The air was bitterly cold against her bare shoulders. It was thick with gray mist, weighing down on her like a wet blanket. The water dripped onto her from where it was condensing on the leaves above, each drop making a distant, lonely sound. They traced paths upon the curves of her body as they ran along the bare skin of her back, until they fell silently to the ground.

She was as still as a statue, sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest to conserve heat. Her long black hair, matted into ropes after a lifetime of neglect, hung like vines over her hunched shoulders. A pair of heavily scarred hands were clenched together around her legs. Their nails were framed by a rim of dirt.

La Folia, as she was known by the villagers, was awoken by the sound of something moving among the trees. Her eyes snapped open and searched the fog. Spider-like, she crept on all fours to the nearest trunk.

She was unfamiliar with the sound that she heard. It was the steps of a quadruped, but they were too heavy to belong to an elk or a deer. There was also a sweet sound that accompanied the creature, which was not unlike the jingle of rain hitting the trees.

As the shadow grew closer, scattering the fog in its wake, its true source was revealed. It was a horse, as gray as the mist itself, dressed in silver armor. He was a giant wandering aimlessly through the forest, his reins limp and his saddle unoccupied.

La Folia, fascinated by the shiny metal that protected his face and neck, slowly inched out from her hiding spot. The gray giant saw her and froze, nostrils flaring, although he did not flee. She came to his side and traced a finger carefully along the edge of his armor. At her touch, the giant snorted and relaxed.

The girl slid a hand beneath the metal, surprised by how soft and warm he was. She felt her own body to compare, but she was only cold and wet. Absentmindedly, she pulled a flea out of her tangled hair.

Then, she noticed that she could see her face in the silver armor. It was dark and streaked with dirt in many places. The dew that had dropped onto her had carved lines through the stains, revealing the smooth white skin underneath. Her brown eyes stared back at her, wide and curious like a child’s.

A stick popped behind her, making her freeze in very much the same way that the horse had. She was mesmerized by what she saw.

There was a young man lying on the ground, a trail of blood marking the path that he had dragged himself along in pursuit of his horse. He was dressed in chain mail, though an arrow had pierced through it. In one hand, he clutched a bloody sword; the other, he used to prop himself off the ground. Resting on his good side, he managed to lift himself high enough to meet the eyes of the wild girl.

Neither of them moved for a long time, each spellbound by the appearance of the other. La Folia had never been so close to another human before, and she was curious of the man’s clothes and of his blue eyes. He, in turn, was surprised by her wild beauty. She glowed in the cold morning air.

Finally, he opened his mouth to speak, but only a spurt of blood came forth. The gray giant snorted and turned around, returning to his master. La Folia followed him tentatively.

The man reached a gloved, blood-covered hand out for her, his blue eyes pleading. She paused for a moment, hesitating over his intentions, before she reached out and carefully took his hand in her own. With a powerful pull, she brought him back up to his feet. The sword was left forgotten on the ground.

The man nodded and smiled to her, although there were tears welling in his eyes. She was confused. She didn’t understand why he would be crying, this man who had not even been weeping because of the pain from his wound. She only knew that she didn’t like to see him crying.

La Folia helped the man stumble to the side of his horse. His breathing was ragged and broken, but it felt warm, like a summer breeze. She carefully helped lift him into the saddle, where he sat slumped and bleeding.

She feared that he would fall off again. Hoping to communicate her apprehension, she patted his leg urgently, her eyes worried. The man smiled and offered his hand. She accepted, awkwardly clambering onto the horse’s back behind him.

“Can you speak, child?” the man croaked, but La Folia didn’t understand what he said. She merely wrapped her arms around his waist, helping to keep both the man and herself from sliding off the giant’s back.

The man continued, knowing that she did not understand him, but feeling the need to talk to her nonetheless. “My mother once told me that there was a black-haired girl who was cursed by the devil in our kingdom,” he told her quietly. The presence of his own raspy voice brought courage back to him. He straightened himself in the saddle and gathered the reins while he talked. “Her parents died from the Pestilence. She was sent into the forest to die, but the devil saved her, and she turned into La Folia. But I can see, child, that the devil has not yet touched you.”

The horse snorted and began to trot. The fog swirled around them, beginning to break up as the first morning rays broke through the canopy. La Folia’s back dried and she felt warm, her ropey hair dancing with the horse’s stride.

The man brought the gray giant up a steep slope to where the forest made way for the river. There was a waterfall from the tops of the cliffs all the way down to the valley. The human’s land could be seen below, the stone houses and the castle appearing minute in comparison with the forest and the river.

La Folia noticed that there was commotion on the far side of the castle. The two armies, in all their prideful colors and bright armor, surged back and forth with the tide of war. She pointed to it, and he nodded. Then, more urgently, she tapped his shoulder and pointed again. Her mouth worked as she tried to put sounds to her question.

He shook his head. “I’m not going back,” he said.

La Folia was surprised when the man stopped the gray giant just above the roaring falls. He slid down from the saddle, landing roughly and struggling to stay upright. She was immediately at his side to help.

Once again, the man smiled to her. He started to unbuckle the silver armor from his horse, his hands trembling. The saddle came off first; with one, quick motion, he hefted it off the horse’s back and tossed it into the raging waters below.

La Folia watched, perplexed, as he stripped the horse of all of his tack, throwing it all into the river. She was sad to see the silver armor disappear below the cliffs.

Freed from the bridle, the gray giant shook his great head and strode away, his tail whipping behind him. The man and the wild girl watched him disappear in the forest.

She had let go his hand while he had released his horse. Now, he pulled the bloodied gloves off and tossed them into the water. He lifted his hand to her face and brushed her cheek, his eyes filling with tears again.

“Please forgive me,” he spoke softly to her, although she did not understand his words. His voice was weak and broken, hardly a match for the angry water below. “My hands are not clean like yours. I never thought there was anything worth dying for. I was wrong.”

The wild girl felt her own eyes brim with tears. She did not like his voice sounding so defeated; she wanted him to stop crying. She never got a chance.

He turned away and threw himself into the spray.

A cry issued from La Folia, a cry without words. She raced forward and grabbed his hand, hoping to pull him back up. But the cold, wet rocks slipped below her bare feet, and the weight of the man pulled her down.

There was a second that they were flying together. Then, the violent waters came up to meet them.