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The forest called her name in the quiet hours of the night when she lay awake, miles and years from her true home.  She had lived ad died more times than her soul could keep track of but each time she sought the deep, dark center, the heart of her most prized possession.
The house was small and sweet, almost cottage-esque in its shape and size. All it truly needed was a fairy forest back drop and a brook just off in the distance.  It did have a lake, a beautiful piece of land, just far enough off the beaten path to keep the tourist aways.  He believed it was it was one of the last quiet places on earth.
He had taken her in when she was just young enough to trust him but old enough to know that he could never truly have been her father.  He loved her all the same, for her mistrust and her inability to see past the loss.  It would have been hard, he reminded himself, to lose parents that one actually cares about.  She had been loved and cared for by two amazing human beings that had been pulled from her clutches by a tragic accident.  The fire had started small, should never have gotten bigger than a scorch march above the candles on the table.  But they had all fallen asleep together beneath the great openness of the starlit night on the back deck, lost in time and space to the quiet in and out of the lake's tides.  He imagined it should have been a happy memory, a quiet moment that all three would cherish for the rest of their lives.  But it had been snatches away but an errant ember and a much too old deck of pure wood.  The only thing that saved the little girl from dying along sides her parents was the off chance that she had awoken and walked down to the water to cool off in the sticky summer night.
She leaned against the door frame, looking out of the lake, the trees filling up with leaves until in the next few weeks the entire area around the cottage would be lace and light.  Sun light played off the water and the sides of her smooth face.  She was young still, beautiful in a way that made him jealous of her.  16 and still completely alone, she belonged among her own people, in the nature habit of malls and busy suburb streets.  There should be boys and cars and nights in bed with popcorn and little girl secrets.  But she was here, alone but for him and the cat that she had found among the autumn leaves in the back garden.
He knew that even in the city there would still be a sadness behind her eyes.  There would still be a heart shaped scar on her left palm.  There would be no boys or cars.  There would be no little girl secrets because she had never been a little girl.  She had grown from seven to much too old to lift herself out of the deep black hole she resided in.
“The flowers will be coming in soon.”  Her voice was stillness, a single wisp of smoke before the beginning of a forest fire.  He nodded, taking a deep drag from his coffee mug.  The gardens spread out before them like little islands among the green of the meadow grass.  It had taken years to get the land back to what it had been before the fire.  It had reached just far enough to ruin his hard work, but watching her work the last few years to bring it back had been worth the destruction.  Every year the plot of land that had once been her home was slowly taken over by the huge willow tree she had planted in the center of the land, before the tinder and old furniture had been completely cleared.  After 10 years it was beginning to take shape, to cast long shadows down the curve of the grass and out over the water.  It was her safe haven and he refused to trim it for fear he would nick her in the process.
The cat twined itself between her legs and she shrugged, finishing off her coffee.  “I'm going for a walk.”
He never told her to stay here, to keep him company.  He knew she would have if he had asked, but he never did.  She had been just young enough to trust him and just old enough to know he could never have been her real father.
The forest called her name and she listened, allowed herself to be drawn deeper and deeper into the heart, the deepness that resided in all things.  This is your reward, it whispered to her above the buzz of insects and the calls of birds, this is what you get for your loss.  She wondered, in a vague, unexplainable way if it was all worth it.
She didn't come back that night, didn't wander in, soaked up to her knees from wading through the swamp just past the hundred year old elm grove.  She didn't slip in while he waited up for her, watching the candle carefully in the lantern on his back deck.  She remained out among the leaves and the animals all night.  The sun peeked past the tree line and he begged it to just wait a few more hours before it came around.  Before it told him, unequivocally that she had never been home that night.
He waited for breakfast to settle in him stomach before he allowed himself to truly begin to worry.  She had fallen asleep in the forest before.  He had found her, some afternoons, curled up in the bough of a maple, as though she were a squirrel sunbathing before nightfall.  But she had always come home, had always found her way back down the paths that led out into the darkness, back to the deck and warmth and his watchful eyes.  Today he rose alone and worried.
He took the path he knew best, the one that led out from the place among the trees where she had lived her entire happy seven years.  The elm grove lay just beyond his range of vision.  He called her name, softly at first, not willing to admit to himself that he was afraid of finding her, afraid of what the forest might have done to her in the depth of the night.  His voice grew louder as he thought of his friends, of the loss he himself had felt after the fire.  There was no turning back.  After ten years, he loved this girl as much as his own, as though she was as much a part of him as the forest and lake were.  He called her name with all the care and love he could muster, knowing that she would understand.  The forest parted around him and he searched through it as though it was the first time, the last time, he would ever set foot in it.
The grove opened up to the marsh and the marsh to an even deeper section of trees, a stand so thick that even the deer seemed to stay away.  He stood outside of it for a long moment, wondering if there was even a remote chance of her having made it this far.  He shook the desperate thought from his head, turning at just the right instant to catch the movement out of the corner of his eye.  It stood there, perfectly still, watching him and yet listening to the low whistle that called it back to its place just beyond the rise of the land.
She appeared, beautiful and perfect in the lean light of the dense forest.  Her jeans had been scoffed for the tunic that seemed to both hug her hips and flow easily about her legs.  It caught int eh breeze, dark blue against pale skin.  Summer freckles peppered her face and arms, as though beneath the beauty and the cold stare she was still there.  But he knew that look in her eyes, had seen it before looking back at him from the mirror.  The forest had claimed her.  It had taken his last hope, his last reason to breath and yet he willingly gave it, simply stood there watching as she ran her hand along the silver back of the stag.  He called her name, low and sweet, the pain spilling over into every syllable.
“I am Diana.  I no not who you speak of.”  Her voice held authority, the loss simply an undertone that only he could hear.  He wanted to scream and to shake her and to kiss her and turn her loose again.  The quiver sat against her back as though it had always been there, the bow a thing of beauty, carved from the darkest blood wood.  She had earned her place here and he knew it.
He turned slowly, listening for a long moment for the snap of the string.  But it didn't come and when he reached the end of the path he turned and she was not there.