What am I doing here? I remember barring the door, like I always do when the sun blinks below the horizon and says goodnight. I don't go into the forest at night, always pulling the blankets up over my head to stifle the whispers and rasps of the creatures outside. The creatures that dance and sing in the inky black.

Why am I among them? I look down and see my threadbare nightclothes and my bare feet. At least the moon is waxing gibbous. There is enough light. I can hear the trickle of water nearby, that too is fortuitous. In daylight, this forest is my domain. I have tracked the spring that is its mother to the lake that is its end. I will be able to make it home.

I must be quick, and I must be silent. Only once was I out this late. I'd had a nightmare, a great bear chasing me from my home and even in sleep my feet had carried me away. Mama found me before I had gotten far, scooping me up and scolding me for my foolishness.

But Mama is gone now. Off to town to sell herbs and mushrooms. I'm old enough to be alone. I know how to keep the worst of the forest away.

Except I have not kept away from the forest.

Help me.

I turn back from whence I came, praying that I have not crashed through the undergrowth on my sleeping steps.

Please help me.

The forest tries to trick you at night. To whisper in your ears a sweet siren song, to lure you further away from what is safe.

Please.

Listening to the lies of the forest get the unwary killed. I should not even be out right now. I am vulnerable. The voice, the pleading, it is not real.

I will die.

I refuse to believe the voice! It is as solid as smoke. All I need to do is close my ears and return to my bed. I will bolt the door and tie my ankles to the bed, so that dreams cannot compel me outside again. I take my first step back toward Mama and my little cottage, my eyes now adjusted to the dark.

I am afraid to die.

That gives me pause. Because I understand. I am afraid too. Not only of tonight, but of the growls and rasps that stalk my home at night, and of the hoots and howls of the village men too. I don't like being afraid. I don't like being afraid to die.

I turn toward the sound. I still cannot find its source. But it's coming from deeper in, away from my home. Should I call out to it? Is it even me that the voice is calling to? Somehow I know that it is.

But I'm afraid too. Because if I speak, the creatures of the night will know where I am. They might find me.

They may have already found the source of the voice.

"Hello?" I whisper. I don't trust my voice to be any louder. "I am here."

Please help me.

It's louder, only a little. But it gives me a sense of the direction I must walk. This is my last chance to turn toward home, last chance to abandon the voice.

It would be smart to abandon the voice.

I turn toward the voice.

"I am coming," I whisper. "Please guide me."

You will... save me?

"I will help you." I don't promise to save the voice. They sound so small and so afraid. I do not have healing herbs nor magic like Mama. All I have is myself; I hope that's enough.

Come this way.

Mama will be so angry to know what I am doing. She would shout and cry and lock me in until I promised never to be so foolish again. And she would be right to do so.

I cross over through the stream, wishing that I could muffle the splashing. The water is cold enough to bite my ankles as I move, but still I continue on. I am moving toward a part of the woods even the most seasoned huntsmen avoid: 'fae forest' they call it.

And I am walking directly into it.

Branches crack under my feet, but the ground is soft, stifling my steps to all but the closest beasts, or those with the keenest ears.

You are almost there!

The voice sounds so joyful, I quicken my pace. Is this how they lure the humans away? Sing to us while we sleep then beg us to venture deeper into the woods?

I should turn and run. But I can't.

The voice might be a lure. It might be a trap. But if it's not, it's someone who needs me. Who is afraid. Who will die.

I will not let someone die.

And then I see the owner of the voice.

It lays on its side, spindly legs splayed out from its body, head bent to hold its magnificent antlers, eyes wide with terror. Something shimmers in the moonlight, like angry teeth.

I break into a run, kneeling before the creature and taking in its ink black fur, its preternatural gaze, and the bear trap currently clamped on its leg.

It's iron. That is probably why it has hurt the great deer so, why fae magic does not work against it. It's a trap that requires human hands to open. That's why they have called me here.

I take each side of the trap in my hands and I pull with all my might. I won't be able to hold it for long, I haven't the strength, but if I can release it just a finger's width, then...

The great deer pulls its leg out of the trap. I can see blood the blood that's pooled there. Or at least, I was able to for a moment, as the jagged lines are shining like moonlight, closing. Fae magic at work.

I scrabble backward as the great deer stands and shakes its body. It turns to me.

Thank you.

I don't speak a reply. I am afraid.

Then a soft nudge comes to my cheek from its velveteen muzzle. Its eyes intelligent and... reverent.

You saved my life even though you were afraid. You came to me, and even knowing what I was still you freed me.

The deer nuzzles me again, and somehow I know that its smiling. It turns from me then and takes three great strides, before facing me again.

For this debt, you shall never have reason to fear this forest. It and all its bounty are yours. And if you should ever have need, just call out into the trees and wind and grass, and I will come.

Then the great deer is gone, and for the first time, the whispers of the forest do not make me afraid. And I know they never will again.