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Henry was bored.
He liked nature, he liked the overgrown expanses of wood in the highlands - often wondering what kinds of monsters lived behind the bushes or soared in the trees, but he had one small problem.
His governess, Miss Hawthorne.
The horrible woman would never let him out of her sight, constantly badgering him about his posture or the way he held a knife at the table, sometimes Henry had to fight his own conscience not to turn around and drive the knife into her chest. She wasn’t even his mother, she wouldn’t care about him for a moment if she wasn’t paid to do so. Henry was well-behaved, he didn’t need a stupid nanny.
Currently he was held fast against that perfectly stabbable chest, forced to sit and listen whilst his governess and real mother spoke for years about such mundane topics. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t even need to be here, he wasn’t adding anything to this conversation by pretending to be asleep in someone’s arms.
Why must God torment him like this?
“You’re terribly fortunate, you know, I’d give up all my fortune to be paid to do nothing,” Henry could hear the sound of his mother’s snobbish voice through the thick fabric of the shawl Hawthorne had covered his head with once she’d settled down on the grass with him. He supposed it was some feeble attempt to give him darkness whilst he ‘slept’, but he didn’t care.
“I suppose it is, madam,” Hawthorne’s tone was calm and soft and gentle, it disgusted him, “Master Henry’s a sweet child, he’s quite high maintenance but he’ll grow out of it.”
Ugly old hag.
“He’ll grow into a fine gentleman someday, that young Utterson’s a good influence on him. He’s all about routines and doing things in order, if only I could say the same for mine.”
Henry would have stopped pretending to sleep to sit up and spit on the scones his mother was taking mouse-sized polite bites out of, but the thought of Gabriel quenched his flame of anger. Gabriel was his only real friend, and Henry loved him - loved spending time with him. He liked the way Gabriel’s eyes would light up when Henry had something new to tell him instead of simply telling him it was all nonsense, he liked the way Gabriel’s face was dusted with freckles the same way a foxglove bell was sprinkled with small darker flecks. He wished he could see Gabriel more often.
“Master Henry may be scattered, but he’s very very smart, ma’am, he loves telling me about all the wonderful things he’s been reading about.”
His mother scoffed, “You should know better than to indulge his behaviour, the more acceptable he thinks sharing his insane ideas is, the more he’ll start to do it.”
Insane? Insane?
Alright then, Henry would show her insane.
Without warning, his teeth clamped down on Hawthorne’s sleeve. Ignoring the startled yelp and focusing on the brief loosening of her grip and putting his little legs to work in running away from the two of them.
He could hear the witch standing up in panic as if to chase after him.
Then, he heard his mother’s voice.
“Sit down Hawthorne.”
“But- madam- he’s only five he’ll get lost out there!”
“Then let him get lost. He’ll learn not to run away again.”
“He’ll be killed.”
“And I am capable of having more children, now sit down.”
Oh.
Oh well.
That didn’t matter.
What mattered was that Henry was finally free, free to finally explore the woodland
and free from that horrid woman’s crushing embrace.
The forest was big, it was beautiful, and somewhere in the corner of his eye a small pink body moved, darted between the canopies with no one to hold it down.
Henry had never seen a bird so pretty before, he had to follow it.
He ran over roots, pushed his way through thick bushes, and navigated the undergrowth, never taking his eyes off the pink bird.
He wasn’t sure how far he’d run, how much time had passed, or where he even was, but none of that mattered to him. What mattered was the bird.
Henry didn’t see the land suddenly drop off. Henry didn’t see the riverbank draw nearer and nearer. Henry’s eyes were locked onto the sky.
Suddenly there was no more grass beneath his feet.
Suddenly the roots were gone.
Suddenly he was falling.
The world went silent.
What was happening?
Breathe.
He couldn’t breathe.
His eyes hurt.
He couldn’t see.
He couldn’t move.
He couldn’t breathe.
Where was the air?
Where was his mum?
Could anyone even see him?
Breathe.
No.
Nono.
Breathe.
Breathe.
You’ve got to breathe.
Lift up your head,
Stop letting yourself sink.
You can swim Henry.
Remember that you can swim.
You’ll drown if you keep falling,
and your mother will forget you.
Just swim up.
Henry pulled himself up out of the water.
Coughing, spluttering, shaking, choking out sediment.
But alive, nevertheless.
He was terrified and damp.
He wanted his mother.
Where was she?
Where was home?
He wanted her warm arms, he wanted her gentle embrace, but he didn’t recognise any of the woodland around him.
The only thing he could do, and did do, was sit by the riverside and sob into already soaked clothes.