Nature always calms one down, spiritually, physically, in every perspective. You can count on the aimless trails of its wilderness to heal you and offer you peace, regardless of how conflicted your thoughts might be.

Lydia Knight solemnly considered nature to be a refuge, from the endless turmoil that her life was.

She was sprawled yet again, on the banks of an undiscovered meandering brook, in the middle of the Lark Forest.

Nobody dared to come so deep inside the forest for whatever reasons that suited them best, from wild animals to bizarre scary stories of witchcraft and dark magic, the locals feared it all.

It was a clear advantage for her seventeen-year-old self, who loved solitude.

Lydia came here ever since she was surprisingly young and by now, she knew the way around the forest an impressive bit, even though there were innumerable parts she still hadn't been to obviously.

The beauty of this place near the brook, that she had spotted a few days ago, was that it was astoundingly well hidden. She gave herself a pat on the back for discovering such a landscape and breathed in the fresh air drowning herself in the wild noises of the forest, forgetting all the frustration that had bubbled up inside her, before seeking her safe haven.

She let her small feet dangle in the shallow water and splashed them around, satisfactorily terrorizing a little shoal of Guppies, too distracted by the pretty fishes, to notice how the water was slowly turning scarlet.

When she heard weird crunching sounds, her eyes finally registered the oddity in her surroundings.

Her heartbeat increased when she spotted a pale, bloody hand at the far end of the bank, dipped in water. She immediately put on her boots, sliding them on swiftly and approached the limp figure cautiously.

There were thorns around the area, so she had no choice, but to grab the hand and pull it out from a distance. It did take effort, but thanks to her training, she managed to pull out the petite body completely.

It was a little boy, around the age of ten.

Long, blood-soaked hair plastered his face, obstructing his pale features. She laid the boy down on a plain, flat rock carefully and examined him.

He seemed to have been stabbed, in the side of his stomach and his head had a wound too and was unconscious, but the boy was lucky for two reasons, because firstly, his wounds were not deep and secondly, because Lydia knew how to deal with these kinds of injuries.

She tore her scarf and tied it around the boy's stomach and ruffled inside her brown satchel, for the healing salve that she always carried around and applied it on his wounds, slowly and skillfully.

The raven-haired boy, was very thin and pale and almost weighed nothing, when she had pulled him out. His clothes were torn, bloody and dirty.

Her heart ached for the young boy, why on earth was he in such a state?

She tucked stray strands of her short, brown hair behind her ear and scouted around the area to find out, how the boy ended up like this, but to no avail.

She sighed heavily and returned, to find the boy awake.

He was squatting on the bank, washing his face. Lydia frowned, not being able to place why the little boy looked so relaxed.

She took a step towards him, opening her mouth to say something, but no words came out, when the boy turned around.

At that moment, only one thought clouded Lydia’s mind;

It was a grave mistake to have saved him.