In the Woods, Somewhere – Marto Copperkettle – 8.03.2023

Dear Ma & Pa,

I owe you both an apology. Gosh, even writing that, I know what your faces must be like right now and that makes me feel even worse for the words I should have written to you months ago but was too scared to and did not want to make you worry. I know you have seen the shadows of it when I came home at the end of the year Ma. And Pa, you’ve always worried the most about me, only ever outdone by Ma…

It’s taken a lot of work, personal growth and the like, but a recent walk in the woods helped put the last pieces into a clearer perspective. So it’s time for me to let you in, to know what’s changed and what I am going to do moving forward.

Last year, I got entangled with a devil by the name of Adhyël. I nearly fell into the worst trap possible under some silly notion that self sacrifice was the way to save my friends, and the one I cared deeply for at the time. But something always held me back… It turns out the people I was trying to protect were also protecting me — I just didn’t see it until it was almost too late.

I descended into the Hells intending to end it all. If I ended up getting caught in the flames then so be it. It was my friend, Velania, and her words of ‘I still need you,’ that woke me up to the terrible, awful mistake I was about to make.

There I was, facing my worst nightmare, scared that my thoughts betrayed you all and put you into the path of his merciless, fiery hell, that the only way to stop it was to throw myself into the flames in a hope to stamp them out… When someone of clearer mind and braver heart than I took my hand (metaphorically at the time) and told me to not give up.

Since that moment, since returning from Phlegethos, I have been asking myself ‘how’ and ‘why’? How did I fall into that trap? Why did I let myself believe the only way was self sacrifice…?

…Heavy breathing. He is running, claws digging into the soft dirt under padded feet. The whoosh-whoosh of wooden towers — Trees. — press close. Arms, branches, claw and grab at his golden fur, softly at first, but getting harder and harder the further in he goes. Is he chasing something? Or running away? He cannot remember. All there is is the cool, crisp air swirling into his lungs, his sharp teeth nipping at those lunging trees, and the pat-pat, pat-pat of the blood dripping from his sides.

Suddenly, Marto is in a clearing. The moon is full and bright, almost as light as the sun. Or perhaps it is daytime, he just can’t tell. He’s exhausted. He’s been running for so long, unable to stop, unable to rest, constantly chasing or being chased.

Then he sees her.

A halfling woman with dark skin, a homely, welcoming face, and a well-worn apron beacons him forward. He towers over her yet it seems like with each step closer to her he shrinks, or she grows. When he is but a foot away he stops, big round eyes looking up, fluffy golden tail hanging limp not a wag in sight.

The woman tuts. “Oh Marto. Just look at’cha,” she says, shaking her head in that way only mothers can. “Come here, lemme see what I’ve got in here for ya.”

She sets down the basket she’d been carrying — Where did the basket come from? — reaches under the blanket covering its contents and pulls out the moon and a pool of water.

The golden canine flinches ever so slightly at the sight of the moon, looking at the halfling with an expression that is both accusatory and wounded. She knows what the moon means, who he thinks of when he sees it. But her look is steady, her patience long.

Then he looks at the water, somehow held in her hand as if in a bowl. It ripples ever so slightly, shimmering with a purity and purpose that he has not felt in… perhaps ever.

He tips his velvet nose towards Yondalla’s hand holding the water, dry tongue lightly licking her hand. She smiles and the moon disappears from the other, allowing her to offer Marto to drink the crystal clear liquid.

He drinks and drinks and drinks until he cannot anymore, the water never lessening. When he is done, Yondall takes to washing him with the water, cleansing the wounds from his reckless run through the woods from somewhere he no longer remembers. With each brush the wounds of his body and the pains in his soul are healed, purified, and set to right. The pain leaves him inch by inch and with every part of him he feels return Marto feels renewed, revitalised and reformed.

Yondalla’s arms are strong as she holds him in this form, her embrace all encompassing. Marto has sat down and with his head and one front leg he tries to hold her back. It is no small thing having the Mother of the Hin care for you and some part of him knows there is more to be said.

“Do you remember what I told you? It’s really important you remember what I told you.”

Marto closes his eyes and though he does not mean to, he begins to weep.

“‘You did nothing wrong.’” He takes a heavy breath. “‘You can always come home.’”

Yondalla nods, pulling back to place her hands on his shoulders. “That’s right. But before you can come home you must protect the forest.”

He frowns at this, which looks rather strange considering he currently has a dog’s face and not his own. “Where is the forest? How will I know when I find it? How do I protect it?” The questions pour from him.

To his amazement, the goddess laughs. “Sorry, I’m making myself laugh because, well, Marto…” She smiles and brushes a hand down his face. “You can’t see the forest for the trees, darlin’. You’re in the forest.”

His eyes widened in sudden understanding. She nods.

“Protect it…”

…The truth is, there is no simple answer. I could blame the devil and his wicked ways and how he seduced me. I could point a finger at the woman I was falling in love with for the decisions she was making, spurring me on to make even worse choices. Or I could look at myself and my upbringing, and lay it all at the feet of my family.

Or I could accept that my encounter with the devil made me see how far I am willing to go to protect what I care about. I could let go of the woman I had fallen in love with as we uncovered the new and different people we were becoming. And I could look to my parents, to my family, and say that though you did everything to make me feel loved and wanted, I am no longer the younger brother of the sister who went missing.

I am not a stand-in, nor a replacement. I am my own person. I have a purpose. I have a reason to be here. I am wanted and needed where I am. And I do not have to apologise for wanting to be here, for finding my own path in life, even if it takes me to places far away from you.

So I am sorry I couldn’t tell you this all before now, that you have to read it through a letter. But I finally feel sure about who I am and where I am meant to be. I am staying here, where I am needed. Where I want to be. Protecting this forest as best as I can.

Love you,
Marto

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Lyrics from ‘In The Woods Somewhere’ by Hozier