The Forest Cloak
A scream tore through the icy predawn mist. The sound echoed off the towering hills of dense oak, maple, and cedar, drowning the chirping of early birds. Elara bolted upright, clutching the sides of her wooden cot. Her heart raced as she scrambled for her boots and her forest-green cloak hanging by the door. The roughly spun woolen fabric was coarse but warm—dyed in the deep hues of the greenwood itself, a luxury in these parts. The emerald-like color brought out the olive undertones of her skin and blended seamlessly with the covert shadow world she worked in.
The year was 967 A.D., and the tangled forests of Anglia were not merely homes to weary travelers and foraging villagers. They were the domain of outlaws, smugglers, and the mysterious Whisperers. And Elara was one of them—a myth in her own right, clad always in her signature cloak with turquoise-edged embroideries that set her apart among the shadows. Beneath the cloak, she wore a simple linen tunic, belted at the waist with braided leather. A dagger rested snug in its sheath, waiting.
The scream came again, this time closer. Without waiting another moment, Elara flung open the wooden door of her woodland dwelling. The sunrise blurred the edges of the frost-laden trees with golden light, momentarily masking the danger that lurked ahead. She raced into the winter-stripped woods, her boots crunching against frozen leaves, the forest-green cloak following her like a shadowed flame.
Memories Woven in the Forest
Elara moved swiftly, avoiding the bramble. It had been years since she had first joined the Whisperers—a resistance group hidden deep within the woods, fighting against the ruthless rule of Lord Bramwell. Flashing images flickered behind her eyes as she ran: the burning of her childhood village, her mother’s cry as soldiers dragged her father away, the stifling smell of smoke from houses set aflame.
It was then, after losing everything, that she had stumbled upon them. The Whisperers had taken her in, trained her to move unseen through the woods, to use the forest as both ally and weapon. Now she was one of their finest, known for her stealth and striking figure among the dense wilderness. Her green cloak, a parting gift from the master weaver of the group, was as much a symbol of her rising rank as it was her bidding armor for blending into the shadows of towering pines.
The Hunter, the Prey
The source of the scream came into view—a young girl no older than ten, cornered against a jagged boulder by a pack of lean, snarling wolves. The girl’s fiery, frayed cloak was soaked at the hem, her breath creating desperate plumes in the frigid air. Elara slowed her pace, her heartbeat steadying. She unsheathed her dagger, its polished edge flashing like bitten moonlight, and crouched low.
“Hush now,” she whispered, her voice soft and calculated. It carried on the wind, covering the sound of her footsteps to the wolves’ sharp ears. She moved like a wraith, her emerald-green cloak wrapping her slim form in streaked twilight as she crept closer.
The largest of the wolves growled, ears flattening as it caught the faintest scent of danger. But it was too late. Elara leapt forward, landing lightly on her feet between the wolves and the child. Her green cloak now lit with blushing streaks from the morning sun, she crouched lower, baring her dagger toward the pack. “Run, girl!” she barked. “Find the path to the east!”
The child hesitated, wide-eyed, but Elara did not look back. Her focus remained steady on the predators circling her. When the girl finally fled through the woods, Elara allowed herself a small exhale, the warmth crystalizing midair in delicate frost-dust. But her relief was fleeting. One of the wolves lunged at her, its jaws open wide, ready to tear flesh from bone.
Snare in the Shadows
Elara spun, the green folds of her cloak sweeping upward like a cresting wave. Her dagger found its mark, slicing across the beast’s shoulder. It howled and stumbled back, its blood a stark crimson against the icy dirt. But before the pack could retaliate, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
It was a sound Elara knew well—the signal of the Whisperers. She swept her gaze upward and saw him emerge from the frosted trees. Fen, her second-in-command, raised his bow, ready to loose an arrow. Within seconds, the wolves turned tail and vanished into the woods, yelping in defeat. Elara straightened, brushing dirt and ice from her woolen leaves of dark, forest green.
“Always in the middle of trouble,” Fen smirked, his cobalt eyes darting between her cloak and the bloodied dagger still clutched in her hand. “Are they hunting you, or are you hunting them?”
“Perhaps it’s both,” Elara replied, her lips curling into a rare smile as she sheathed the blade. “Come. There’s something about that girl I need to know.”
As they hurried toward the east, where the frightened child had fled, the green fabric of Elara’s cloak caught the shifting light of dawn once more—part shadow, part sunlit memory of the battles she had left behind, and the wars still ahead.
Little did she know, the child would lead them to a secret that would change the forest and their rebel cause forever.
A secret hidden in shadows, waiting to be unleashed.
Genre: Fantasy Adventure
The Source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Forest Green Ribbed Tank Top and Turquoise Nail Polish: Minimalist Chic with Bold Elegance
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