((A/N: This, my dears, is a random, pointless prose that started stalking me while I was reading some Grimm Brothers and trying to find a good, obscure fairy tale to do a spin off of. But then I figured, hey, why not write my own obscure, pointless fairy tale?! So enjoy. P.S. I'm sure I accidentally stole something from some old fairy tale somewhere. --))

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An angry white moon glared down on the Big Wood. All was silent, even the wise old owl slept without stirring. The Singing Brook danced through the trees, its gurgling hushed by the heaviness of the night. In the Ever Glade, there was a big oak tree. It was a wise oak, aged and forlorn with the years that weighed its branches. It was a storyteller, a wizened father for the creatures of the Wood. But tonight it was the guardian. It guarded the human-child asleep beside its massive, wrinkled trunk.

The human-child was not alone. She had other guardians. The lean grey Wolf slept beside her, his wiry muscles a pillow for her tired head. The keen-eyed Hawk rested in the branches above, asleep but wary of the night. The field Mouse scurried to and fro, constantly anxious.

The Hunter stood behind a tree, breath faint and even, muscles taut with anticipation. His bow was already fitted with the sleek, sweet arrow. The bringer of death, and the bringer of life. He would feed his mother and baby sister tomorrow.

Wolf meat was tough and unsavory, but deer were scarce in the Big Wood, too tremulous to survive its ancient curses. The Hunter was unafraid of the curses. He was young and stubborn and angry. He had lived beside the Big Wood his whole life, and it had always provided for them. But the provision had stopped and his family was dying. He had taken his father’s bow and headed straight into the heart of the Wood. If it would no longer willingly provide food for his family, then he would come in and take it.

He brought up the bow and took aim, feeling the feather on the arrow tickle his ear and the damp smell of the forest brush his nose. The Wolf’s grey sides heaved in deep sleep. Tired. Trusting. The Hunter hesitated and his fingers slipped on the string. The arrow flew high and far, clear into the brush on the other side of the Glade.

Immediately the Wolf was on his feet. A deep and angry growl saturated the air and the guardian flew like lightning into the bushes where the arrow had flown. That’s when the Hunter saw the human-child, asleep on the ground.

Her clothes were rags at best. Her flaming red hair was a tangled mess that fell around her shoulders and down her back. She was shivering with the cold in her sleep and the shivers wracked her bony frame like waves against a ship. The Hunter walked forward, compelled by the sight of this pale and pitiful girl.

He watched her in awed silence for several moments, trying to decide why she was here, where she had come from, who she was.

“She will die tonight.” The throaty voice filled the air of the Ever Glade, strangely melodious.

The Hunter turned and watched the Wolf with wide and frightened eyes. The Wolf only walked to the human-child and sat beside her, a statue of protection.

“I can help her,” said the Hunter, trembling suddenly.

“She does not need you.”

“But--”

“Silence.” It was more of a growl than a word. “Tell me, boy. Why did you come?”

“I—my…my family is dying.” The Hunter suddenly felt exposed, guilty. Surely the bright yellow eyes of the Wolf knew everything about him. Every weakness. Every failure. And even his intentions on this wretched night.

“And so you come to steal from She who sustained you for so long?”

The Hunter thought the Wolf was talking about the Big Wood, but the Wolf looked down at the girl.

“She is our Mother. The Daughter of the Wood. Her hours are waxing thin and she took on a human form so that she could walk among us one last time.” The great Wolf nuzzled the small girl with his nose like a mourning pup.

“But the Wood is eternal,” the Hunter protested.

“She will die tonight,” the Wolf repeated sadly and walked to the Hunter. “You came to steal from her, but will you mourn her passing instead?”

The Hunter couldn’t speak.

Suddenly the human-child that wasn’t convulsed violently.

“Leosura minora de! Sorvehin leesa poro,” she cried, her back arching to the point of breaking.

“A prayer of release,” the Wolf said reverently to the Hunter.

The Wolf and the Hunter, the Hawk and the field Mouse, the wise old oak, all sat in silence, watching as their Mother writhed on the mossy floor and then finally lay still.

“They will be cared for,” the Mother said, eyes opening wide to pierce the Hunter straight through the heart. She fell limp.

The sky broke open in angry thunder and raindrops fell like moon tears on the Big Wood and the Ever Glade. The pale, pale skin of the Mother and Daughter sizzled like hot coals.

Without warning, the Wolf threw back his head and let loose a magnificent howl that shook the very roots of the Big Wood. It stretched long and hard, a requiem of loss and remembrance. The Hawk cried as well, and the field Mouse. Even the old oak seemed to quiver. The Hunter felt a burning rise inside of him and he released his voice as well, nothing but a shapeless wail into the pouring rain.

The Big Wood echoed, and then fell silent with the rain.

The villagers of the Little Town came out of their homes and looked worriedly toward the Wood, afraid of what ancient curses might have been awakened. And they watched in awestruck wonder as the ancient blessing of the Wood, the Mother and the Daughter, rose into the sky, flaming and bright—a diamond of fire mounting wings of rebirth.

The Phoenix reached the angry moon and softened its face, then faded into nothingness in the big, big sky.

The Hunter looked in silence at the blackened moss where the Phoenix had risen.

“The Wood?” he asked, tremblingly, as the Wolf walked away slowly.

“The Wood is eternal,” the Wolf replied, and vanished into the thick of the trees.