Every Drop Of Soul

By Katrina Michelle

Peter inhaled deeply, puncturing the quiet of the dark forest. One leg dangled from his perch on the tree, while his gaze remained fixed on the small village at the bottom of the hill. The bark dug into his back, but he reclined against it as if it were the most luxurious couch.

He couldn’t see her yet, but he would. Any moment now.

Tonight, the tribespeople were performing around an enormous fire in the center of their village. From this height he could clearly see the swell of flames, and around it the shadowy figures of dancing men and women and even children. Most were dressed in animal skins, but some wore little or no clothing. All were covered in markings of various colors from paints they had made themselves.

Peter scrunched up his face, then relaxed it with a bored sigh through his lips. It wasn’t totally silent, he supposed. Loud singing and chanting, shouting and screeching, rose from the ritual into his ears, noises riding on the wind so faintly that they might have been coming from the top of the mountains beyond the woods. But they disgusted him.

Suddenly, and yet expectedly, he caught the firelit glint of a weapon out of the corner of his eye. A figure wove between huts toward the outskirts of the village. Her most precious possession—that wicked spear—was clutched in her hand.

Peter was glad she was coming for him to go with him, and not to kill him. At least, he hoped so. She always left her village looking like a warrior going out to hunt, with the sharp weapon and the painted face and all.

He clambered down the tree as nimbly as a squirrel and headed toward their regular meeting place, smiling into the dark as his stomach performed an excited somersault. Tonight was the night.

Peter made it his all-consuming duty to find and help individuals who were in need. Now he had the privilege of utterly transforming the life of a soul who simply did not fit. This beautiful girl in the depths of the darkest forest.

When he got to their meeting place, a glade out of the way of the village, he waited. It wasn’t long before she melted into view, as stealthy and starry-eyed as a panther.

“Sounds as though your family and friends are having an exciting night,” he reflected, glancing up at the winking stars.

Accustomed as she was to Peter’s irony, she didn’t comment on his use of the word “friends.” That they were her family was inevitable, but if any of them had ever been a true friend to her, then she would not be a friend of his. The idea was rather appalling.

She walked up to him, eyes downcast. “I could not say goodbye,” she whispered.

Peter examined the streaks of blue and red on her dark cheeks, noted the softness in her normally harsh eyes. “Yes, you are,” he said, with a crooked smile. “In your heart.”

She took a deep breath, then lifted her head and squared her shoulders. Peter had been considering tilting her chin up with one gentle finger, but perhaps another time.

He slipped a hand into his pants pocket and curled his fingers around the tiny, corked vial. “Ready to go, darling?” His cheerful voice was louder now. He liked to imagine that all the simmering evils in the forest cowered at the sound of it.

“I do not know,” she said, shoulders dipping once more. For the first time in the several months since they had met, he heard her voice crack.

Their first meeting had been unprecedented. Admittedly, she had taken him by surprise, holding him at spearpoint until he explained where he was from. And it took a very extraordinary remark indeed to fascinate the savagery right out of a huntress on the prowl.

Confused conversation had led to mutual intrigue with one another. Besides his light skin, blond hair, and blue eyes, she was entranced by his descriptions of the island and of his odd friends there, and he by her story: captured at a young age by a tamer, more nomadic tribe. Years of being taught a new perspective of life and being ingrained with a new set of morals. Then, recovery by her own when she was fifteen.

And with that recapture by her brutal family, the ruthless massacre of those she had come to love.

Peter still hadn’t told her that he had most likely been the teacher of that more domesticated tribe, her second family, just as they had been a teacher to her. Years ago and in his spare time, of course.

“If you’ve changed your mind about going to my island, then I know you’ll stay here. But one thing I’ve learned, darling”—Peter’s mind fought back painful memories—”is that when you let go, you aren’t letting go of your love. Only of those who will not or cannot return it.”

She didn’t smile, but the shine he had noted so many times during their many conversations seeped back into her eyes. She stretched out her hand toward him.

Peter took the vial from his pocket and gave it a playful shake, then handed it to her. She poured some of the sparkly golden dust into her brown palm, and he took some too. In moments they were ready to fly.

“Feel that tingling, Tiger girl?” Peter asked. “That’s the magic settling deep inside you, saying hello to every drop of soul. Isn’t it fantastic?”

“Let’s fly,” she urged, but there—there was the grin he had been waiting for.

He snatched her hand and beamed at the sky. “All right, then.” His bare feet lifted from the ground as if with a soft kiss. “I’ll let you know when we get to the second star!”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Katrina Michelle is a university student doing her best to balance classes with her passion for storytelling. She spends her days studying in pursuit of a Spanish degree, inching through her most recent short story or novel WIP, and devouring books (such a sweet break from academic reading). Her Myers-Briggs type is INFP, and she can’t look at any BBC Merlin pins on Pinterest without feeling suddenly and extremely emotional.

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