There is a story I need to relate while I am still alive and coherent enough to tell it. It is a story of a man that has been passed down over many generations by the males in my family. I cannot be sure of the man’s name or how many greats should go before the grandfather, but after the same qualifications, my father told me that his father had then said the man has become known as Fletcher. So, Fletcher it is. This Old English name. I am told, means arrow maker. The story, as it is repeated, tells that Fletcher was not very successful at his trade, for he rarely crafted a straight arrow and, it is added, he never lived as one either. He had taken to drink in his youth, and the ale had aged him well beyond his years.
The story really begins with Fletcher setting out for a neighboring town, but in a drunken state he wandered from the beaten path and became hopelessly lost. To make matters worse, his eyesight was failing and night was rapidly closing in around him. Since Fletcher lived alone and was often absent from his shop, he would not be missed if he failed to return home. In fact, it would probably be weeks before the barmaid in the town’s pub would realize that he had not come in for his pint of ale.
That night, Fletcher slept curled up on a bed of stone under the rocky overhang of a cliff he had never seen before. During the night, it is said, he was visited several times by those creatures that own the forest in its darkness. No doubt, several wolves sniffed at his shaggy hair and ragged clothes, but let him sleep undisturbed for, as the story goes, he was saturated with alcohol and no self-respecting night creature would have dared take a bite. In the morning Fletcher arose to find a heavy mist hanging low in the trees, and this made seeing his way even more difficult.
As the morning sun had begun to burn off the mist, Fletcher stumbled into a clearing that surrounded a crystal clear, spring-fed pool. He had dropped to his knees and, with cupped hands, was about to scoop up a cold drink from the pond. Something caught his eye. Something had moved on the other side of the water, and Fletcher squinted in an effort to see more clearly. It appeared to be a young deer lying in the tall grass. Fletcher was curious and, wanting a better look. As he walked slowly around the pond he expected the deer to leap to its feet and bolt into the dense forest. The creature, however, did not stir. Now Fletcher was even more interested in discovering what this was.
As Fletcher drew closer, he realize that it was not a deer lying in the grass. In fact, this smooth-skinned creature had no fur. Fletcher was startled when the naked woman slowly lifted her head and looked directly at him.
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