Welcome to the world of
                       Michael G Kimber

The Nightwriter

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It is one of those still dark nights, and though it is not yet late, frost is in the air  clean and sharp; cold to the face, but invigorating. The dark makes it difficult for her to see ahead. There are no street lights here in the forest, and no high clouds, sometimes seen in an early evening sky reflecting the distant sun, to dilute the inky blackness into a pinky blackness.  Neither is that yellowish urban glow, which manifests itself in the city, and just visible in the distance, any help. True it increases in strength as you get closer until, even before you reach the streets, there is light enough to explore. But here, deep in the forest, it is almost imperceptible.
    In the forest it is dark, cold, and scary. Noises fill the darkness all around her, some that are familiar, and some that are not. Soon, half an hour perhaps, an hour at the most, the moon will lift its gleaming round face above the horizon, shining its light across the land, bright as the sun, but cold as ice, illuminating everywhere, until everywhere shines like the city.
    Except in the forest.  
     Here it is forever dark, and here there is always danger. Here, the difference between life and death is the snap of a twig, the rustle of leaves, the twitching of nostrils. Life and death forever intertwined; a race between survival, evolution, metamorphosis, or extinction.
    A noise behind is reason enough to warrant evasive tree climbing; slowly and carefully she climbs, so as not to draw attention.  In this part of the forest, some miles from the nearest human settlement, many large and ferocious beasts have freedom to roam, and to hunt. Anything is fair game to them, and no quarter is given.  To be caught by one of these prowling giants is to be devoured.  
     This time however, it is her partner, come to join her. The need for quiet is paramount, so a nod and a touch is their only communication. But the safety of the tree is illusory, for there are dangers here too.  Nowhere in this seemingly supernatural forest had been overlooked when it came to hunting territories. Everywhere is the domain for one predator or another; nowhere was ever safe, no matter how big the prey.
    There had been some rain earlier, and up here there is a fragrance borne of that life giving force. Little of it reached the forest floor to enrich the debris created by millions of fallen leaves over thousands of years. Its nourishment came from the legions who had fallen in battle, and whose remains, when eaten, would later be ejected to fertilize the mulch.   For it too was a battle ground, a place where, like everywhere else in the forest, life for the individual was not an issue.  Everything was to do with the survival of the species, and so gladiatorial battles were fought, won and lost, out of sight, under the leaves.
     Cold and frightened, and rejecting the idea that the individual did not count, she listened for every sound, straining her eyes for any movement. For the moment however, it seemed likely that the best option was to stay in the tree, a little higher perhaps, just in case.
    A sense of urgency dictated her next move. Just as the moon made its customary lazy appearance, a movement inside told her that her unborn child was impatient to see the light of day. Food was not important just now;  no taste would replace the taste of fear she felt; knowing instinctively that she might be in mortal danger.
     At this moment she sensed rather than saw, the sudden approach of a winged creature of pterodactylian proportions, sweeping silently through a gap in the canopy.  No strategy now could save her; only a natural instinct of fright, and the will to survive.  Why she is here in this dangerous place is hard to say, something her spouse, now just behind her might explain, but first there is this monster to avoid.  It had misjudged its first run, and collided noisily with the top branches of the tree, allowing them a few seconds to hide.  But now it is coming at them again, at the speed of sound, but with unearthly silence. She feels the rush of air as the grotesque monster sweeps by, fear quickly replaced by relief, and the knowledge that it has missed again.       But her elation is short lived.  The little tree mouse looks on helpless, as she watches her mate being carried off, his squeals resonating throughout the forest, as the barn owl climbs clear of the trees, and for a moment is silhouetted against the steadily rising full moon.



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