She had first caught sight of him several nights ago, at the edge of the forest. Their eyes had met, then he was gone. The next night, she had looked for him, but to no avail. This night, she was ready, lantern at hand and when she saw him again, she followed. It never occurred to her to call out. He would not have stopped. She did not feel afraid of him, though the forest at night was not a safe place.
At first, she could see him plainly. His shoulder length hair moved gently in the evening breeze. His clothes were that of woodsman, easy to blend in with the surroundings, difficult to tear. He glanced back, maybe he smiled, then moved on.
Later, she caught fewer glances of him but she could hear his foot falls in the damp leaves. They moved steadily, without pause, deeper into the forest. She turned back once, a fleeting thought of giving up the pursuit, but a snapping twig brought her back to the course.
Finally, she was only following the dew track in the leaves. They lead here. At her feet was a hole in the ground. It did not appear to be dug, but more of a sink hole, the earth caving in rather than being moved. His tracks were gone.
Then, emanating from the hole at her feet, the question, "Will you follow me even here?"
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