Bug Way Jinini

You will not see him, but you will know he is there. A shadow cast in a place it should not fall, the rustle of leaves when there is no wind or the sound of the vast wood rising to crescendo suddenly falling to the absolute quiet of the smallest of places. Walk in the wild with good intentions and he will be the warmth of the sun, the song of a finch or a clear path to follow. Walk it with a cruel heart and he will be the darkness of a moonless night, a winter’s gale come two weeks too soon or a nest of brambles too thick to traverse.