I sit up weakly. My fingers still clutch the dress, knuckles a pale white. A single drop of blood trails down my forehead leaving a light red mark that looks along the lines of paint. I stare up at the sky, which has taken on the light red hue of sunset, almost mirroring the trail on my face.

A red bird, a cardinal perhaps, flies across the sky. Its coat of feathers is ruby red and my eyes become fixated on the old bird. It turns sharply, forcing my head to turn and stare at the tree that it has landed on. 

The birds features start to blur, and suddenly I'm staring at a bare branch. My eyes, refusing to believe this, move down the tree and become attached to a piece of parchment no bigger than my hand, tacked to the trunk in an almost hurried manner. 

I pick myself up off the ground and step cautiously towards the tree. Towards the note. I reach my fingers towards the bark, and feel them graze across the rough outer covering of the paper. Removing the tack, I pull the parchment away from the tree and hurriedly step back to the spot where the oak had spit me out.

Carefully sitting back down, I open the letter with closed eyes. Slowly, I peek open my left lid and then my right, and stare dumbfounded at the sight before me.

The ink seems to be ripping itself from the page, and slowly swirling around, only to land on the ground. Setting the note down, I rub my eyes in disbelief. I hear a small cough, and I open my eyes to find a boy standing in front of me, hair still full of dripping ink. 

I watch as the ink solidifies, and becomes ginger hair much similar to my own. 

The boy coughs again, as if he is testing his ability to speak. His eyes are unfocused, a dull green color, his pupils abnormally wide. Somehow he catches me staring,  and blinks a few times until they return to normal. He flexes his fingers and smiles a lazy grin, while his eyes taunt me. 

They dare me to speak. They challenge me. His eyes. 

He coughs once more before introducing himself. His mouth opens, but the squawk of a bird is the only sound he makes. My eyes widen.

"So you're the bird," I whisper, "and the note."

There it is again! That lazy smile and mischievous eyes. He nods, clearly pleased that I figured it out. My eyes bore down his clothes; he's wearing a dark brown cloak, worn and dusty, tan trousers, and a long sleeve shirt similar to the color of fresh dirt. His shoes are not the normal sandals most people in town wear, no they have a closed toe. I don't really know how to describe them. But they seem, almost too fancy for the rest of his outfit. 

I open my mouth to voice my observations, but he motions with his hand for me to stay silent. Putting his thumb and pointer finger together, he moves them across his lips and twists them once they reach his cheek. A sort of "keep your mouth shut" gesture. 

I nod, a bit confused as to who he is or why he's here, but he snaps his fingers in front of my face to regain my attention. 

He draws a line in the air connecting me and him, before tapping his temple and closing his eyes. Not understanding at first, I wait for something to happen. Almost sensing my confusion, his eyes flash open and he motions for me to close mine. I nod slightly, and close my eyes slowly. 

Nothing tells me to open them, so I continue to lose myself in my thoughts, and the depths of my mind. I once went an hour without breaking my concentration, and I begin to wonder how long I've been standing here. 

Then I feel something in my brain. I don't know exactly, but it felt kind of like a cool rush of water came trickling into my head, and a solid thought appeared. One that I did not think. 

My eyes open in alarm, and I search his face for a reason. For an explanation. 

He had asked, 

"Are you lost?"