As the feral girl walked tentatively forwards out of the surrounding safety of her forest home into the tranquil oasis of the garden, the old man turned his gaze towards her. As his eyes found hers, the girl felt as she had felt when she attempted to peek inside him and discovered him looking directly, deeply into her. In that moment, she was aware that nothing was hidden from him; her life in the forest, her studies of the villagers, her spying on him, all was revealed and laid bare. How vulnerable she felt as her feet kept walking her forwards, and how fearful of his judgement.

But in the flickers of a second that she dared meet his eyes before looking back down at her feet, she felt her body be soothed by the softness of his gaze. And a moment later, the deepest, warmest smile spread across his face and flowed out from his body to envelope her in its velvet embrace.

“Welcome Lilanthro, please, would you be kind enough to help me tend to my plants?”

The feral girl had no idea why he called her Lilanthro, but all she could manage in reply was a quietly spoken, “Yes, of course.”

So together they made their dance of the garden, with him leading the way and she shyly following. The old man stroked and smiled at the plants, all the while talking soothingly to the girl. He told her the names of each plant, their characters, the colours of their flowers and which birds favoured each one. Many of these things she already knew, but she had never given voice to them before and never put names to them. She could sense that he was aware of her connection with the plants; he was not lecturing her with his own knowledge or declaring it better than hers, just including her in his world and delicately enticing her out of her frightened bubble.

From the brightness of morning till the soft dying glow of evening the man and the girl stayed in the garden together. She followed his lead in all things. They tended the plants, they sat, they walked, they mended broken pots, they planted bulbs, they watched the birds. At times the old man would gently tell her intricately woven details about his garden. At other times they would work together in silence. Occasionally he would ask her a question or two, but only simple ones like whether she would like some food to eat, or if she could hand him a tool to work with. He created a space in which they could both exist together and placed no demands upon her.

The girl would answer when questioned, nod in agreement with his words and smile when smiled at. There were a hundred questions she wanted to ask him and a hundred things she wanted to share with him. But instead she became like a timid bird of the forest watching the friendly giant hold out food for her, darting forwards to snatch crumbs from his fingers then returning to her position of fear-filled, hope-filled stillness. She felt in awe of the old man, tiny compared to his vastness, and awkward as if any knowledge she did possess had drained out of her and she did not have the words to recall it.

She was full of a blurred array of emotions yet empty of the ability to think or to act. She was so happy to be with the old man, so happy he had accepted her and was asking nothing of her, that she wanted desperately to throw her arms around him crying “Thank you, thank you, thank you…” a thousand times over. But she dared do no more than quicken her heart beat and hold back her grateful tears.

That evening, the old man turned to the girl and said, “Lilanthro, where would you like to sleep this night? I have a hammock we can hang in the garden where the plants will take good care of you, or would you rather return to the comfort of your own bed in your forest home?”

The girl replied, “I, I will go to my own bed… But, thank you.”

“Whatever you wish is good Lilanthro. I hope you will return and help me again tomorrow. I have enjoyed your company today and I have need of a helper here, to cultivate my garden and mend some baskets… Would you do me the honour of assisting me again?”

The feral girl blushed as she responded, “Yes, yes, please, I would like that very much. Thank you.”

And so the girl slid out of his garden to the edge of the forest. She did not go far, but slept in the branches of the nearest tree overhanging the garden, close enough to feel his presence, far enough away to be wrapped in the safety of her own solitary world. That night her dreams were full of both wonder and uncertainty, and the next day she awoke in the same state of slightly displaced suspension.

For the following two weeks, the feral girl arrived in the old man’s garden each morning as he greeted the sun. Their days were spent working together and each evening the girl would return to her nest in the branches next to his home. Over those days, the old man worked his magic, patiently, artfully inviting the girl out of her cocoon of shyness.

He talked to her, taught her how to weave straw into baskets, left her by herself amongst the plants, smiled and laughed often, gave her space to grow less timid and more bold. Over the first week, the feral girl began to smile more often, to answer his questions more boldly, to start telling him of her life in the forest, to ask him about his life, even to sing softly to herself as she worked. During the second week, she would laugh as he laughed, dance the morning dance in her own way while he sat by and watched, and have moments of unselfconscious talking, exuberantly telling him stories of wolf cubs, mountains and butterflies. She lost her fear, her shyness and once again became herself, free to be in tune with the garden, the animals and the surrounding forest, feeling equal enough to be in the old man’s company and able to hold a silence with him in which they both sat with calmness and lightness.

After two weeks of being in his company, she at last asked him, “Why is it you call me Lilanthro?”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye,”The little gift which you left on the pillows of all the villagers, is the flower which we call White Star. Its secret name, which I use to call it out of its sleepiness, is Lilanthro. I thought you might like it… But you are of course free to change it and pick another name, or no name at all if you prefer…”

“I will keep it,” Lilanthro replied, “Do you have a name?”

“Ah, two wonderful questions in a row which I am happy that you’ve asked!” He said with a mischievous laugh and gentle smile, “I have a few names, and they have changed over the years, but you can call me Talas if you like.”

“Talas… You know all about me don’t you?” Lilanthro asked, with nervousness starting to creep up inside her and wrap itself around her throat.

“Lilanthro, there are a few things in this world I know, and many things I do not know, but yes, I know a little of you.”

With a sudden urge to speak what was in her heart, Lilanthro swept the nervousness to one side and said, “Will you teach me… Will you teach me to be like you?”

Talas laughed again, a rich vibrant laugh that caused the flowers to sway appreciatively and the birds to ruffle their feathers in delight, “A third wonderful question!” He declared. “However, alas, I cannot teach you to be like me. Maybe though, I can help you to be more like yourself… How about that?”

Lilanthro did not really know what he meant, but she did not want to turn down any offers of teaching from Talas so she replied, “You have given me my name, you have accepted me without rebuking me my errors, I will gladly learn whatever you are generous enough to teach me.”

At exactly the right moment, in exactly the right place, the pupil had found her teacher. How could it be any other way, does not a teacher always appear when a student is ready?

TO READ CHAPTER 6 CLICK HERE!

The feral girl arrived at the old man’s home early one warm, soft morning. The sun was trickling gently through the overhanging branches surrounding the clearing as she approached. The old man lived on his own in a little hut at the outer edge of the village, a short distance away from any other dwelling. There was a small garden surrounding his home which ran to the edge of the clearing itself, where it merged invisibly into forest; a smooth flowing transition from cared for greenness to dark, tangled wildness.

When the feral girl saw him for the first time he was coming out of his door and into his garden oasis. He moved with a softness to every step and a calm steadiness of posture. He paused outside his doorway for a moment. The feral girl could sense him feeling the freshness of the world around him, opening his eyes, ears, lungs and skin to the new day. He took some long, gentle breaths, looking up at the sky and greeting the sun with his glance. A bird chose that moment to sing its own welcome to the new day and he turned to it with a smile, uttering a few soft sounds which the feral girl could not hear.

As he moved out into the garden the girl was surprised to feel the plants responding to his presence. They stirred themselves as if out of a daydream and awaited his touch with anticipation. Their sap quickened, their leaves trembled, their petals opened. He moved among them with such fluid grace that the hidden girl felt her own body sway in response. It was if he was engaged in a secret dance of intricate steps which led him from plant to plant. As he passed each one he would stroke a leaf, whisper a secret greeting or smile an ever welcoming smile. His presence was nourishment to the plants; the girl could feel them expanding as if a gentle rain had just fallen.

The feral girl was mesmerised by the sight of the old man and intoxicated by the closeness of his presence. He stayed in the garden all day tending to his plants, and the girl remained there all day watching him. He continued to move calmly with a lightness that belied his age. Often he was quiet, with a wonderful spreading outwards kind of silence that brought peace flowing into her being as she watched. At other times he talked to himself, the plants and the world around him. Sometimes he sang a lilting song which rippled delicately through the girl, tugging on her vocal chords, willing her to utter her own melody alongside his. Often he smiled and occasionally he laughed to himself, a warm, rich laugh, that melted out of his mouth and into the world. The feral girl felt soothed to her core. The chaotic contrast of the other villagers’ lives and her own attempts to understand them had created a strange turmoil inside her which this man alone was able to quieten.

For the whole of that first day the feral girl remained in her secret hiding place transfixed by the old man. That night she did not creep into the village to leave any tokens but instead wrapped herself up in dreams in which he would often appear. The following day she could not wait to return to her hiding place by his garden to sit and drink in his presence and that night was full of more dreams where his voice called softly to her.

On the third day she stirred herself from her enchantment to begin a closer study of him. She began her usual soft delving into his internal world, intuitively slipping under the outer layers to see what lay beneath…

But the very moment she peeked within she felt a sudden, rushing sensation as the entire universe shifted. The jolt shocked her so much that she withdrew her enquiring inner gaze instantly. Her whole body was quivering, her mind dazed, her pulse pounding and her heart suspended. What was that sensation she had just experienced? She had no idea.

Tentatively she sent her inner sense probing once more and, once more, recoiled from the shock. A strange new fear overcame her. Not a bad fear as such, but a realisation that his inner world was beyond her. The old man’s inner realm was in tune with his outer one in a far greater way than the feral girl’s. And it was vast. Infinite even. It included more than she had ever known, ever sensed, or ever dreamed existed. His world encompassed an awareness that emanated from deep within and extended outwards to places so distant she could not begin to imagine them. She would touch into it and find the breath taken from her body as if she had fallen out of a tiny box into an expanded universe so vast as to be indescribable.

And somewhere within that falling sensation she thought she caught a glimpse of his smile. It was directed at her and for the briefest moment she felt that he had seen her. Not just seen her hiding in amongst the undergrowth, but seen inside to the vast lake of her soul and beyond.

The feral girl quickly gave up her attempts to peek inside the old man. She felt like an ant attempting to study an elephant. But what now? She had come to a standstill. Her studies of the other villagers were complete. Her attempts to slip into their lives with flowers, dances and whisperings were leading nowhere. And now there was this old man whose vastness humbled her and left her feeling slightly ashamed of her own smallness. She couldn’t keep spying on him, she felt embarrassed that she had already done so. Her path was once more at a crossroads and it was simply a matter of picking one of two opposing directions; she could either return to the forest or reveal herself to him.

She wanted desperately to stay and meet the old man. She could not imagine slinking silently back to her forest now and leaving the one person who brought her such peace and such wonder. She trembled at the thought of approaching him. What if he had seen her? What if he was angry at how she had spied on him? What if he told her to go away? What if she was rejected by the only human being she had ever wanted to step out of the shadows to meet?

While she hid in the trees watching the old man, wondering if she could find the courage to step forwards into his garden, she had no idea that the smile on his face was about her, no idea that he was waiting for her, allowing her to make the first move, smiling at her fears and knowing they would soon be put to rest.

The next day she made her decision, although in reality she had already made it and had just needed time to find the courage. She arrived early just before he appeared in his garden. She waited until he opened the door and breathed in the day. She waited until he had completed his dance of caring attention with every single plant. She waited until he had settled into one of his still, quiet pauses.

And then she stepped shyly, hesitatingly forwards to meet him, with a fearful smile on her face and a tremulous heart beating within her…

TO READ CHAPTER 5 CLICK HERE!

The feral girl remained living on the edges of the village for another three months, an unseen shadow flitting in and out at the periphery of the villagers’ lives. Gradually, with tentative patience, she learnt more about the inhabitants of her new world.

She decided to pick out individual people and follow their lives for a few days at a time. She found it easier to decipher their existence when she could concentrate on just one person rather than the cacophony of several people all at once. She studied their appearance, their posture, the way they moved their bodies and gestured when they spoke. She studied their words and how they acted around the people they were talking to. She studied how they seemed when alone compared to when with others. She crept into the village at night to watch them sleeping and sense the secrets held in their dream worlds.

Over time she realised that if she maintained a clear focus and a stillness within herself she could begin to feel what and how and who each person was, just as she could feel the being-ness of the mountains and trees. As she slowly, softly, gently began to feel her way into the minds, bodies and hearts of each person, she created a delicate thread of connection with them. When she shut out all the confusion of their complicated lives, their routines and paths that criss-crossed in so many different directions, she became less disorientated and more interested in the intimate detail of each person. One by one, the people started to make sense to her, and one by one she started to feel something for them.

Some of the villagers were a joy to study. She loved the children who were so soft in their characters, so bright in their energy, so alive and in touch with the world around them. She longed to jump out from her hiding place to play with them, just as she played with the wolf cubs. And some of the adults were astonishing to her. She felt such strength in some, such bubbles of laughter in others, such quiet patience, such fiery resolve… so many different ways of being. She suddenly felt very small herself, and almost a little embarrassed; who was she when surrounded by these colourful, knowledgeable giants? She fell in love with some of the adults while at the same time doubting that she had anything to offer them which could make them love her in return.

Other adults surprised her in a different way. Strangely, their inner and outer worlds did not match. On the outside, they displayed certain traits of character which were not the same as the currents of thought and feeling hidden within them. The feral girl had never experienced this before; an eagle was an eagle on the outside and inside, a flower was a flower in its being as much as its appearance. Not so with all the humans. She discovered that some people displayed aggressive, even brutal characters, yet when she sunk beneath these layers of hardness she found a soft pain within, like that of a child whose toys had been broken and could not be fixed. Others who appeared so large and powerful as they gave orders or sneered at their fellow villagers were often crumpled and ashamed inside. Others who were quiet and subdued in their daily lives were sometimes seething with rage beneath their placid exterior, or frozen in a state of fear. Some people smiled their way through the whole day yet inside she found deep pools of watery sadness which she could have swum in for miles.

The feral girl also discovered how diversely the villagers felt about the world around them. She had assumed that all creatures could sense the ebb and flow of life, be moved by its rhythms and feel the fine connecting threads that wove their way between everything. She could tell that some of the villagers experienced this; when she peeked into their inner world she saw swirls of light, shade and colour all dancing together. But some of the humans felt very differently. There was a gap in the thread between them and the world which made their relationship to it subtlety different. They were active within it, and smart too, but their action was all action; they were constantly doing things to it. The feral girl marveled at their invention; some of the results of their doing were a wonder to behold. But she could not understand how they could live without being able to just be in the world. Were they lacking something? Or was she the one lacking the openness to see they were just different from her and the life she had so far experienced?

She understood now why she had felt so disorientated when she first encountered the villagers. Never before had she come across creatures with such marvelously varied ways of being, feeling, thinking and doing.

As time passed, the feral girl felt the threads of connection to each of the villagers growing inside her, weaving their way out of her body, pulsing through the air and flowing into each and every one of them. Her feelings were akin to her feelings for the wolves, birds, bears and butterflies. Something stirred in her being; she wanted to reach out to the villagers, but she was not sure how. Although she had come to know them intimately they still scared her. Some scared her because she felt so small in comparison to them while others scared her because she feared what they might do to her if she revealed herself to them.

So she decided to creep into the villagers’ lives at night to leave them little tokens. She left each one a white flower on their pillow as they slept. She danced around them weaving silken movements in the air to connect with their dreaming minds. She whispered to them of her life in the forest to share her life with theirs. Over time, her tokens of white flowers were remarked on by the villagers. Some people treasured these mysterious gifts, others gave a knowing smile thinking they had guessed who left them, others were angry that someone had crept into their hut at night without their knowledge. But no one guessed the truth, no one remembered the feral girl’s midnight dance or her softly whispered words. No one sensed her presence among them.

Except one…

The old man with the white beard and hair, and the young blue eyes that sparkled like sunlight on ocean waves, had been waiting patiently for her. For three months he had watched her, smiling to himself at her antics and knowing that soon, very soon she would arrive to study him. At last she came to his home, the last dwelling in the village, to complete her studies, little knowing that she was about to learn lessons which would surpass anything she had ever learnt before…

The old man was about to affect the life of both the feral girl and the villagers in as sure but gentle a way as water can affect the hardest immutable rock…

TO READ CHAPTER 4 CLICK HERE!

It had seemed a day almost like any other. Almost, but not quite. It began as her days usually began, with sunlight and stretching and dancing her way through the woods. But today the feral girl decided to wander further, to go to the edge of her known world and venture beyond. What led her to do so she did not really know and did not question. A feeling guided her and she simply followed.

She walked, danced, ran and walked again for the whole of the day. That night she curled up to sleep amongst a tangle of roots at the foot of a friendly tree. The next day she continued, and the next and the next. It was on the fifth day of her wanderings that she came upon them.

It happened quietly and calmly enough. She sensed their presence long before she arrived at the village. There was a difference in the air and a difference in the ground beneath her feet; not anything tangible but a subtle shift of energy. The animals were aware of them, that she could tell, and the trees acknowledged the presence of something other.

So she was not surprised when she came to the edge of a clearing and saw in the space beyond strange shapes and even stranger creatures.

The feral girl knew how to approach unknown things. She sat at the edge of the clearing, just hidden in the shade of the trees and tangle of undergrowth. She sat and she watched and she listened and she felt. She sat in that spot all day. That night she crept a little further away and found a sturdy tree to climb and sleep safely on, nestled amongst its branches. The next day she returned to take up her position on the edge of the clearing and sat watching some more. The following day she did the same.

And so it continued. For five weeks of human time the feral girl lived a life of quiet, calm, hidden, vigilant watching. Some days it rained, some days the sun shone, some days brought huge thunderstorms which sent the villagers running for shelter and left the feral girl crouched into hollowed tree trunks. She drank from a nearby stream when necessary and ate of the plants in the area which she knew tasted good. She moved around and watched from different places. She got to know the whole of the village and the area around it. She found all the tracks left by the villagers as they left and entered. She began to be able to tell each inhabitant apart and to know their daily activities. And each night she slept somewhere safe where she knew none would find her.

What were her thoughts as she lived her life of spying? What did she feel to see these beings so obviously physically like herself? If anyone had asked her these questions she would not have known how to answer. She did not quite know what she thought and certainly did not know what she felt.

Before now she had not considered the existence of others such as her, she simply was and others simply were not. Now, that loosely held belief had changed irrevocably. She could tell they were the same animal as herself. She only had to look at her hands or see her reflection in the stream to know the truth of this. Others such as her did exist and here they were in front of her.

But although these creatures were so undeniably her kin, she did not feel connected to them. For her whole life she had felt intimately in touch with everything around her, from flower to bear to mountain. She never had to think about this connection, never had to question it, it was just there. These beings were completely alien to her and she had no idea what to think or feel about that.

The more she watched, the more perplexed and uncertain she became. The humans lived a life so different to hers she couldn’t grasp it. Their lives were intertwined with one another and enmeshed in such habits and structures that she did not understand. Each person seemed to have a role to play, but how this role was decided or how each person knew their role was unclear. In some ways the people of the village did similar things to her; they awoke, they ate and drank, they hunted and found food, they slept at night in their strangely shaped dwellings which resembled caves. But it was much more ordered than her existence, much more planned, as if the people were following an invisible guidebook on how to live their daily lives.

Without this guidebook to refer to the feral girl felt lost and bewildered. But she persevered with her studies. Over time she began to understand their language and this gave her a more detailed glimpse into their world. The language itself came remarkably easily, as if maybe she had learnt it long ago but had since forgotten it. Less easy was understanding all the nuances, tone of voice and body language which accompanied the spoken words. The feral girl was an expert on reading the physicality of all things but the difficulty lay in the incongruence which she observed. A person may say one thing while their body clearly told a different story; why was this and which should she believe?

Those five weeks were full of many perplexing questions for the feral girl. And at the end of that time she had more questions than answers and more confusion of thought and feeling than clarity. Her world felt fractured and complicated in a way she had never experienced before. This was an uncomfortable feeling for her. But the feral girl was patient, tenacious and incurably inquisitive. Something kept her there, some underlying feeling that told her she could not leave now after having just discovered this strange new world. Without really consciously deciding it, the feral girl knew she would stay for longer.

So stay she did, with more far reaching consequences than she could possibly have realised…

TO READ CHAPTER 3 CLICK HERE!

The feral girl did not know who her parents were. In fact, for quite a while she did not really know what parents were, at least from a human perspective.

She knew that some animals had parents; she watched the wolf cubs at play with their mum and dad, and with aunts and uncles too. She knew the lives of the birds intimately and observed how the parents reared their chicks, tirelessly bringing them food each and every day. And she knew many other young animals in the forest whose parents were present in their lives. But then there were those animals where parents did not feature; they were simply absent. She watched the butterflies in particular and saw how they learned to fly by themselves with no guidance, and how even in their younger days during their caterpillar state they simply got on with munching the leaves with no one to show them how.

She did not spend much time thinking about parents or wondering if she had ever had any; she simply assumed she was of the butterfly variety where parents did not appear in the picture. She was, she thought, perfectly content with her life. It was hers, it was all she knew, she would not even know what to wish for if asked to consider what other life she might want. She was wild and free and alive, that was enough.

The feral girl lived in the forest, although from there she could roam far and wide so that the valley, river, lake, meadows and mountains could also be called her home. She cared for her world deeply. The animals knew her smell and deemed her friend not foe. Even the plants, especially the trees, held in their sap a knowledge of her gentleness. Of course she had to eat, and would do so freely be that plant or animal. But she did so with care, respect and gratitude. Every being in the forest understood the unwritten laws of life; that for the whole to be maintained, individuals must give up their lives for one another. There was no recrimination in this, no sense of injustice; it was simply as life was. Even the plants who could magically turn the sun’s energy into life-giving nourishment, understood the law and their vital role within it.

So she ate, she slept in whichever burrow, cave or tree she found herself at and she roamed the land, learning all she could from it. She knew all the animals; their habits, their characters, their lives from start to finish. She spent many happy days and evenings playing with the wolf cubs, telling stories to the owls and dancing with the moths. She knew all the plants and their slower more subtle life processes. She would move among them feeling their heartbeat-like pulsing of sap and allowing their quiet rhythms to undulate within her own body.

She felt the forest’s ebb and flow of energy, its uniquely dark and quiet presence, its whisperings of secrets. She talked to the river as it flowed and sparkled along its path, exchanging stories of the world upstream and down. She let the lake hold her, soothe her, and give her its silken, cleansing caress. She leapt for joy in the meadows, allowing the energy of the tall grasses to move her body as if she were a reed of grass herself, and opening herself to the sun and the sky just as the flowers taught her. She was one with the mountains, standing on their proud peaks and allowing herself to be as solid and still as they, her awareness slowing down as she felt their memory stretching back a million years to a time when they were laid flat on the ocean floor.

She breathed as the world breathed, flowed as life flowed and existed at peace with everything around her. Every day was new to her and she would study the clouds and patterns of weather with careful attention and interest. The nights did not scare her, but held her within their mysterious and dark gloved hands, leading her into the dream-world, encouraging her body to rest and renew. Every season was a delight, from the freshness and purity of spring, to the bright joyfulness and abundance of summer, the glow and generosity of autumn, and the sleepy mini-death of winter.

She was content. And maybe she would have remained her whole lifetime in this lonesome, feral existence if her wanderings had not one day brought her to the edge of a tiny village and a big new world of humans…

TO READ CHAPTER 2 CLICK HERE!