Time for a little Fairytale

“Who are you?” He asked, his unseeing dark eyes staring kindly at the nothingness which hung over my right shoulder.

“My name’s Anna.” I said, deciding on the most cliché fake name in the book.

“Where are you from?” I was surprised at the subtle confidence of his actions. For a blind man, he moved like a crouching tiger, smooth and graceful. He poured me a mug of tea, and served himself after I’d taken the first sip. The brew tickled his short beard and bubbled. He smiled, a handsome expression which set me at ease, much to my surprise.

“I’m not from anywhere really,” I said sheepishly, sighing under the steady influence of the hot tea. It tasted like winter snow and soft cinnamon.  The huntsman’s eyes finally landed on me, and their density was chilling. It was as if he could see me after all, and for a moment, I was afraid.

“Everyone’s from somewhere. Only people who are afraid of their past believe they have no hometown, Anna. I’m sorry to hear that you are one of them.”

Surprised at his bluntness, I stared at him. “Where are you from?” I asked quickly, clumsily shifting the attention back to his side of the table. He buttered a biscuit without fumbling over it.

“Me? I’m from right here.” He laughed, a deep rumbling sound that awaked a strange sensation in the pit of my stomach. “I was born in this very house. It hasn’t always been an exciting existence.” The huntsman shrugged, obviously bored by his plain circumstances. I glanced around the small cabin with a twinge of envy, remembering what I had given up.

“I’d say you were blessed. These days most breeds of excitement aren’t good.” He closed his eyes, seeming to ponder my words as if they had been a map leading to my character. He wouldn’t find me that easily. I sighed, standing.

“It’s been a wonderful meal. Thank you for your generosity.”

“You’re not going?” He stood too, and I wondered how he’d sensed my actions.

“Why not?”

“It’s snowing.”

I smiled, amused. “Isn’t it always?”

“But it’s nearing dark. Won’t you get lost?”

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. In the physical he was as strong and mighty as any warrior, yet still somehow as naïve as a child.

“I’m a survivor, huntsman. My kind survives no matter what. Can’t you find your way in the dark?”

“Well that wouldn’t really make much difference to me, now would it?”

I blushed hotly at the stupidity of my question, but his grin showed that he wasn’t offended.

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. But stay the night. Things will look better in the morning.”

I frowned. “How do you know how things look?” The words were a petulant accusation.

“Because. You have no home and no real name. Things must be bad for a girl to go traipsing around the woods in the middle of the night, hiding her past and her identity.”

My red cheeks when pale again.

“Who are you really?” He asked, and I saw again that childish curiosity. He couldn’t suspect me. But I still worried.

“If I told you, you’d be dead tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s what all the strangers say.” He joked.

Again surprised, I wondered what it would take to impress this man with the seriousness of my situation. He stood in my way to the door, and, exasperated, I figured it would be better to let him fall asleep under the impression that I meant to stay safely through the night.

“Oh alright. I’ll stay if you insist on making me. But the name stays “Anna,” for now at least.”

The huntsman twisted his mouth in satisfaction and amusement. His boyish grin succeeded in making me feel like a toy puzzle that had proved to be much easier than he had expected.