The Lonely Child

  Sunset's last little light was hiding behind the trees when Littlehands woke from his sleep. He shook himself with a slight shiver and rose from his leafy nest. He had the dream again—a pale tall mother holding him in her arms, singing a little bird song as he nestled in her breast. He gave a loud mournful scream into the deep forest and silence answered him. His instincts told him to move and find food and so he began into the deep, dark, wet forest.   The soft nightly rain fell on him as he went to the stream near his nest. He reached down with his hands to cup the cool water and he drank deeply, never taking his eyes off the far side of the stream, looking and scanning the tree lines. Alone he thought. He looked down at the water, and even though night had overtaken the forest, he could see his face in the reflection. His muddy brown fur hid his thick dark skin and his deep set and sad eyes. The stream was too small for fish, so Littlehands set out again.   The darkness of the night had overtaken the forest by the time Littlehands reached the larger river closer to the mountain, it's gentle sounds helping cover-up his already cautious steps. It might not have been wise to walk along the river tonight, he thought as he saw a small fire along the river banks. The upturned hollow logs of stone dwellers were clear to Littlehands in the faint orange glow of the fire. Littlehands knew better than to get too close to the stone dwellers, but his hunger was overtaking him. He cautiously approached, pausing every other pace to be sure he hadn't been noticed. The lonely one assessed the the stone dwellers, who were asleep in hollow logs, seeing their small frail shapes huddled in warm blankets. The stone dwellers seemed to catch many fish today. Littlehands smelled the rot coming from the baskets.   Littlehands was becoming nervous though. He had never gotten so close to the stone dwellers before. He knew better than to be so close, but it had been days since he had last had meat. He approached the campsite and looked about again. There were two stone dwellers, a larger one and a smaller one, though both small compared to Littlehands. He began to rummage through the basket and pulled out a black speckled fish with silver scales and began to eat quickly. It was good, caught not a few hours ago. Littlehands became lost in the warmth of the fire and the fresh meat and hadn't noticed the stirrings of the smaller stone dweller.   He heard a small gasp from the hollow log, and he quickly turned to see a small bare-skinned face gazing at him, it's eyes wide with fear. Littlehands was equally scared of the small face—it reminded him too much of his dreams. The little bare-skinned one didn't move though. It simply lied there awake and aware, staring at him. Littlehands quickly grabbed another fish from the basket and began to run into the forest. He hated seeing faces that reminded him of his dreams. He let out a small yelp as he ran. He could hear the stone dwellers yelling and shuffling from their hollow logs. He hid behind a log to try and wait them out. He could see them stumbling through the forest tripping on logs and holes, but they couldn't find him.   Once they returned to their fire, Littlehands waited some time more before setting out again. This time he went deeper into the forest closer to the mountains. He looked up and saw the silver light of the moon hanging in the distance and he felt lonely again. He wanted to climb up to the moon but he felt too small to reach up to it. He yelled out again in impotent melancholy. But this time, he heard another yell in response. Maybe this time, he thought to himself as he changed his path and walked toward the distant yell.   He walked for hours but he couldn't find the voice and again he felt lonely. He could feel the warmth of the big yellow moon which made the forest too bright in the distance. He found a place that looked good to sleep in—a meadowy clearing surrounded by thick thorny vines. He set to work building a new nest. He weaved leafy vines and branches together and they felt soft like the mother in his dreams.   He laid himself down in his shadowy meadow and began to fall asleep as the light began to peer in the distance. Littlehands felt a shiver as he mumbled himself softly to sleep. He hoped to dream of her again. Maybe this time she won't let go.