As we walked deeper into the forest, my uncle looked at me curiously. Most people would be gazing at the scenery, marveling at the towering trees, the way the sunlight filtered through the branches, or the soft rustling of the leaves. But me? I was focused. Not on the view, but on the ground, the trees, the way the terrain shifted beneath my feet. My movements were almost instinctive. I knew where to step, how to move around branches, how to avoid making noise. It wasn't just walking—it was surviving. It was as though I could live here forever if I needed to.
My uncle watched me closely, clearly surprised. "You sure know your way around, kid," he remarked.
I didn't say anything. I just kept moving, almost as though I was in a trance, letting my body guide me. I could sense him still watching, but I didn't care. I felt at home in the forest, even if I wasn't fully sure why.
After a while, he spoke again. "You really are different from most kids I've seen."
I shrugged. "I guess."
I could tell my uncle was trying to figure me out, but I didn't really know how to explain. I wasn't just walking through the forest like any other person; I was living in it. And maybe that was why I felt so comfortable here.
We kept walking in silence for a bit. Then, my uncle broke it by asking, "So, what do you like to do?"
I hesitated, unsure how to answer. Finally, I said, "I like nature. Just being outside."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. "That's it?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I guess I've always felt more at peace when I'm out here. Around trees. In the dirt. Not really with people."
Uncle Michael looked at me for a moment, trying to make sense of what I was saying. "You know, I didn't always like the forest," he finally admitted. "When I was in the army, I was trained to be a helicopter pilot. I didn't really have time for this kind of thing."
I nodded, processing his words. "How did you end up here then?"
He glanced around, taking in the vastness of the forest. "After I got out, I needed something. A job that felt important. Something where I could make a difference. Aerial firefighter. Been doing it ever since."
I looked at him, impressed. "You fly helicopters?"
He smiled faintly. "Yeah. It's not always flying, though. Most of the time, we just make sure the fires don't get out of hand. But when things get extreme... I'm one of the best."
I couldn't help but respect that. He was proud of what he did, and I admired that. Not many people found something in life they felt proud of. "Sounds like an important job," I said quietly.
"It is," he agreed, his voice thick with pride.
We spent the rest of the walk talking about the forest—about the animals, the trees, the landmarks. It was as if my uncle was showing me the heartbeat of the place. The forest didn't just exist here; it was alive, it had a rhythm, a pulse, and I was beginning to understand that.
After a while, we turned back toward home. As we walked, I couldn't help but think about what my uncle had said. This was his life. And now, it was mine too. The idea of living here forever wasn't so strange anymore.
When we got home, I looked back at my uncle and thought to myself, I think I could live here.
That night, at dinner, my uncle explained the next steps. "You'll be homeschooled," he said. "There aren't any schools around here, so I'll teach you until you finish middle school."
I stared at him for a moment, the idea sinking in. Homeschooling? It felt so different from what I was used to. It wasn't a normal life, but maybe that was the point. I didn't have to pretend anymore. I didn't have to act like I was living a life I didn't want.
Then, without thinking, I started laughing. It wasn't a laugh of disbelief; more like a quiet realization. This was it. No more pretending. It was just me, my uncle, and the forest.
The next day, I went outside to practice some more with the bow. I hadn't expected much from it—it was just a simple, childlike toy bow I had received on my birthday. I hadn't even been shooting for very long, but it had become my way of passing time, my way of honing some skills.
When my uncle saw me practicing, I braced myself for him to tell me to put it down or give me a lecture. But instead, he just watched quietly. After a while, he nodded. "Impressive."
I froze. I hadn't expected that. It was just a toy, after all, but he had seen something in me. He didn't seem surprised, just... used to my weirdness by now.
The next day, my uncle sat me down and handed me a proper bow. It wasn't the flimsy, childlike thing I had been using. It was sleek, sturdy, and had real craftsmanship.
I took it in my hands, feeling the weight, the balance. My fingers instinctively gripped the string and I nocked an arrow, feeling like I had done it a thousand times before. I pulled back and released the string. The arrow flew, hitting the target with perfect precision.
My heart raced, and for a moment, I thought my uncle would say something, perhaps criticize me for using it too quickly or for not following proper etiquette. But he didn't. Instead, he just said, "Impressive."
The next day, he gave me another bow—an even better one. I didn't have to say anything; he just understood. This was a step forward, and I could feel the weight of it.
Things continued like this for months. I trained, I learned, and I began to feel like a part of this new world. My uncle was no longer just a guardian or an instructor; he was someone I looked up to, someone who understood me in a way nobody else had. He'd given me the space to grow, to find my place in the forest, and to feel at home.
And, for the first time in a long while, I felt like I belonged somewhere. This new life—wild and unpredictable—was the beginning of something far bigger than I had ever imagined.