The old one stands on the pile of rock and dirt in full sunlight. The sun shines off his skin like it is the moon. His clothes, pale as milk, reflect the sun into my eyes and his silvery hair fairly glows.

I catch his eye and he smiles. Not an evil smile or a mad one, but the smile of a child who has just won a game.

Innocence radiates off of him. No one would believe that he’d had just killed so many of his own kind. I don’t believe it, even though I saw it.

Who is this boy?

– – — – –

Take them out of the light, he says, you will not burn.

I do not believe him.

He points at a man on the ground, whose legs are trapped under the rumble; his upper body is in the sun. He screams like he is burning, but his skin is only slightly pink.

You are one of those, he says. Take him and the others and sleep. You will be safe.

He climbs up the dirt and jumps to the ground above. Animals surround him. A falcon lands on his shoulder, a wolf stands at his feet, a squirrel climbs him like a tree to his other shoulder.

Do not kill for fun, he says and turns his back on me and the hole.

I know him.

He is the God of the Forest.