milk. She didn't have a good place to put the harp in her bag without breaking it, so she had to carry it around with her.
Finding the goblet to use for the Green Man led Freya to the part of the forest with dense flowers and vines thicker than the wall of vines near the old woman. She tried to follow what the Raven did with the vines, but it moved away when she reached out with the cloth wrapped around her hand. She pulled out her tactile knife, and tried to cut away the vines, but they wrapped around the knife without touching her, and tossed it in the flowerbed. She grabbed her knife, and the flowers turned away from her. Some vines hanging from the tree branches, moved to strike at her. She managed to duck out of the way in time, though. She fought with the plants for another hour. The Raven looked more and more uncomfortable as it went on. She sat by the Raven with her chin in her hands, thinking what she could do.
The Raven dipped its head to look at her knees and looked back at her and tilted his head. She rolled her eyes, leaned back and waved her hands to her knees. He perched on her knees and cawed at her.
"What's the point of words when you can yell at me in bird?" Freya said.
The Raven flapped his wings. "I'm sorry, but I can't think of them. It's not like I can help you."
"What if I just left?"
"No! You should not do that."
"Right," Freya said, and looked around at the flowers and vines. "Don't want to incite the wrath of an old biddy."
"Where is this coming from?" The Raven asked, looking up at her.
"I get tired enough," Freya replied, "my exhaustion melted away anything else."
The Raven made churring and clicking sounds, tilting his head back and forth. He's ruminating about something. He hopped from one knee to another.
Freya chuckled.
"Crazy bird," Freya said. Then absentmindedly, she asked, "Hey, what's your name? Been kind of referring to you as the Raven this whole time. It's kind of a pain, honestly."
The Raven stopped his movements, and he made some clicking sounds.
"My name?" he asked. "Yes...yes, I have a name."
"And that is...?" Freya said.
"...Call me Oliver."
"Nice to meet you, Oliver."
Oliver bobbed his head and made clicking sounds.
Freya chuckled, reaching out and used her finger to stroke his head. Oliver blinked slowly until he closed his eyes and enjoyed the petting. He flew off when he had enough, and Freya decided that it was the perfect time to go back on her task to get the goblet. She grabbed the knife as fast as she could, so she didn't have to deal with the flowers. She squinted at them when she realized they didn't turn away from her this time. She paid it no mind, though. The goblet was placed behind the vines hanging from one of the trees with a hole in the bark. Freya took it out, noting the intricate designs of fauna and flowers, and traced back her steps to the river where she found the harp. It was easier to find the altar.
The altar stood behind the cave where she found the harp. Offerings of flowers, food, and shiny objects were placed on the front of it. Freya went up to it, and she could see a pan filled with liquid. She turned to look at Oliver.
"I guess this is the place for the milk, huh?"
She went inside her bookbag to pull out the container she used to hold the milk and poured it into the goblet. She stood there, looking from the pan to Oliver, wondering if she should say something. Freya decided anything could work, so she poured the milk into the pan. She murmured her offering to the Green Man. She stood there longer, awkwardly patting the sides of her thighs. She slapped her hands into a prayer and dipped her head at the altar.
Freya hoped it was enough as she trailed back to where the old woman was. As she walked, the flowers moved to turn their faces toward her. Whenever she encountered more vines, they moved for her when just a few hours before they would swipe at her or avoided her touch. She didn't have to use the cloth to move the vines out of the way when she reached the entrance. Just like before, Oliver changed into a human to walk beside her to meet up with the old woman. Freya went up to the door again and knocked. The old woman opened the door. She dipped her head.
"Hello," she said. She brandished the harp to the old woman. "I did what you wanted me to do. Would you please let me through?"
The old woman glanced at the harp and flicked her eyes back at her. Her eyes squinted, and her attention went elsewhere.
"I see, the old woman said. "I suppose you have a different look about you compared when you first came here, girl."
"Thank...thank you?" Freya said.
"Go," she said, and shut the door.
Freya stared at Oliver for a few seconds.
"How did I change?"
Oliver shrugged and gave her a smile.
"I don't know," he replied. "Are you coming, or?"
He pointed his thumb to the exit.
"You're coming with me?"
"You still got some ways to go before you get home."
The vines weren't there anymore when they walked out from the other side of the clearing. Oliver morphed back into a Raven and perched on her shoulder the rest of the way home.