《Moon Shaped Dreams》


 Prologue

    Henry blinked, and everything went dark.


    No ¨C that¡¯s not right. He didn¡¯t close his eyes, nor did he open them in the dark. This was more¡­ more what Henry imagined blindness to be, something lost and missing. His mind clawed for purchase in this absence, but it only hiccuped and stalled. He tried to understand, but his efforts led nowhere, for he had no frame of reference. Nothing to measure and nothing to measure it against.


    Yet, blindness wasn¡¯t quite right either. Blindness was loss. But this¡­ this was so much more than that ¨C or possibly less. Something ripped root and stem from the yawning of his past until it failed to exist in the first place. How could he miss something that was never there to begin with?


    Only ¨C it took not just his vision, but his entire being. Stolen with barely a whisper into the empty expanse of eternity.


    * * *


    And in the shadow of a second, Henry was back.


    His world shrunk as the edges bled foaming static. Color drained away to a dull sepia and finally to grainy shades of grey. The stumbling young man tried to take in large gulping breaths of air, but they slipped away like fistfuls of sand. Something deep in his brain began to scream and he noticed a ringing in the background begin to grow. His eyes darted left and right in a twitchy flutter of panic. He croaked out a soft groan before his thoughts burnt away to ash. A hand reached out, only to paw at the air. The screaming and ringing continued to build and the ground reached up to embrace him.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    * * *


    Henry Hill opened his eyes to a verdant field of green, the thick grass doing little to cushion the hard ground below. Face pressed against soil and grass, he took in a shuddering breath. With something between a grunt and moan Henry pushed himself up onto his knees, shaky arms struggling to support his weight. His head hung low as he tried to scrape together a semblance of thought.


    He tried, but all he found was a dull roaring echoing freely between his ears. A vein in his temple begin to pulse while fear bloomed in the pit of his stomach. Swaying slightly, his feverish limbs trembled and sweat soaked hair fell over his eyes.


    Henry stayed in place, panting into the rapidly fading light until a soft breeze murmured over his body. The wind promised cold nights on the dirty ground and sent a shiver down his spine. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from the grass and raised his eyes.


    A wide and grasping tree filled his vision. Thick branches flowed down and away in sweeping curves, as if shaped by a weight they could not bare. Ancient, gnarled roots spread out from the trunk like bursting waves, sinking and rising from the earth. Henry crawled over the lush grass and eased himself into a small depression between root and trunk.


    Mind pitted to a numb and hollow core, he drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped them in his arms. He let his head fall back against the tree and stared upward into the thick canopy. Eyes unfocused, he tried to wrangle something out of the maelstrom of wreckage in his head. As the seconds danced past, he slowly settled into something resembling focus, only to realize what he was looking at.


    And so Henry began to scream.

 Chapter 1 - Moon Shaped Dreams

    I squeeze my eyes shut and wrap myself in a tight embrace, slowly rocking back and forth. Right now, that¡¯s all I care about. All I can care about. Not the bloated and begging questions that claw for attention. Bubbles of anxiety and fear that peek out from the shadows of my mind. They can keep their dark corners for all I care. Not the steady pulsating pain in my temples. I think it¡¯s dehydration. I hope so. I did hit the ground pretty hard¡­ I don¡¯t even mind how stupid I must look, shutting myself off from the world, reduced to a caricature of distress. None of it is even worth the hint of distraction they might bring. I can¡¯t afford half hearted attempts at diversion. Everything I have needs to be funneled towards disassociation. Oblivion. Escape.


    The wind weaves through branches and grass, whispering an awful tune. Mocking. Laughing at me. I press my eyes even tighter and hunch my shoulders, trying to cover my ears without letting go of my knees. I hate it, the sound it makes around me. I want it to stop and for a brief moment it does. The moment is quickly filled with something worse. Short ragged breaths that wheeze out into the night and the muttering of an intelligible plea.


    It doesn¡¯t seem to be coming from me, and for a moment I can bask in the lie. But I know. After my screams ran out of breath and the wind lost its legs, silence reins. It looms heavy over the night and my muffled words ring out like clashing bells. The specific words are unimportant and make little sense, even to me ¨C especially to me. They are just something to focus on, something to hold on to with a bloodless and desperate grip.


    There¡¯s an odd comfort in giving into the panic. Leaning into the steady stream of thoughtless words. A mantra for the insane. A prayer for deliverance. A distraction. What I need, for the cracks in my mind are spreading and I can only hold on for so long.


    My toes curls in my shoes and I try to forget, but even with my eyes firmly shut, there¡¯s no escape. The scene is burnt into the back of my eyelids, waiting for me with every bid to escape. It creeps closer, not the darkness, but the light. I want to be smothered in the darkness, swaddled and divorced from the world. It¡¯s the light that pumps acid into my blood and ice down my spine. It¡¯s the light that illuminates the shadowy corners and whispers in my ear.


    It is only the blind and the ignorant that do not fear. You are neither. So look, long and well, for it will not go away because you close your eyes.


    Some deep and animal part of my brain shrieks at my decision, but I have no choice. I know it¡¯s there, dancing in the dark. The truth runs its fingers through my hair and breathes down my neck. I can¡¯t ignore it anymore. I force open an eye and open myself back up to the night sky. My breath catches in my throat before being let out in a halting shudder.


    Idiot.


    I have to grab a protruding knot of root at my side to help steady myself as the blood rushes from my head. Saliva churns in my mouth, acid churns up my throat and I can¡¯t help it; I vomit violently over the nearby roots. Preoccupied by the bitter burn in my mouth and snot dripping from my nose, I belatedly notice the whimper that escapes my lips. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever whimpered before. I thought it was something reserved for small wounded animals, caught, broken and bleeding.


    Stupid.


    Yes, that¡¯s exactly what it¡¯s for, prey.


    Me.


    A nearly full harvest moon hangs large in the sky. A glowing ember that burns a hole in the night. The color of dead desert sand and the smoldering ash of a dying fire. It casts a twilight shroud over midnight shadows, painting the darkness in shaded hues of rust.


    Carved into the front of this looming amber orb sits a nightmare. Haunting and surreal, a grinning face stares down at the world. Made up of craggy and too wide features it plucks at the parts of my mind that fears the things that go bump in the night. Wide eyes, large and unblinking. Smile, strained and too full of teeth. It is wrong in the truest sense of the word.


    A shiver moves down my spine, making me twitch as I draw my knees closer to my chest. There is something horrid in that dead and hollow grin. Beyond the obvious and strange. A dichotomy between the horror shown and the horror hidden. A dissonance that brings a creeping disquiet, like a smile that never reaches the eyes.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Slowly, and with exaggerated care, I shuffle around the wide trunk of the tree, keeping the moon shaped visage in the corner of my sight. Quietly hoping to escape from the ghoulish countenance.


    ¡°You are right to be afraid.¡± says a soft voice, reaching down from above.


    My body freezes and I hold my breath. My muscles clench from the awkward position I stop in, but I ignore the burning ache. Only my eyes roam, frantically sweeping around me. I want to look up but I find myself unable to commit. What if¡­ My chest burns with the need for air and I try to breath with slow, quiet breaths. Too soon, a branch cracks above me and I flinch around from my position.


    Long meandering branches twist in the night sky, empty of anything but moss, leaves and the sweeping touch of the wind. I dart my eyes side to side, trying to pinpoint the voice¡¯s owner. Finding nothing but the pounding of my heart, I shuffle a back few steps from the tree, fists clenched and mouth dry.


    ¡°Most are not.¡± The voice continues from above. I whip my head towards the sound. Empty tree and still night are all that greet me. ¡°They are fools for they have forgotten, and they have forgotten for they are fools.¡± The speaker pauses and I traverse a few more feet in the silence. ¡°There is much to fear.¡±


    A war rages inside of me. A locked struggle between competing fears. Do I pick a direction and run, or remain here? I feel on the verge of panic, but the thought of putting my back to whomever owns the voice keeps me where I am. Barely. I grab a fistfuls of grass and gaze in the direction of the unseen speaker.


    There¡¯s a certain method to dealing with fear. Sprinting up the basement stairs after turning off the lights just will not do. You need slow measured steps. Taking your time in spite of the dark. Taking your time to spite the dark. So I take my first step into the dark.


    ¡°What ¨C who are you? Where are you?¡± I try to keep a steady gaze, but my eyes are drawn to every creaking branch and rustle of leaves.


    The wind hums through the tree. A dancing tapestry of sound that slowly takes on form. From the soft whisper of a breeze it begins to change. Like the shifting of the seasons, a change of mood and tone over the same unchanging foundation. A song emerges, skipping quietly through the night. A whistling tune, lonely and alone.


    My head cocks to the side. There¡¯s something¡­ off about the melody. Something that beckons with a crooked finger, hinting at what should be.


    I can almost feel it. A haunting discord in the notes that grabs my attention and spins around my mind. The night stretches and contracts along with the song, along with me.


    It should be a happy song ¨C it almost is. The wrong key. An unexpected note. It teases a smile, but never quite gets there. Close, like a song slowed down half a step.


    A frown settles on my face and I¡¯m so wrapped up in the music that I nearly miss it. As the tune fades away into the wind, a figure fades into view. On a horizontal run of branch high above my head, legs dangling in the air, sits a masked woman. White and smooth except for two half moon crescents where her eyes should be. They leave her eyes in shadow and dominate the otherwise empty mask.


    The masked woman gently kicks her legs back and forth in the air and I get the feeling there is a smile behind the disguise.


    ¡°Hello, little dreamer. This is a poor night to be alone.¡± Her voice has an odd tone to it, as if she were trying not to laugh. The mask moves towards the night sky and her voice takes on a musical cadence. ¡°A poor night to be alone, but a worse one to be lost. Tonight is special. The Amber Lantern is in full strength and it draws us close. Beckoning with one hand and grabbing with the other. Do you feel it? The Heart¡¯s Door is open and calling for blood.¡±


    I follow her gaze and flinch when I see the object of her attention. For a blissful moment, I had forgotten about the looming presence in the night sky. If anything, the small stretch of relief makes the snapback all the more jarring. Its unsettling smile seems wider with strain. It¡¯s empty eyes deeper and darker than before. My heart thuds in my chest, pushing and pulling my blood in grating strokes. I quickly turn back to the woman in the tree, but she¡¯s not there.


    ¡°A gift.¡±


    I flinch back when I realize the masked woman is no longer up above. I cartwheel my arms and try to keep balance, but I tip too far and hit the ground. She stands in front of me, leaning against the tree, where I had been only a few minutes ago. Hands behind her back, hair dancing lazy pirouettes in the wind, she whistles a quick refrain. The hair stands up on the back of my neck as she finishes her piece, a mocking tune.


    Carefully, eyes never leaving the figure in front of me, I stand up from my seat on the grass. I chance a slow step backwards, but the masked woman doesn¡¯t react. I take another and she moves, but only to move her head a bit to the side.


    A sharp whistle threads the air, but not from the woman. The gentle breeze from earlier is gone, replaced by something more insistent. A push where before it was a touch. My hair and clothes catch the wind and blow around me ever so slightly. The branches above me strain and creak while the wind begins to shriek.


    My stomach churns and lightning races through my limbs. The air feels heavier than before, laced with anticipation and change. Held tight with a mounting strain.


    Movement draws my eye down. The masked women brings her arms out from behind her back. Rusty moonlight reflects off of sharp steel and I turn to run.

 Chapter 2 - The Stories We Share

    I run.


    I run and I run and I run. Up and down rolling hills stained amber in the moonlight. At some point I tripped. I must have. How else did I end up splayed face down on the ground, bells tolling in my head and tears carving paths down dusty cheeks? One moment, endless fields of grass part around me, and the next, they tower over my head. Reaching up and out into¨C


    ¨CElectricity courses down my shoulder and back, leaving a smoldering fire in its wake. My left shoulder must have taken the brunt of the impact when I fell.


    Working through the jolts of pain, I flop around to my back. The sky blurs into a hazy mosaic that I can¡¯t help but enjoy. The abstract colors and shapes could be anything. Anywhere. Just another psychedelic burst from a dreaming mind. If only my unbidden tears didn¡¯t run their course. But they did and the dead sky answers back with a manic grin.


    Strident breaths escape through clenched teeth as I feel the embers in my shoulder and back pulse with savage glee. A passing thought insists on jarring my hurt shoulder. Maybe squeezing out a few more tears and moments of hazy relief from this twisted reality. A tired sigh escapes into the night.


    I lift myself off the ground and unclench my jaw, an odd mixture of heat and cold settling over my shoulder and back. I stand in a somewhat pleasant daze, enjoying the cool breeze run over my tired body. Falling into an almost meditative state until my body instinctively flinches which sets off a howl from the reignited sparks of pain.


    In the dirt and grass near my feet rests a bloody dagger. My tired attention slowly churns to my shoulder and then to the spot where I had fallen. The pieces snap together.


    I didn¡¯t fall. Well, I did. But I didn¡¯t trip. Okay, maybe I did. But it wasn¡¯t my fault! That vicious bitch stabbed me. Speared me. Threw a god damn dagger at me!


    I gingerly bend down and pick up the offending weapon by the ring at the end of its handle. I hold it with one finger slipped through the hole and inspect the bloody piece of metal. The dark burnished ring leads into a handle tightly wrapped in rough red cord. About a third of the dagger¡¯s total length, the handle ever so slightly widens as it reaches the base of the blade itself. Double edged and the same color as the ring, it runs a bit less than half a foot, slowly tapering in a soft curve over the last few inches to a sharp point. A point covered in my blood.


    A shiver runs from the base of my skull down to my tired feet and I go light headed for a few seconds as I stare at the dark, rust red spots on the metal. I can¡¯t help but swallow as I contemplate what it is I¡¯m actually seeing. My vision seems to focus into the bloody point and countless thoughts burst into existence as they fight for my attention. Pain and fear float to the top, but confusion is the main motif.


    Why? Why all of this? Why everything? Why¡­ just why?


    My head is filled with cotton and I can¡¯t get over that one word. That one question.


    Why?


    I look back and can just make out the vague shape of the tree I first found myself under. It¡¯s long branches grasping out into the night. Oddly enough, the sight helps. I can feel something unclench in the back of my head, if only just so. Where before I was spinning and sputtering in a numb circle without meaning, I feel able to take half a step back and breathe. At least before the weight and stress looming over me drags me back. I look down and clasp the dagger.


    I need to move.


    My first steps are more of a controlled stumble, momentum dragging me forward where strength cannot. Stiff and sore muscles warm up and my awkward shuffle eases into a slow jog.


    It¡¯s not long before my lungs are desperate, greedy and grasping with gulping breaths, but the air feels thin and useless. A wet smacking follows each step, alongside a steady tingling of warmth down my back. My sweat and blood soaked shirt sticking on and off as I float onward.


    But I have to keep going. She could still be behind me, gifting death with flashing knives. Silent footsteps and whispering wind, come to reap behind a whistling tune.


    A thick tongue flops in my mouth and sweat burns my eyes. Hazy shapes and bleeding colors settle onto a messy landscape. Flashes of white sear the corners of my vision. Dreams of pale masks sing out to me and urge me on. It doesn¡¯t matter where I¡¯m going, I don¡¯t know and don¡¯t care. My body is content to go forward in a wheezing stumble.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    One dead step after another. Shambling through a sepia tinted world. Shallow rolling hills spread out before me, tall grass bending in a tangled waltz with the wind. Gentle rises and falls, a blanket of grass over a sleeping body.


    Sweat, dirt and cold metal flood my head with every breath. Filling my nostrils and burrowing through the stuffing in my head. My throat spasms with a reflexive need to swallow. A consistent, hollow reminder. The thought keeps pace with my every step, my every breath. A cadence that fills my mind, pushing out white masks, grinning faces and burning limbs. Water. Water. Water.


    In the distance, a lonely boulder cuts through the tall grass. A stranger, lost and alone. I shift to the side and move towards the rock, releasing the tight grip on my body and letting the inertia burn off until I settle into a stumbling walk.


    Halfway to the boulder, a drop of cold blooms over the top of my head. Another spills down my neck, drawing a cooling line through sweat and dirt. Another falls into my upturned hand before I realize it¡¯s rain.


    Water.


    The word tightens and loosens a knot in my chest and I cover the last few feet to the half-buried rock. The first hint of a weary smile teases my lips at the relief of rest and water.


    The pitted surface feels cool and steady under my hand. I tilt my head towards the sky, greeting the rain with an open mouth. I wet my parched tongue and throat, not nearly enough, but it¡¯s a start. With what little effort my exhausted body has to spare, I rip myself away from wetting my throat to sit down.


    It¡¯s as if a swift cut severs the strings holding me up. Gravity grabs me by the throat and my legs fold with shaking ease. My back slams against the boulder and the world shrinks to a keyhole of light. Screaming echoes far off in the distance before it burst full volume into my ears. Ringing thrums through my head and all thought is scoured away. I claw into the dirt, fingers sinking with violent relish into the ground. I tear out grass and clench my teeth, breath hissing out through the gaps.


    My sweat and blood mingle with the steadily increasing rain as I writhe on the ground. Time passes beyond my attention until I lay in the wet dirt, chest rising and falling in a numb two-step. Face down, I hesitantly shift and reach around to my left shoulder. Shaky fingers slide along my soaking wet shirt, but stop when they come up sticky. Blood. Lots of it.


    My breath quickens and I hold my hand up in front of my face, watching the blood disappear under the rain. I rise to my knees and stare into the night.


    A tired hand reaches over and moves as far down my back as it can. Testing the damage with a hesitant touch. My fingers meet hot flared flesh and the touch sends stinging sparks flaring through my shoulder. A half laugh, half sob gurgles out from my throat.


    Great.


    * * *


    The stars pivot on their wheel before the sparks dulls to a slow steady throb. My good arm reaches up and I trace the space between the bright lights. Constellations, images that connect the night sky. No ¨C a night sky. No longer the night sky. Not anymore. Not for me.


    I always thought they were silly, if I thought of them at all. Quaint artifacts of the past. Something to point out to children. But looking up at the winking beads of light above me, I realize what they are ¨C were. Stories. Stories that people created, shared and lived under. My stories. Is it ridiculous to appropriate an entire world¡¯s culture for your own? No¡­ not when that world is your home, and you¡¯re so, so far away.


    It¡¯s odd that this is what breaks the dam. The thought of no longer living under my world¡¯s stories. No longer being part of those stories. Where is the mighty warrior with his belt and sword? Where has the great lumbering she-bear gone? The mighty scorpion? The vain and arrogant Queen? Does the loyal hound ever shine in this sky?


    My gaze turns away from the turning stars. Some distant animal inside me scratches and claws at my soul, begging for escape. Away from the heavy night. Away from the looming sky. Gone from the starry cage blanketing the world. Those distant lights are unreachable bars, locking me into a strange and alien story. Someone else¡¯s, not mine.


    I try to swallow it down, but emotion isn¡¯t a river you can damn without consequence. And the pressure is too much for me to handle as I am. My tired eyes fight to stay open, my stomach twists and snarls in hunger, and my shoulder presses a red hot iron to my will. My face contorts and the tide rises from my chest to my eyes. I wrap my good arm around my body in a hug as I pull myself tighter and tighter. Shudders wrack my body, before, during and after the wailing sobs. Not the surprised cry of a sudden hurt. Not the frantic cry of a trapped animal. But the defeated, howling cry of someone who has lost and is lost in turn. The cry of an adult being cracked open to reveal the small scared child inside.


    The night wind carries the raw pain, loneliness and hurt, over hills and under moon, until a deep silence reigns again. Numb. Empty. Fragile. My fingers wrap around corded leather and tighten. Desperately holding onto something. A fragment of power. A hint that I¡¯m not so weak and broken as I know I am.


    My head bobs in the rain. Hot blood, cool rain and hard earth. It¡¯ll have to do. I walk to the boulder and make my way around it. The far side rises from the ground on something of a slope. Enough, maybe.


    Three attempts and a bruised knee later, I lay down on my uninjured side. From the top of the boulder rain patters around me, lighter than before, but still insistent. Steady. Calming. It helps. Exhaustion and blood loss do the rest. My eyelids tap out and flutter closed. Before I slip away to sleep, a voice tolls in my head. No words, at least at first. Just a crazed, desperate laugh. Then a spiteful musing. Will I die tonight, bleeding out in my sleep? The question incites another short lived chuckle. Dying my first night here¡­ With some effort I crack open an eye and peek up at the sky. What an awful fucking story that would be.

 Chapter 3 - Now You See it, Now You Dont

    My distressed groan greets the rising sun from my spot atop the boulder; the bright spark over the hills forcing my hand after many minutes of denial. With a final moan my eyes peek open into the morning light as I glare at the horizon.


    Oh Lord, I beg of you, deliver me from this mortal coil. Body bruised, battered and broken. Your blessed son is so weary. So very weary. And coffee. He needs coffee.


    My fingers curl and uncurl, working through a harsh stiffness afflicting every joint in my body. Rock, rain and stab wound wove a night of tight and gripping unconsciousness. My body wrapped around itself in a shivering ball of stress.


    The sun breaks over the horizon by the time I¡¯ve restored my range of motion to something resembling normal. Bit by bit I work through the symphony of aches, not stopping until I reach my left shoulder. Keeping the injured arm cradled to my chest, I test out the wound. Like touching an open flame, the lesson is learnt quickly and definitively. No needless moving of my shoulder, on pain of ¨C well, pain.


    I ease myself into a seated position and soak in the warm rays of light, content to bask in the gentle heat of the morning. All the while I furtively check out the sun from the corner of my eye before letting out a held breath.


    Thank God.


    As far as I can tell, it¡¯s just a normal sun. No Erdrich abominations gouged into its surface. Just a big friendly ball of warmth and light. I swear to myself that if I ever come across a Sun Cult in this land then I will, if not join, make a nice donation to the cause. If only to spite its creepy lunar counterpart.


    For the first time since arriving, a hint of a smile breaks out onto my face. It comes and goes, but leaves a lingering spot of warmth that stands against the tide of despair surging around the corner. With a moment of calm, questions that I decidedly put to the side in the heat of the moment are much harder to ignore.


    Where and I?


    Why am I here?


    How did I get here?


    Questions that are hard to ignore, but harder to answer. At least for now, I have no recourse to even begin tackling them. Everything has been one long train of pain and confusion since I¡¯ve arrived with no one to look to for guidance.


    My eyes lazily sweep the rolling hills in front of me, tracing the rises and falls for lack of something to do. I feel oddly safe on my big rock. Maybe it¡¯s some animal instant about holding the high ground, but I¡¯m hesitant to move on to the surrounding fields. For the moment I¡¯m safe, if hungry and thirsty, and that¡¯s a bandage I¡¯m reluctant to rip off. So I sit here while I¡¯m able, taking what solace I can in this small piece of calm.


    The sun has broken the horizon by the time my reprieve ends, new worries pushing for my attention. I clench my hands and let out a sigh. Shortly followed by another.


    A look behind me reveals news both good and bad. The good: there¡¯s no blood on the stone where I was sleeping, which leads me to believe my wound stopped bleeding fairly quickly last night. It might have been absorbed by my shirt, but I¡¯ll take it as a sign that the the wound isn¡¯t as bad as I previously thought. I¡¯m no doctor, but this seems like a good start. Not bleeding out in my sleep and all. I still feel a nagging worry about infection and other health issues I¡¯m ill equip to handle, but I take comfort that it¡¯s a problem for the living. Which was by no means a guarantee.


    The bad: And it is bad. The dagger is no longer a dagger. It¡¯s a handle.


    The little slut. It kisses me only to flee in the night. Didn¡¯t even leave a number.


    It sits to my left, in the same place I dropped it the night before. Only without the pointy part that gave me a welcome slap on the back. A closer look shows that the blade is simply gone. Not snapped off or broken, merely not there.


    Cautiously, I pick it up and tap the end of the handle against the stone. Making sure it isn¡¯t just invisible and waiting to cut me as soon as I drop my guard. After the disappearing act the masked lady pulled, I wouldn¡¯t put it out of the realm of possibilities. Truth be told, after what I saw last night, the realm of possibilities has become a whole lot larger. Something to keep in mind. My quaint earth sensibilities no longer need apply.


    Magic, or something very much like it, plays a role here. Magic. A grin breaks free despite my souring mood and a stream of giggles, actual giggles, burst forth. Magic! Granted, potentially horrifying and life threatening magic, but magic all the same. Speaking of¡­


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    I tap the handle a few more times before tentatively touching the end where the blade would normally be attached. Nothing. Empty air where there should be cold metal. Concerning. And pretty detrimental to my future ability to survive. I snake my finger through the end ring and let the handle drop down to rest against the rock. A dagger would have been nice to have.


    At those words, the world lurches violently to the side. My head feels full of sloshing liquid and I collapse bonelessly against the rock. I struggle and fail to right myself, my limbs too weak and unwieldily to complete the simple task. Countless minutes pass before I finally gather the strength and am able to push myself back upright. I teeter back and forth, my body wracked with shivers. Through clenched teeth I take long hissing breaths, hoping beyond all hope that whatever is happening will pass. Time ticks by as I stand on the precipice of hysteria, pins and needles screaming throughout my body. Eventually my muscles unclench and my head clears enough to ask some important questions. Such as: what, why, and how do I make sure that never happens again?


    Moving to stretch my cramped muscles, I look downwards and mentally flinch, my body too weary to follow suit. Adding onto my mounting bewilderment, the dagger is once again whole. Standing still and upright, most of the blade sits fitted deep into the boulder top. Eyes wide, I flick the handle, but the blade stays solid and stuck into the rock.


    I turn to my left and right with exaggerated care, before looking back down. Thoughtlessly checking for confirmation on what just occurred. I know I just giggled my way through the wonder of magic, but seeing it point blank leaves me more wary than jubilant.


    Dangerous. Very dangerous.


    A few seconds, give or take, and my hand would have been significantly more aerodynamic. A phantom pain pulses in my hand where I had just been touching the bladeless handle.


    A fat bead of sweat slinks down my forehead as I consider the implications. The blade didn¡¯t shoot out as far as I can tell. It rematerialized, instantaneously, and removed everything in its path. Namely, about five inches of solid rock. And if that little trick comes part and parcel with the fit I just went through¡­ That was decidedly not fun and whimsical. Magic is not something I can afford to play around with or take lightly. All I can hope is that it¡¯s like working a muscle and I unknowingly lifted a weight I wasn¡¯t strong enough to handle.


    My thoughts soon move to what exactly caused the blade to reappear. I cast back through my memories and circle around my last thoughts before everything went sideways. I was bemoaning the lost blade. Thinking how nice a full dagger would have been. My eyes roam up and down the blade. I was wishing for it. Wanting it. A nervous energy swirls in my stomach. I need to be careful, by that same pattern I should avoid¡­ what? Not wanting it?


    Realizing my mistake I tense up in dread anticipation. A few seconds breeze by in silence before I allow myself to relax in surprise.


    Huh. Okay then.


    So I may need to do a little more work on my hypothesis. Expressing desire doesn¡¯t seem to be the trigger. Or, at least it¡¯s not that simple. Another item tacked onto my growing list of unanswerable questions.


    I run my hands through my hair while my eyes trace the red corded handle. With trepidation I run a finger through the end ring and give the dagger a quick pull. My eyebrows quirk up as the blade easily rises an inch out of the stone. Removing the finger and wrapping my hand around the handle, I yank the blade up and out of the boulder. Like a knife through butter it slides out, leaving a perfect mold in the rock face below. Held in the morning air, the mental reflects the early sun back into my eyes.


    I honestly feel more exhausted then when I woke up. There¡¯s an appealing urge to simply lay back down and embrace the quiet oblivion of sleep once more, to deal with anything and everything later. But my tongue is thick in my mouth reminding me just how thirsty I really am. I scan the surrounding fields and catch a sparkle between two small hills. Moving my head back and forth I come to the conclusion that with enough squinting, it could be seen as a source of water. Maybe. Hopefully. I¡¯ve had too much experience with disappearing acts and I can only pray to my my new solar overlord that its not a mirage.

 Chapter 4 - Goodbye and Hello

    A content grin lazes on my face as I sit down by the edge of the brook, stomach bloated with cool, fresh water.


    Water is so underrated.


    The trek towards the sparkle in the distance took longer than I expected. Enough that the sun was firmly at its height in the sky and my mouth felt full of glue. But as I bask in the sliver of shade cast by the surrounding hills, listening to the soothing babbling of water over its bed of pebbles and stones, I can check debilitating dehydration off of my checklist of impending dangers.


    I reach over and pluck a handful of smooth stones from the ground and idly toss them into the small stream. Watching the ripples form only to be quickly washed away by the moving water. It gives me something to do while I turn my thoughts towards the future.


    Food stands tall in my to-do list. It hasn¡¯t even been a full day since I was thrust into this land, less since I last ate, but I¡¯ve becoming increasingly hungry none the less. It really isn¡¯t about the length of time, but what¡¯s occurred during it. My terror filled midnight run, blood loss, and the morning hike from the crack of dawn to midday. I¡¯m in no danger of starving, but the intermittent pangs of pain in my stomach are making it hard to focus on anything but.


    From where I sit, the surrounding hills block the lay of the land. Only the spaces in between can be seen from my vantage, where the brook winds its way until it too passes out of sight.


    I grab my dagger and make my way to the top of a nearby hill. Emerging back into the sunlight, the land unfolds before me in a tapestry of green. I trace the water back and forth until it disappears into a distant tree line. Blurred to a hazy palate of brown and green, the forest stretches far to my left and right.


    Besides the large solitary tree I first appeared by, and the equally remote boulder, these fields have been more of the same: rolling hills of grass. I haven¡¯t reached the point of eating grass to fill my stomach and neither do I want to. All signs point towards the distant forest as my best bet for food. I can¡¯t shake the lingering worry over how I will procure said food, seeing as I¡¯ve neither hunted nor foraged before in my life. But that¡¯s getting ahead of myself. It¡¯s a direction, a step forward, and I don¡¯t have the luxury of going back.


    * * *


    After an awkard yet thorough washing of my wound in the small stream, accompanied by a surprisingly constrained string of curses, I start out towards the woods. Staying in line with the pattern so far, I encounter neither human nor animal while I make my way, sticking to the meandering path of the brook.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    A few stops for water and rest later, I¡¯ve made it within spitting distance to what I now know, with certainty, is a forest. Tall evergreen trees rise up to the sky like watching soldiers, their long trunks wrapped in thick, scaly bark. Each one reaches upward in a rigid line before bursting into a scattering of branches and needles near their tops. Thankfully, this doesn¡¯t seem to be an old growth forest. Wide empty spaces surround each trunk, little in the way to slow me down as I travel through. A heavy layer of dead and dried pine needles coat the forest floor, struck with beams of light here and there where the sun has broken through the canopy.


    Decidedly happy with a change in scenery I turn around for a moment to look back towards the fields from which I¡¯ve came. I can¡¯t see my little boulder, let alone the tree with its wide and sweeping branches. And as far as I¡¯m concerned, good riddance. It¡¯s where I first arrived, but there¡¯s no way of knowing if the location held any significance.


    Maybe it was a door of sorts, or held a key to returning home. Maybe it was just a place, a starting point, but nothing more. My fingers curl into a tight grip around my dagger. Someday, when I know more, when I have the power to do so without fear of the things that slink in the dark, I will return. To seek answers to the questions that leer at me with taunting faces. Because as much as it hurts, all I can do is scramble like a mouse in a field, trying to avoid the attention of those bigger than me. Trying to simply stay alive for one more day.


    With a heavy weight in my chest I return my gaze to the forest. Blade in hand, I gather one large breath and take my first steps into the shadows of these looming giants.


    * * *


    Nope NOPE NOPE!


    I break free from the tree line and burst back into the sunlight, tripping over myself into a heap of tangled limbs. My dagger skips away onto the bank of the brook and I claw my way towards it on my hands and knees. Headless of anything else but the glinting piece of metal on the ground, I dive the last few feet and snatch up the red corded handle. In the same motion I twist my torso and flip myself onto my back, the blade held in front of me in two trembling hands.


    My breath rasps out in heaving gasps as tears trail unbidden down my face. From my back I flick my eyes side to side, scanning the edge of the forest in manic vigilance, the dagger held in desperate deterrence.


    I barely even register the flaring pain of my shoulder or the wet, sticky stream of blood down my back. My thoughts are caught in a stuttering loop of shock. All I can do is point the dagger towards the trees and hope against all hope that this isn¡¯t the day I die.


    But this world has not proven itself kind, nor caring, and soon enough, countless pairs of burning red orbs dot the tree line, appearing one after another in a dread parade of flickering wrath. They cast twisted shapes with their hollow light and collectively pause for a second at the very edge, where forest meets field. My hands begin to shake as I watch in numb terror. Then the second ends, and they advance.

 Chapter 5 - Out of the Forest and into the Fire

    As they move from the shade of the forest into the light, the blazing red orbs are revealed for what they are: eyes.


    Radiating hunger and contempt, they pin me to the spot. I frantically sweep my head from left to right, more concerned with keeping my eyes on everything I can, rather than taking in the details. So even in the light of the day, all I get is a general sense of the creatures.


    The thought that keeps spinning around my head is that they are too big. It¡¯s what I might expect if a gecko was given the time to evolve and mutate into an apex predator. Maybe a Komodo Dragon would be similar enough and incite the same fear tinged disbelief, but seeing these things in person is too far removed from what I''ve viewed on computer and TV screens.


    Despite my best attempts to keep everything in my line of sight, certain details draw me in. Eyes of fire leave red streaks in my vision as the creatures spread out before me with surprising grace and speed. Claws spear into the earth and leave deeps gouges in the ground behind them. Powerful tails, corded with thick muscles, sweep back and forth in a hypnotic sway. But again and again I¡¯m drawn back to those burning embers. Another thing, small and simple in its own way, that simply should not be. A reminder, when I need it the least, that I am truly far from home.


    The lizards have effectively encircled me in no time at all. Easily done as I lay on my back, caught between fight or flight. I¡¯m too nervous to take my eyes off these prowling reptiles; Visions of sharp fangs sinking into the meat of my neck keep me facing forward. My blade is held forwards in both hands with what I hope is a passably threatening display.


    Through the crushing dismay of impending violence I¡¯m able to maintain a shred of control. Enough to count five of these hell spawned lizards, two on my left, two on my right, and one directly in front of me. Focusing on something as simple as numbers fosters a flickering oasis of calm, quickly snuffed out in its transience, but bringing a previously overlooked detail. Behind the creatures, multiple streams of smoke billow up into the sky. They twist like thin ribbons, rising from the furrows dug out by knife like claws. In a few instances, small patches of grass have even caught flame.


    Burning red eyes, literally spreading fire in their wake¡­ Reason would dictate that a pack of coordinated lizards the size of wolves are already bordering on overkill. I would insist to any and all higher beings currently watching that giant predator lizards with fire itself coursing through their bodies is a bit ostentatious, but what do I know? This world seems to care little for me or my worries.


    Unconcerned with my panicked inner dialogue, the marauding pack continues to advance towards my position. There is maybe 10 feet between me and the closest lizard; Saliva dripping through its fanged mouth, sizzling as it hits the ground. A terrible clarity strikes through the fog and I begin to scramble backward on my hands and feet in an awkward, crab like shuffle.


    My sudden movement draws one of the lizards on my left and I can feel more than see the impending attack in my peripheral vision. Pulse thundering in my ears, I twist around as my hand first touches the cool water of the brook. Driving down hard with my legs and good arm, I flip myself over and onto my feet in one motion, barely avoiding a self inflicted cut with my dagger. My feet struggle to find purchase on the smooth stones littering the river bank and I nearly fall, but I¡¯m able to salvage enough forward momentum to splash through the running water.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    I¡¯m a little less than halfway through the stream when I hear a cacophony of sliding stones and an angry hiss that draws my attention backwards. I whip around, blade first, to see the charging lizard skidding to a stop in front of the water. Unable to arrest its movement in time, one of the creature¡¯s legs hits the edge of the running water and a thin sizzling sound pierces the air. The reptile jerks the limb back out of the water with a snarl, ever so lightly limping as a small band of steam cascades from what I pray is a wound.


    A detached and slightly crazed part of my mind imagines the whole lot of them tripping into the river and fizzling away into nothing, while I cackle from my safe spot in the brook. A split second is all I need to trash such thoughts as desperate escapism. The offending lizard having already retreated back from the moving water with a wariness speaking to at least a type of animal cunning, if not outright intelligence.


    I do have my spot in the brook, which is a blessing beyond what I can adequately express my thanks for. With hindsight it¡¯s fairly obvious that these beings of fire would be weak to water, though to what extent I cannot say. Whether it is on the level of a distressing irritant or a full on existential threat.


    I have an ineffably better position than before, although I belatedly realize that I¡¯ve traded away any real options but to stand my ground ¨C or in this case, water. Their apparent weakness to water is all I have going for me and I can¡¯t give that up.


    Noticing that the two to my right have been slowly moving closer, I cup a handful of water and fling it in their direction. Most of it falls out during the motion and the rest sprays harmlessly onto the ground. I can¡¯t tell If any water actually scored a hit and if the increasingly heat hazed air above them is any indication, the act only seems to have enraged them further. I refuse to let that stop me from sending splashes of water in the direction of each and every lizard. I get the feeling that doing so is merely stalling the inevitable, however I dread the moment when they are close enough that my dagger must come into play.


    I¡¯m broken out of my stalling when, after sending a spray to my left, one of the lizards on the right breaks their apparent malaise and dashes forward towards my position. I¡¯m caught flat footed and only have the time to ready my blade in its general direction before it¡¯s at the water''s edge. To my surprise, the fanged creature flexes its thick limbs and jumps far to my right side. It easily clears the brook, sliding a foot or so before its claws stem its movement.


    While I appreciate not have a wolf sized hell-lizard soaring in my direction, I¡¯m now pinned down on both sides. I swing my dagger back and forth as I try to keep the creatures on either side of the water in my sight. My hopes of escaping this situation through some deus ex machine were already thin to none, but I chance a fleeting look up and over the encirclement of lizards. As before, It¡¯s just me and the gaggle of creatures as far as I can see.


    Whether it¡¯s the instinct of a predator or true intelligence, one of them attacks the moment I lift my eyes. All I get is a vague sense of dread before its upon me.


    I don¡¯t even feel feel the impact. I just see twin blazing lights of red fill my vision followed by the sky rolling backwards. My head smacks against the water and everything goes fuzzy. Burning hot knives stab into my chest and legs and my scream is muffled by a flood of water into my mouth. Coughing through miserable attempts to draw in air, I bring my arm up and over to stab the creature, banking on a solid cut to get the horrid thing off of me. To my mounting horror, an empty hand smacks into its side. Despair fills me and I flail with every ounce of strength my frightened animal brain can muster.


    My screams reach a higher pitch as the water around me starts to bubble and boil in a crimson tinted hue. The last thing I hear is a ferocious hissing noise and a matching roar against my ear before the darkness smoothers me.

 Chapter 6 - To Open Your Eyes

    I close my eyes and a new world opens itself to me. A world of mist, curling and twisting in endless eddies. Thick and opaque, the mist has weight, but no form. It just sprawls into the distance. I turn around, but it¡¯s the same no matter where I look. However, slowly, the mist begins to recede. Or rather it begins to settle as a scene takes shape.


    A forest unfolds around me. Ancient. What I imagine it might have looked like before humans stepped into the world, heavy and humid with age. Towering moss covered trees rise into the sky. Silent sentinels, guarding and watching the land. Vibrant green clovers cover the soil, matched by the occasional fern. Their wide feathery leaves brushing the air. Here and there, fallen branches and dead rotting trees cover the ground. And in the distance, the world dissolves into a misty green as the trees fade into soft shadows.


    Beautiful.


    One direction seems as good as any, so I take in a breath of wet air and began to walk. My steps are soft and the ground soaks up most of the sound. I don¡¯t know where I am, but neither do I feel lost. I don¡¯t really feel much of anything at all. I¡¯m content to simply walk through this primordial forest. One foot in front of the other, threading a trail between moss dappled trees. Minutes pass by with nothing to mark them but the muted step of my feet. My legs and lower back are sore, but I don¡¯t mind. It¡¯s a fulfilling pain. The kind that leaves you satisfied. I still don¡¯t know where I¡¯m headed, but such worries slip away with the misty footsteps I leave behind. Just a pair of feet, striding over clover and fern. My hand trail over a fallen branch and I run my fingers through the crumbling wood. The forest is just so ¨C so peaceful. So quiet. I cock my head to the side.


    I wonder if¨C


    A loud screech rips through everything and the world shifts out of focus. I feel something torn out of my grasp and I¡¯m falling. Falling and screaming. A vast blue fills my vision and I hit the water before I even see it. The cold slams into me and the world sharpens with a piercing clarity. The abrupt shift from ground to air to water sending me reeling with panic.


    The world shouldn¡¯t work this way. It doesn¡¯t. It can¡¯t.


    My head breaks through the water and I suck in lungfuls of air. I pump my arms and legs to stay above the surface, but the shocking cold sends my body into shivering convulsions.


    I know how to swim. That¡¯s easy. But as I twist my head around to see over the cresting waves I¡¯m at a loss of what to do. Keep swimming is the obvious answer.


    But to where?


    And for how long?


    * * *


    What am I going to do? I¡¯ve been at this¡­ what? Five minutes? Ten? My limbs already feel like dead weights. Pulling me down. Away from the air to the dark waters below.


    The water stretches forever in all directions. Undulating slate blue waves, broken by foamy caps of white. No gulls squawk and soar in the cloudless sky. Just me.


    Alone.


    * * *


    I spend most of my time floating on my back to conserve strength, holding the air in my lungs to keep myself buoyant. Blowing out the air. Sucking it back in. And all the while I flap my limbs to keep afloat.


    I stare so long at the sky I begin to see things. Odd expanding and contracting pockets in the air. Twisting¡­ somethings in the corner of my vision that disappear when I turn to look. The faint whisper of geometric patterns overlaid on the blue expanse. I try closing my eyes but the dark only invites claustrophobia. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    I wonder if there¡¯s anything in the water. Swimming under me.


    Circling. Watching. Laughing.


    * * *


    I inhale a mouthful of briny salt water and spit it up in a retching, coughing fit. I must have held my breath for too long, leaving me light headed and dizzy. I think I drifted off and began to sink.


    * * *


    My arms hurt so much.


    I didn¡¯t think they could. Radiating agony in all directions. I thought I understood pain. I didn¡¯t. If I could tear them off I would. But I have to keep swimming. Treading water. Staying afloat. My legs hurt even more than my arms. The pain is so bad it¡¯s beyond my muscles. I feel it in my bones. The marrow feels bruised and drained.


    * * *


    I let go and sink into the water. Eyes closed and chest full of air, I drop a few feet and relax. Just for a few seconds. Savoring the weightlessness. Feeling my body float in the current without having to struggle or strain. It would be so easy to just keep floating. If only I could. If only¡­


    I open my eyes and swim towards the shimmering light of the surface.


    * * *


    I let loose a gurgled laugh that sends a spray of bubbles into the water.


    My arms and legs don¡¯t hurt any more.


    Is that good?


    It has to be.


    God how I hated that burning, pulsing, aching throb. Those hidden knifes that stabbed with every twitch and movement.


    Silly, silly Henry. Of course it¡¯s a good thing.


    I¡¯m glad it¡¯s gone. Good riddance.


    Whatever it was.


    * * *


    The pain in my throat drags me back to lucidity. Burning like a hot coal in my mind, it eats through the mush in my skull before dropping into my throat, desiccating the tissue until it¡¯s a struggle to swallow. I feel hollowed out and brittle. And I can¡¯t help but wonder what will break first.


    My body? Or my mind?


    * * *


    At times I forget the water. I forget the sky. I forget everything. There¡¯s just the air. Moving in and out of my lungs. In and out. Receive and return. I trace it¡¯s path through my body. It tickles my nose. There¡¯s a rhythm to it. A cycle. A wheel spinning round and round and round and round. But I notice something. In the space between inhale and exhale. When my lungs are full and ready to empty themselves. There¡¯s a pause. A small break. A moment between the two when everything stills. When the wheel stalls and the flowing circle shrinks to a point. Like a ball tossed into the air. It¡¯s the moment before it begins to fall back down. A piece of eternity caught in that sliver of time. I disappear into that slice of infinity. On each breath I lean back and sink into that pause. A little longer each time. Until I forget my body as well. And I¡¯m just the air. Balanced on the tip of a needle. Expanding into the the edges of the world.


    * * *


    The pressure feels like a clamp on my temples and an ice pick between my eyes. My eyes. They flutter open and I¡¯m surrounded by a bright flowing darkness. But they sting and I struggle to keep them open... Why?


    I look around and my hair floats by, a half step behind my head. Left. Right. Down. Up.


    Ah.


    I remember. Water. Ocean. Swimming.


    The glowing, refracted light of the sky is so pretty. I reach my arm up and grasp. But it¡¯s so far away.


    A howling whisper in my mind tells me to breath. It screams in a soft murmur that I¡¯m going to die. My chest convulses as it tries, and fails, to take a breath.


    Traitor. I¡¯m not giving up the air. It¡¯s mine. It¡¯s me.


    My body tells me that I¡¯m wrong. I need to let it out. Let it go. It¡¯s poison now.


    I tell my body that it¡¯s wrong. Poison? That couldn¡¯t be further from the truth. The truth. It''s there. It''s¨C


    My thoughts wind down as the edges of my vision burn away and my body floats further and further into the deep.


    A laugh echoes.


    A hand grasps.


    And I open my eyes.

 Chapter 7 - The Itch

    The world passes by in disjointed flashes. A scattering of senses that provide brief illumination before fading away. A pulsing bloom of pain spreading through my chest. A fleeting smell of ash, sulfur and charred meat. A collage of blue, green and brown sliding by in a never-ending dance. Sounds come and go without meaning, beyond my ability to grasp.


    Some stand out with a lasting clarity, while others fade away like sparks from a fire. Throughout it all is an overwhelming sense of wrongness that has nothing to do with words, reason or conscious thought. A pervading itch in some deeper, unknowable part of my being. A voice in my soul, trying to scream with a mouth sown shut.


    The humid fever dream squirms through my mind. Stripping me down to something that operates on the base levers of pain and relief, desire and rejection. All I can do is ride the waves in blind reaction, unable to rise out of the tide sweeping me to and fro.


    The pressure squeezes me tighter and tighter. The locked grip of a giant, pinning me down in misery. I struggle with no recourse, in a place where time holds no sway. Broken and beaten down until a cool wind wraps around me in a gentle embrace. Soothing the raging waters inside until I finally escape into a gentle abyss


    * * *


    The first thing I¡¯m aware of is the heat. Overwhelming. Suffocating. Both within and without, it steals my strength and all I can do is let out a gargled moan that dissolves into a wet and wheezing cough. My body rattles through the fit, trying and failing to draw in a solid breath. My lungs are made of cheesecloth and the air seems to just slip right through. Every breath is a labor to complete and the coughing only makes it worse.


    Soon, despite the heavy heat pressing in, I begin shiver. My back and jaw clenching up in pain as I shake from head to toe. One after another, I¡¯m beset by a deluge of suffering that leaves me drained and exhausted. My awareness is broken thing and the torment stretches on, drifting in and out of what thin strands of consciousness I still hold.


    Eventually, I rise above my own personal bubble of woe and a low roaring reaches my ears, interspersed by a series of crackles and pops. The sounds slips around my head for a while, unable to find purchase until something slides into place and I recognize the source. Fire.


    The thought sends a pulse of nervous energy through me, pushing me to leave the pervading darkness through a single open eye. I gaze upon the pine needle covered earth in front of me before tracing the ground up to a crackling fire. Red, yellow and orange dance upon a log cabin styled campfire, sending fleeting embers out with intermittent pops.


    The flames send out waves of heat that are only matched by the heat radiating out of me. It¡¯s not a pleasant warmth; As if my body were slowly being cooked from the inside out. It¡¯s too much. My mind rejects the heat and suffering. It retreats from the outside, back into my inner world, before dissolving away into nothing.


    * * *


    ¡°Wake up.¡± The words drag me back from my tranquil respite. ¡°Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.¡± I go to turn over and away from the obnoxious noise, but my body refuses to listen, only offering a token attempt to move before giving up. ¡°I know you can hear me.¡± My everything hurts, each in it¡¯s own separate way, and all I want is to slip back into oblivion. I try to do just that, but the pain has a tight hold on me, refusing an easy release. An endeavor made harder by the incessant stream of words directed towards me.


    With a start, I crack open my eyes, or eye, one of them stuck shut. My thoughts are slow to come around, but something buried deep connects the dots.


    Someone is talking to me.


    Everything else is dim and unimportant compared to my visceral need for actual human connection. A shining beacon that overpowers my near absolute lack of agency.


    ¡°Ah, there we are.¡± It¡¯s all I can do to open the one eye and stare ahead, the weight of injury and pain turning the easy into draining feats of effort. ¡°Now I doubt you¡¯ll appreciate this fact, but you¡¯re going to need to relieve yourself eventually. And while I appreciate the extent of your injuries, I am not going to be helping you do so. Nor will I be cleaning up any mess you make. So¡­¡± I fight my heavy eyelids, blinking past the mounting urge to let them rest. ¡°¡­.It¡¯s really in both of our interests at this point.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    All I can see are the two boots of the speaker in front of me, cast in flickering relief from the fire. Brown and knee-high, they are pointed a bit to my right, one of them tapping up and down and up and down. The hypnotic motion decidedly not helping my attempts to stay awake.


    ¡°Look, knocking on the heart¡¯s door is never going to be enjoyable, but you know what¡¯s worse? Doing so covered in your own shit and piss. So if you¨C¡±


    The rest slides off me, meaningless sounds that I can no longer grasp as I return to the land of slumber and dream.


    * * *


    The world rushes back to fill the empty expanses of exhaustion. Blinking away the clumsy vestiges of sleep, I absently stare into a dying fire while my head gets itself back up to speed. A nebulous¡­ something tickles the edges of my mind. Important, but forgotten, it leaves an aggravating itch that I long to scratch. I mentally circle the vagueness, hoping to stumble upon a chain of connection that will lead me to whatever it is.


    I lay there, thinking in wandering loops until the question is taken out of my hands. Footsteps sound out in the air, far out of my narrow line of sight. Soft against the padded earth, they become more distinct as they come closer to entering my vision. Stopping just outside of what I can see, a shuffling is followed by a series of dull thumps and sharp cracks as a bundle of wood is dropped to the ground near the fire, one errant branch rolling within a few inches of my face.


    ¡°Good. Good. You¡¯re awake. Saves me the trouble. Now you fell asleep in the middle of our last conversation. Being the upstanding type I am, I won¡¯t hold it against you.¡±


    I¡¯m in an odd place mentally. Countless traumas, injuries and worries leave me less than I should be, yet still together enough to recognize the deficiency. The mere acknowledgement that I¡¯m not all there proving that I¡¯m not all gone either. Working with half a deck of cards, I¡¯m slow to disengage from my musings and notice that the voice has stopped. The silence following the pronouncement stretches on, each second that passes further hinting towards an expectation for a response of some sort.


    A few more seconds tick by before I attempt to retort with a hesitant, ''thank you?'' All that emerges is a gurgled groan that devolves into a new round of coughing, the rattling sounds interspersed by a wet wheezing. The two run their course, capped by a second, longer groan.


    ¡°No need to commiserate over your transgression, what¡¯s done is done. Although it is nice to see you suitably remorseful about the whole thing.¡±


    I lick my lips and swallow in a failed attempt to conjure up some saliva. My efforts only bringing pain in the form of cracked lips and a desiccated throat. Through teary eyes I spot one of the brown boots tapping up and down again.


    ¡°I was debating whether or not to get you some water, but it looks like you¡¯ve already solved that issue. Smells like it anyway.¡± An irritated huff sounds out and the boot stills its movement before the voice continues where it left off. ¡°I¡¯ll head back to the stream and fetch you something to drink after building the fire back up.¡±


    Fear crowds me at the thought of being left alone. Loath to lose this fleeting savior, I kick out and push my arms against the ground, flailing around in a thoughtless panic.


    A quick stinging rips through my hysteria, stopping me in my weak struggles. Shock overcomes the already fading pain as I belatedly realize that I was just flicked on the nose.


    ¡°Relax. You¡¯re fine. Have been and will be. Let go of the fear you cling to so tightly. Grasping at clouds and fearing the fall when you¡¯ve already landed.¡± A snort interrupts the soothing words. ¡°Silly, but understandable. You¡¯ve been through much and have yet to unpack from your journey. So calm down and close your eyes without worry, for there is something you have yet to grasp."


    The voice gets closer. The words spoken softly into my ears.


    "The world is but a dream. The highs seem like the tallest mountains and the lows like the dark depths of the sea. But it is nothing but an illusion. A mirage painted by minds unable to deal with the truth. A truth that you have only begun to scratch at.¡±


    I can feel the outline of her words, trace the ebb and flow of her meaning. directing me back towards the hazy glimpse of a dream. The shadow of a thought that continues to itch in my mind. A half remembered memory, only revealed by what it isn¡¯t. The negative spaces pointing towards something beyond my grasp, yet still there none the less.


    ¡°The world is a dream and we must die to wake up."


    A short silence emerges from those words. Filled quickly by the wind whispering through the trees and the slow burn of the nearby fire.


    "Go to sleep and rest your eyes free from fear. You have already woken up little dreamer. And waking up is always the hardest part."


    A cool sense of peace sweep over my battered body and stressed mind. Relaxing my clenched muscles and soothing me into the arms of sleep. The final words sending me off with a smile on my face.

 Chapter 8 - An Open Hand

    I next rise from sleep without opening my eyes, content to simply lay in that sweet spot between dreams and waking life. Happy to enjoy the warmth of the sun on my face until my weak attempts to swallow through my painfully dry throat push me to reenter the world. Lamenting the loss of whatever dopey sleep hormones are keeping me warm and cozy, I crack open the one eye, the other still stuck shut, and take in the morning.


    The fire is nearly spent, having burnt down to glowing coals during the night. I tense up, the sight of the burning red embers bringing unwanted memories with them. I look away in a vain attempt to stem the imagery, but the sight follows me regardless. My neck tingles and itches along with my thundering heart. A desperate voice in my head pleads for me to turn around and check for threats, the unknown weighing heavily on my sanity. I only want to curl up, smaller and smaller until I dissolve away into nothing. The fear of what lies out of my sight setting my world aflame with terror.


    In my forced attempts to look away, I spot a round, bloated sack of what looks like leather, a cork-shaped piece of wood jammed into the top. Condensation drips down the side and I hurriedly reach out to what I pray is an answer to my thirst, promises of water from the night before sparking me to action.


    My lips lets loose an unholy shriek as my stretch proves to be much too hasty. Something rips open on, or in, my chest. It¡¯s hard to tell exactly what happened as the pain spreads like static, down to my toes and up to my head, scouring away everything in its path. My grasp on the world is torn to shreds and I once again retreat from the trauma of my body.


    * * *


    I burst back into the light, trying and failing to take in a breath. My burgeoning anxiety is soon replaced by befuddling confusion as I process the sight in front of me.


    Big brown eyes stare back at me, framed by short black hair. My eyes slide away from the smirking face, down a pale arm and ending at the hand grasping my nose shut. Gears turning, I begin to breath through my mouth, unable to do more than stare at the woman in front of me.


    Abruptly letting me go, she continues to kneel in front of me, unblinking as she gives me a quick once over. Her smirk falls away into a small frown.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do that again.¡±


    What does she mean? Don¡¯t do what? Breathe? Why doesn''t she want me to breathe? With mounting worry I hold my breath in wide eye silence, unsure of what to do. She responds by poking me hard in the chest, forcing out the held air with a pained yelp.


    ¡°Don¡¯t. Tear. Open. Your. Wounds.¡± Each word punctuated by a sharp tap to my chest, setting off hot sparks of pain that bloom into a wide pulsing throb in my torso.


    For the first time I look down and see wide strips of linen? Cotton? Some kind of cloth, for sure, wrapped around my chest. A dark stain slowly spreading out into the material where I was repeatedly poked. The dark haired woman follows my gaze and locks eyes with me when I look back up, as if daring me to comment on the dissonance between her words and actions. I give a quick nod, hoping to convey that she has my full permission to inflict bodily harm on me if she so wishes. Not exactly a good precedent to set, but I don¡¯t have a lot to work with at the moment.


    I spend a few moments clearing my throat. And a few more after that. Unable to properly wet my parched excuse for a throat, I try once more, only to have the lady ¨C I really need to find out her name ¨C finally hand me the sack of water. I waste no time grasping onto the blessed item, but she doesn¡¯t let go. Pointedly, she pulls me a fraction towards her and waits until I tear my eyes away from the tantalizing water. Once assured I¡¯m looking at her, not the bag, she begins to speak to me like I¡¯m a child. Which to be fair, I kind of am: physically at least, after my near death experience, if not emotionally, from the whirlwind of horror I¡¯ve been put through.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°You start knocking that back like I know you¡¯re going to and you will end up a coughing mess, with very little water in your stomach to show for it. And¡­¡± She pronounces the next words with the slow and careful delivery one might expect when dealing with the the emotionally disturbed or especially stupid. ¡°If you spill this water, I won¡¯t be getting you any more. You will have to drag your mangled ass to the river yourself or pray for rain.¡±


    Her brown eyes bare into mine, delivering an unspoken warning, or maybe more of a question. Waiting for my reaction, the query something along the lines of: now, how stupid are you?


    I smile in the most disarming manner I can, which isn¡¯t very since my cracked lips bring a grimace and a new round of pain to my already saturated body.


    With a slight narrowing of her eyes, my aggressive yet caring savior releases her hold on the water bag. Under her watchful gaze, I take small sips that tax my limited reserves of discipline. The cool nectar swirling around my mouth and down my throat in a heavenly stream that leaves me literally gasping in stunned relief. I''ve said it before and I¡¯ll say it again. Water is so underrated.


    Soon enough, my thirst feels quenched enough to attempt dialogue. My throat no longer full of dead heat and sand. One last clearing of my throat, which earns me a roll of the eyes from the still crouching woman, and I croak out my first words in days.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The words bring out a fleeting smile on her face. ¡°Oh, so you¡¯re capable of manners after all. I was sure you were limited to passing out and pissing yourself. A welcome change to be sure.¡±


    Hah. Shows what you know. I¡¯m almost certain I shit myself at some point. I¡¯m a triple threat if nothing else. And honestly, too numb inside from the constant bouts of suffering for her teasings to sting in comparison.


    ¡°What¡¯s¨C¡± the rest is lost in a string of hacking coughs, my throat and lungs still tender and weak despite slaking my thirst. I quickly bring the water back to my lips only to be stopped by a knowing look. With exaggerated care, I take in a little water between my coughing. Eventually riding out the fit, I continue on where I left off. The question burning in my mind.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Tolsti¡± she replies. ¡°And you, my little seedling, are very lucky to have met me.¡±


    I can only nod in mute acceptance. The last thing I can firmly remember leaves me almost happy the rest is unaccounted for. Eaten alive or drowned if I were lucky. How I escaped those twin fates a story to suss out later. Something to pack away in favor of the here and now. A trick I¡¯ve been whipped into adopting as of late.


    Tolsti¡¯s voice brings me back from my weary thoughts. ¡°I told you before that the hardest part has already passed. And I stand by that. But that doesn¡¯t mean the road forward will be easy to walk.¡± She reaches behind her back and produces my missing dagger. Well, technically missing. I hadn¡¯t even noticed it was gone. Spinning it around her finger, Tolsti gives an easy shrug.


    ¡°I was once very lucky, much like you are now, to have met someone who offered a guiding hand. Take the help or not, the decision is yours, as it was mine. But I will say this¡­¡± With a conspiratorial smile on her face, she removes her finger from the end ring, the dagger continuing to spin in mid air, as if her hand had never left. I stare dumbfounded at the rotating blade, watching its surface reflect the morning sun in lazy waves. I lose myself in the display until the untethered blade stops its movement without warning. Blade first, it glides closer to me in a slow but threatening manner. Inching closer before spinning one last time and stopping in front of me, handle first.


    ¡°I cannot walk the path for you. And I cannot guarantee it will be easy. All I can do is make sure your first steps hold true. The rest will be in your hands.¡±


    With a final look at her grinning face, I shrug in casual imitation and make the easy decision. I reach out and take hold of my dagger, running my thumb over the flat of the blade.


    ¡°So¡­¡± I start, my weary body at odds with the nascent thrill surging though me. ¡°¡­What now?¡±


    ¡°You sleep. You heal. You let yourself recover.¡± Tapping her finger against her cheek, Tolsti continues, her brown eyes taking on a golden glow around the edges. ¡°But for now? Now you dream.¡±

 Chapter 9 - The Scars that Follow

    The golden rings around Tolsti¡¯s eyes almost cause me to miss her words. My mounting exhaustion and low tolerance for all things magical only make it harder to pay attention. And while not super flashy, her glowing eyes have to be magic, right? Glowing eyes that are looking my way¡­ Wait, what was she saying? Something about going to sleep? Or is that just wishful thinking?


    ¡°Okay. Gotcha.¡± I try to keep it non committal while also not staring too deeply into her eyes. If I¡¯m not being too dense about the whole situation, she not only saved my life, but is offering to mentor me, offer my guidance, generally teach me how to survive. The last thing I want is to leer at her and come off as creepy. I¡¯m still pretty much incapacitated at the moment and at her mercy. ¡°I¡¯ll ¨C uh ¨C go to sleep then¡­ Sweet dreams?¡±


    A twitch of her eyebrows sends me reeling. Jesus Christ. I can¡¯t believe I just wished her sweet dreams. If I can already feel the heat radiating off my face, I can only imagine how red it is. Might as well just get it over with and accidentally call her Mom while I¡¯m at it. Baptize myself in sheer embarrassment and play it off as a character quirk.


    Seemingly amused by my internal flailing, Tolsti lets loose a short laugh that feels distinctly more at me than with me. ¡°Sweet? Maybe. Though I very much doubt it.¡± Lowering herself to the ground, she gives me a shooing motion with her hand. ¡°Lay down and close your eyes.¡± My brief hesitation sparks a glint of annoyance in her eyes. An indication that she expects to be listened to. Or maybe irratation at what she takes is a lack of trust.


    With a single finger she pushes me down to the ground, while her other hand flicks to the side. The curt motion is followed by my own hand moving to the right, as if there were strings linking the two. A brief moment passes before I realize it¡¯s the dagger in my hand that moved, not my hand itself. Which, to be honest, only raises more questions. Namely, why? Showing off? A power move? Sensing my confusion, Tolsti looks over at my hand and responds. ¡°So you don¡¯t stab yourself. You don¡¯t know how to properly hold your blade.¡± A statement, not a question. ¡°But that¡¯s for another time. Come now, you¡¯re in no immediate danger of dying, but your tussle with those Ash Gila was a close¨C¡±


    Without thinking I interrupt her. ¡°Wait. Please. I ¨C those ash, what? I don¡¯t¡­¡± My brain feels like scrambled eggs. Some of it is pure exhaustion. Maybe a lot of it. A sickening feeling clamps around my head and sends it spinning. A stomach churning nausea that rears its head at the hint of a memory. I can¡¯t say for certain that I know what she means, and yet it¡¯s obvious from context. Those things. Those monsters. Ash Gila. They have a name now. And that somehow makes them so much more real. Makes the memory, my experience, so much more real. But it¡¯s not something I want to think about nor remember. I can still see those twin embers burning whenever I close my eyes. That sliver of a second I had when my mind finally realized I was about to die. And the overwhelming dread that followed¡­


    Okay, Henry. Breathe. Get it together. You¡¯re not dead. Nothing else matters. At least not right now. It¡¯s like Tolsti said, that was the hard part. You almost died. But you didn¡¯t. You''re fine. You¡¯re. Fine. Breathe dammit. In and out.


    I take in, and let out, a shuddering breath. And another. And another. I breathe through the sour saliva churning in my mouth and the noxious feeling in my gut. For a second I think I¡¯ve gotten a handle on myself, but it¡¯s as if I¡¯ve stepped on the gas peddle and can¡¯t get it off. My breathing goes from barely in control to wild and erratic. Shallower and shallower. Faster and faster. My mind goes blank as I somehow can¡¯t seem to take in any air.


    I look up at a concerned face, although it¡¯s difficult to focus. My eyes keep sliding off to the forest. ¡°I¡­ I¡­ ¡±Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Two gentle hands take hold of my face and my vision is filled by golden brown eyes. ¡°It¡¯s okay. Listen to me. No, look at ¨C good. Just look at me and listen. That¡¯s all. Good.¡± Her golden ringed eyes burn brighter and a sad smile frames her next words. ¡°It¡¯s more than your body that needs to recover. You¡¯ve seen things, experienced things, that can¡¯t be brushed off. In many ways, you¡¯ve been broken. But in this, you are not alone. So rest. You will come out stronger for the struggle. For that is when you will begin to heal. Rest and dream little one. Who knows what you¡¯ll find.¡±


    * * *


    Air.


    Air shouldn¡¯t hurt. It¡¯s important. Crucial to life itself. And yet it does. From all sides, inside and out, it hurts. Slowly at first. An irritation. Annoying. But it doesn¡¯t stop. It hasn¡¯t. And I know it won¡¯t. It just continues on. Building up. Heavier and heaver as I only get weaker.


    Sweat rolls off my body in a futile attempt to cool itself down, only to be stripped off by the invasive heat. Leaving my skin so dry it itches with a furious need. The skin on my hands have began to crack in places, sending stabs of agony every time they move.


    At first I ran. Away from the towering pillars of flame. Around the smoldering piles of embers and ash. But if there is an end, I haven¡¯t found it.


    Left. Right. Forward and back. There is no escape. No respite from the danger that surrounds me.


    The best I can do is find the path of least resistance. Thread my way through the hellfire and misery as I try to break free.


    A thick flaming limb falls from up above and bars my path. It sends a wave of heat and grasping fingers of fire in my direction. I¡¯m able skid to a stop in time. Barely. So I change direction and continue on. Wide eyed from the close call.


    A dull roaring surrounds me. A reminder of the power at play. Interspersed by the crackles and pops of the flame as it gorges itself on the dying forest.


    I throw myself to the ground at the sound of a nearby explosion. I can hear shards of wood and molten sap land around me as I cover my head and curl into as small a target as I can.


    Pain itself erupts onto my neck and I roll around as base instinct takes over. Hoping with an animal hope to throw off the pain. Agonizing minutes pass before I have the courage to check the source. Clumsy and tired fingers find nothing good. The engulfing heat only egging on the burn to higher levels.


    I want nothing more than to sink into the ground. And I try. Digging into the warm dirt and scolding ash that blankets the forest floor. A desperate attempt to burrow myself away from the heat and flame.


    As if responding in turn, the flame around me spreads with sadistic vigor. Any and all untouched trees going up into flame as if they were only waiting for me to stop running. From limb to limb, trunk to trunk, the dancing lights move around me. Painting my death in ever plainer terms.


    Why?


    It¡¯s all I can think as the tips of my hair begins to smolder and my lungs fail to draw in the burnt and dead air. The gentlest movement of clothes against skin sends me whimpering in agony, yet the question remains.


    Why does it hurt?


    Because of the fire and flame. Obvious. Stupid. I know why. Yet the answer is useless. Off in some way that leaves me grinding my teeth in frustration. Tears fall only to sizzle away. The very air roasting my lungs with every shallow breath.


    Even those tenuous questions begin to fade as the heat, pain and lack of oxygen strip me down to a brittle core. Why¡¯s and how¡¯s lose urgency as my body slowly ticks down to a stop.


    The flaming branches above me illuminate the sky in a sickening facsimile of day, only ruined by the thick streams of black smoke pouring off. As they greedily consume the trees around me, the light becomes too hard on my dry and battered eyes.


    Eyes closed and effort spent, I hear one final thunderous explosion that rocks the world before I let go and drift away.

 Chapter 10 - Questions and Answers

    I come to with a start, wisps of panic still clinging to me as the vestiges of my dream slip away. As I rise up and blink the sleep out of my eyes, it dawns on me that I really shouldn¡¯t be able to lift my torso up. Or, at the very least, I shouldn¡¯t be able to do so without debilitating pain. A glance downward doesn¡¯t reveal much, nor does a tentative poke at the bandages wrapped around me.


    ¡°No need to look so astounded.¡± Sitting on a felled log to my far right, Tolsti looks me over with her head in her hands, watching me with a bemused expression. ¡°I already told you as much. You¡¯re fine.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± I spend a few moments patting myself around the wrapped areas. ¡°I guess ¨C I thought you were being...¡± I make a few vague motions with my hand. A raised eyebrow from Tolsti pushes me to finish my thought. ¡°Comforting?¡±


    I hurry to clarify my point. ¡°I was in bad shape. I still am, or should be.¡± I felt like I was doing a poor job of explaining. ¡°Maybe I would have gotten better, maybe not. I wasn¡¯t exactly in a position where you could say I would definitely, assuredly be fine. It helped a lot ¨C you helped a lot ¨C don¡¯t get me wrong. I just assumed you were saying what I needed to hear.¡± With a shrug I let it be, hoping she understood what I was trying to say.


    ¡°Both are true.¡± With a small smile she continues. ¡°It is what you needed to hear. But that doesn¡¯t mean they were empty words as you should be able to see. Take it slow, but test your body. If your reaction is anything to go by you¡¯ll be pleasantly surprised. Let¡¯s see if we can get you up and walking.¡±


    * * *


    ¡°Oh don¡¯t scowl at me you little baby.¡±


    With an effort I wipe my expression clean. Trying to at least put out a neutral, but judging look. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to drop me.¡±


    Deigning not to reply, Tolsti stares back at me with an eyebrow cocked.


    ¡°You even said to take it slow. How was that taking it slow? You could have tried to catch me. Or done, I don¡¯t know, something!¡±


    I await a response that doesn¡¯t come and throw up my hands in irritation. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll drop it.¡± A smirk from Tolsti at my choice of phrase pushes me to get a few more words in. ¡°But not answering doesn¡¯t make you correct.¡± Just a bit of a dick, I add in my head.


    Tolsti sadly shakes her head and gives a bemoaning look to the sky. ¡°It is ever the burden of a teacher to endure the misplaced ire of her student. For how can a hatchling understand why it is pushed out of the nest, when it has yet to even begin to dream of flying.¡±


    Unsure how to respond, I choose to take a page out of her book and not respond at all. Instead, I settle myself back down to the ground and slowly lean against one of the few logs scattered around the site. Happy to appreciate the small victory of movement. Not to mention the fact that I¡¯m even alive. I was so stupidly close to dying. Whatever that means at this point. And the only reason I¡¯m still here and not feeding the local wildlife...¡± I sneak a glance over her way.


    ¡°Thank you. Again. Really. I¡­¡± It¡¯s hard to come up with the words. Sincerity has never been my strong point. Not for lack of trying, but rather because I¡¯ve never been certain how to properly convey it. I know that I¡¯m being sincere, but how to bridge the gap? Too many words and they tend to lose meaning. Too few and it¡¯s like I¡¯m not trying. Feeling stuck, I fall back on the simplest choice.


    "Thank you.¡±


    I get a slightly smug, knowing look in response, with a dash of some understanding beneath it. ¡°Well a good start would be your name.¡±


    Covering up my unbalance with an awkward scratch of my neck, I think back. And no, I never gave her my name. Not that I had an excess of lucid moments, but still...¡± I scoot myself into a more upright position and look Tolsti in her once again brown eyes. ¡°Henry.¡±


    ¡°Well then Henry, I think it¡¯s time to answer some questions.¡± My heart starts pounding and any remaining tiredness is swept away. Question after question spins around my head, and I¡¯m utterly unsure where to start. But for better or worse the dilemma is taken out of my hands. ¡°Or rather, let¡¯s stick to three. You¡¯re still healing so trust me when I say that while you may be doing much better physically, it¡¯s good practice not to overdo it in here,¡± she says with a tap of her head.


    With a slow ease, Tolsti walks across the camp site and rolls a short piece of log back towards me, stopping a few feet in front of my position. ¡°Let¡¯s call it getting to know each other. Three questions for you. Three questions for me. I¡¯ll start.¡±


    With barely a breath in between, she seats herself on the ground, back against the log and begins. ¡°What do you remember about your last few dreams? Say, since your little scuffle?¡±


    I stop myself from giving her a glare. Getting mauled and nearly eaten alive is hardly a scuffle. She could just be trying to downplay the incident, hesitant to set me off again considering my reaction last time it was brought up. That or just being an ass. It¡¯s hard to tell with her.


    ¡°Dream? What does that have to do¨C¡±


    I¡¯m interrupted by a water sack thrown my way, which I¡¯m just able to catch before it smacks me in the chest. ¡°First, have a bit of water. Second, it¡¯s not your turn yet little Henry. So sad. The young really have no patience at all.¡±


    I pop out the cork and take a few sips while I think back, ignoring Tolsti¡¯s over dramatic musings. I¡¯ve never paid much attention to my dreams, beside the occasional nightmare or odd dream that lingers a bit longer upon waking up. What I remember is¡­ well nothing really. And I tell her as much.


    ¡°I don¡¯t. Remember my dreams that is. I¡¯m sure I had them, but even if I knew what they were at some point, they are long gone by now. I do remember flashes of this and that. Of what may have been dreams, but it¡¯s really hard to tell since I was so out of it. At least nothing beyond an overwhelming sense of wrongness and pain. Which I think was, you know, me almost dying. Sorry.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Oh, and why would you be sorry?¡±


    ¡°For not having a good answer to your¨C¡±


    I¡¯m interrupted again, this time by something that I don¡¯t catch in time as it rebounds lightly off my head and into my lap.


    ¡°Jerky. Eat. And don¡¯t assume so much. Why would you know what I¡¯m looking for in the first place? And no that is not one of my questions. I¡¯m calling it a teacher¡¯s prerogative.¡±


    I nibble on the small chunk of dried meat, what I belatedly realize is my first meal in who knows how long, while Tolsti snacks on her own. Our impromptu meal gives me a little time to mull over what my question will be. I don¡¯t want to be too caught up in her own pace, but I really want to know why she wants to know about my dreams. It¡¯s not the first time she¡¯s mentioned them. It¡¯s all hazy and a bit delirious, but I remember her saying something about it. It¡¯s all too jumbled to make out what though. It¡¯s fairly obvious that it¡¯s important in some way. Why else would it be her first question? Not to mention she didn¡¯t even pause before asking it. Maybe asking why she asked will get her talking. But I can just as easily see her answer with a ¡®because I wanted to know¡¯ or something equally flippant.


    ¡°Okay.¡± I put the half eaten jerky aside and get her attention. ¡°I¨C¡±


    ¡°Water.¡±


    With a sigh I toss the water skin her way and continue. ¡°I want to know what my answer means. The significance of it.¡± I gesture towards her and back towards myself. ¡°What does it mean to you? What does it mean for me?¡±


    ¡°Technically three questions,¡± she responds. ¡°But I¡¯ll let it go this once and call it a student¡¯s prerogative.¡± A devilish smile breaks out on her face. ¡°Unfortunately, I can already tell that you won¡¯t enjoy the answer. Not because it¡¯s necessarily bad for you. It just won¡¯t be the answer you''ll want to hear.¡±


    ¡°Oh, then¨C¡± I start.


    ¡°Hold up.¡± Searching to her left and right, Tolsti bends over and grabs a small rock only to look back up at me and toss it to the ground. She picks up an old pinecone, content in her choice, and tosses it at my head.


    I snag the pinecone and stare at it in confusion before giving her a question look.


    ¡°It seemed like the thing to do and I wasn''t done with the water yet.¡± With a slight shrug she continues. ¡°You need to stop interrupting me.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to throw something at me if you want me to stop talking. You already did that with words,¡± I reply in exasperation. And in a pleading voice I ask, ¡°can we please not make this a thing?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not ready.¡±


    I stop my myself from interjecting again. I¡¯d rather she leave that rock where it is. I wait for more, but I get nothing of the sort. Only the sound of her chewing on a bit of the meat. I decide to wait her out and see if she gives me anything. After finishing her snack, Tolsti drinks a bit of water and stretches out against her log.


    ¡°That¡¯s it. I told you that you wouldn¡¯t like the answer.¡±


    ¡°Not ready for what,¡± I blurt out before I catch myself.


    Holding her index and middle fingers up in the air, Tolsti leans back and gives a tired yawn. ¡°Thats two. You¡¯re not ready to make use of your awakening.¡±


    I force myself to take a few large breaths before running my hands through my hair. She¡¯s doing this on purpose. She has to be. I refuse to believe someone can be this annoying by accident. She wants me to ask ¡®what awakening¡¯ for my last question. Why else would she give me such infuriatingly simple answers. Well, I¡¯m not going to let her lead me where she wants. I already know what my last¨C


    ¡°Where did you get your dagger?¡±


    I blink out of my thoughts, so wrapped up in my head that I didn¡¯t catch what she said. ¡°Sorry. I didn¡¯t quite¨C¡±


    A golden flash and a twitch of her finger sends my dagger twirling into the air from behind me. Before I even process that it¡¯s in the air, the blade lands solidly into the dirt between us.


    ¡°The dagger. Where did you get it?¡±


    I look away and try to hide the shiver that travels down my spine. ¡°It was a gift,¡± I reply with a weak laugh. Only, Tolsti has no smile on her face. Her arms are crossed and for the first time, she looks truly serious.


    ¡°Sorry. Sorry. That was a bad joke. It¡¯s what was said to me when I got it.¡± Another shiver pours down my spine and my back clenches in response. ¡°A gift.¡± I reach over to my shoulder, the wound lost in the fold among many others. ¡°I don¡¯t know who she was. Or why she did it. She was just¡­ there.¡± For a second I¡¯m lost in memories. Memories that seem faded somehow. Older. Less fresh than they have any right to be. ¡°I thought she was going to kill me, so I ran.¡±


    With a start I lock onto Tolsti. ¡°She called me little dreamer. Does that ¨C is there a connection¨C¡±


    Holding a hand up, she stops my sudden outburst. ¡°No. The name holds no importance. But¡­¡±


    ¡°But?¡± I repeat, trying to goad out her thoughts on the matter.


    ¡°Keep good care of it. It is very much a gift. And a good one at that. But that''s all you''ll get. It is a topic for a later time and holds no relevance to the now. You aren¡¯t ready. Think on your last question instead. I''ll give you a pass on that one.¡± Arms still crossed, she gives me a look that booked no argument.


    I close my eyes and try to sort my thoughts into some kind of order. However the loss of stimuli merely makes the maelstrom of competing thoughts, questions and worries all the more overwhelming. Opening them again in defeat, I feel truly tired for the first time today. As if my brain were making so many connections and computations behind the scenes that I was in danger of short circuiting. Decidedly less enthused by the prospect of more information to suss through, I go with the first straightforward question that I think of.


    ¡°What happened to all the lizards ¨C Ash Gila?¡±


    I¡¯m given a snort in return. ¡°Now that¡¯s a silly question, my dear Henry.¡± Her eyes flick downward and I follow them to the piece of meat in my hand. ¡°Why I killed them all.¡±


    My breath catches in my throat and I spit out the piece I had been chewing on.


    ¡°You really are a baby,¡± she says with a roll of her eyes.


    I let the remark go. Not because I¡¯m suddenly scared of her or anything of the sort. I mean, she absolutely deserves it. Being able to take down those hell spawn certainly paints her in a new and horrifying light. But I don¡¯t feel scared of her. She¡¯s really annoying at times, but if anything her strength is comforting. She may be a monster, but one that''s on my side.


    ¡°As for my last question. Let¡¯s see.¡± With a final stretch, Tolsti gets up and pulls out a hatchet stuck into a nearby tree stump. ¡°Grab your dagger, let¡¯s see how you are with it.¡±


    I hesitate to grab the handle, fearing it would officially start something I would rather avoid. Instead, I try to stall. ¡°That¡¯s not a question.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. You¡¯re right.¡± Tolsti gives the hatchet a few tosses into the air while she thinks it over. She finally turns back to me with the most sadistic smile I¡¯ve seen on her yet.


    ¡°How¡¯s your pain tolerance?¡±


    I take it back. I think I really should be scared.

 Chapter 11 - The Next Step

    ¡°Good, you¡¯re arguably the worst fighter I¡¯ve ever seen¡±


    For a split second I consider a snarky comeback, but the ¡®good¡¯ qualifier throws me off balance. Not to mention, I don¡¯t think I have the energy to do more than grunt in response, maybe muster a moan. The hateful woman didn¡¯t hold back. I am thankful she quickly put away her hatchet, seeing quite correctly that it was unneccesary. She was fully capable of beating me back and forth without a weapon. With something between a grunt and moan, I stumble a few feet and collapse to the ground.


    ¡°Awkward, no fighting sense, and surprisingly weak, even considering your recovering state. But no bad habits to break since you don¡¯t seem to have any to begin with. I can work with that.¡±


    Laying face down, I breathe in the spicy sent of the pine needle covered forest floor. Happy to do nothing while I wait on the rush of endorphins to balance out the full body pain and mind numbing exhaustion. Over the sound of my labored breathing, I hear a series of light steps getting louder. A heavy thunk sounds near my head and I crack open my eyes to see a half full sack of water.


    ¡°Take a drink and a short rest. I¡¯m going to have you work through some stretches.¡±


    ¡°Nooooooo.¡± The endorphins seem to be finally kicking in and the last thing I want to do is move.


    ¡°Okay. Your call. But fair warning: You¡¯ll be waking up stiff, cramped, and in more pain than you can really appreciate at the moment.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± I reply in a muffled voice, turning back to rest. I¡¯m quickly interrupted as a swift kick to my side has me curling up and letting loose a long string of curses.


    ¡°I lied. You don¡¯t have a choice. Get up before I start aiming for your softer parts.¡± A slight pause follows and I can feel her breath against my neck as she leans in close. ¡°Or I can just drag you to one of my old shit holes and let you sleep it off. Your choice.¡±


    With the disconcertingly specific threats hanging over my head, I gather up whatever tattered remains of energy I have left and pick myself off the ground.


    * * *


    I¡¯m actually glad Tolsti forced me to stretch. It¡¯s a bit tedious and painful at times, especially when she ¡®helps¡¯ by applying pressure or leverage, but it actually feels pretty good. A satisfying type of pain that¡¯s kind of hard to explain well without coming off as a degenerate. It also gives me some time to think things over. To sift through the last day or so with a more relaxed mind, courtesy of an utterly exhausted body.


    ¡°Is this really necessary?¡± I ask, giving thought to one of my concerns. A sudden increase in the angle of my leg, which Tolsti had been ever so slowly raising up, serves as her answer. The sharp pain leaves me speaking through clenched teeth. ¡°What I mean is, I healed so quickly the last few days, faster than I had any right to. So will I actually wake up bruised and beaten? Wouldn¡¯t I just kind of heal over it?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s necessary.¡±


    I give her a pleading look. By now I¡¯m well acquainted with her penchant for brevity when answering my questions, but I was still hoping for more.


    ¡°Take a deep breath and turn to your right.¡± The new movement sends waves of discomfort down my hips as tight muscles are targeted. ¡°I understand it¡¯s annoying.¡± The confession catches me off guard and I try to look her way, but my position doesn¡¯t allow for more than a peek of her short black hair. ¡°You want to know more about what¡¯s happening to you. And that¡¯s understandable. It¡¯s human. But there are reasons I don¡¯t give you more.¡±


    Excited at what I desperately hope is the prelude to more and not a dead end, I focus on deepening the stretch, scared of interrupting and changing her mind.


    With a sigh she begins. ¡°There are two things that are worth knowing, I think. Things I wish I were told.¡± Slowly lowering my outstretched leg to the ground she motions me to sit. ¡°Close your eyes, spread your legs and lean forward. And remember to breath.¡± I feel two hands gently push down on my back, increasing the stretch beyond what I could manage on my own.


    ¡°Awakenings are deeply personal things. Not least because of the circumstances surrounding them. You have to open yourself to death. Let it in. And there is never a time that won¡¯t be deeply traumatic. It has to be. That¡¯s largely the point. By opening your heart to death, you open yourself to so much more.¡±


    I¡¯m happy to finally get a little explanation, but at the same time¡­ I never really thought about Tolsti. If this was hard for her. What it means about her and her past. Going by what she¡¯s said, awakening isn¡¯t an easy price to pay. She¡¯s so off handed about everything that It¡¯s difficult to see her as anything but.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°It¡¯s that specific experience, unique to each individual, which shapes their awakening. There are common threads between all awakenings, generalities that appear regardless of the rest. One of these is what you¡¯ve just been through. A rapid period of healing. My master called it a gift from the gods for waking up from the great dream. I¡¯m not sure how much I agree, but the fact that it happens is beyond reproach. If you can hold on and survive for just a little bit, you¡¯re all but guaranteed to make it.¡±


    ¡°Which,¡± she starts, pushing down a little bit harder, ¡°is why this is necessary. You are by no means guaranteed to keep healing at the same rate. In fact, I would strongly urge against that assumption. From what I¡¯ve seen, it is highly unlikely to be part of your awakening.¡±


    I don¡¯t know nearly enough to dispute her rational, but it still irks for her to say so. Pain is so indescribably horrible. Something I never think about until I¡¯m in the throes of it, and by then all I want, with every fiber of my being, is to rid myself of it. To go back to normal, free from suffering. Healing would be a godsend and I can only hope she¡¯s wrong.


    ¡°And the second thing?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to have all the answers. I¡¯m not even going to have most of them. It¡¯s something to keep in mind. I¡¯m here to help, but not forever. And even while I''m here,¡± I can almost hear the shrug in her voice, ¡°I can only help you find your own way.¡±


    Her words send my stomach into a twisted mess and a thick knot forms in my chest. The thought of being alone again ¨C it¡¯s not something I want to dwell on.


    With a final push, Tolsti gets up and pulls me to my feet. ¡°We can continue this conversation later. For now, let¡¯s fill up on water. Take the water skins with you.¡± With that, she tosses me two empty water skins, not sacks or bags as I had been calling them in my head. ¡°I¡¯ll stay here and build up the fire. There are a few other things I need to get done. Just follow the sound of running water. You should be able to hear it from here.¡±


    I bend to pick up the water skins, but stop when I hear her voice again. The mid afternoon light reflects off her earrings and back into my eyes, so I throw up a hand to block the intermittent glare. ¡°Take your time, but be careful. The woods should be safe in the area, but never get lazy and assume you are.¡±


    I give a nod in her direction, gather up the water skins and set off with my eyes peeled.


    * * *


    The stream was closer than I expected, a little less than ten minutes at a fairly easy pace. The forest changed little from the clearing as I moved through it. Tall, straight Evergreen trees dotted the landscape, their fallen needles providing a comfortable walking surface. Here and there, ferns and other small plants grew where sunlight broke through the canopy.


    The land itself was fairly flat and, while I could hear the running water, I didn¡¯t see the stream until I passed through a thick cluster of trees. Popping off the tops, I fill up the skins while surveying the surrounding land. Tolsti wasn¡¯t the only one with other things that needed to get done. I just needed to find the right place. Somewhere quiet and away from prying eyes.


    * * *


    Feeling markably better, I wash up in the stream and let out a contented sigh. The last thing I needed was to ask permission to go to the bathroom. A shallow dip in the land screened by some ferns more than served my purposes. An awkward waddle back to the stream and I was ready to head¡­


    I look to my left, to my right and back again. The forest spreads out in every direction and I have no idea which way to go. I plop down and lay my head in my hands. Stupid. It was simple enough to get here, just follow the sound of the stream. But how am I supposed to get back? I didn¡¯t mark my way and I have no tracking skills. I don¡¯t even know what I would be looking for. Snapped twigs? Disturbed dirt? I didn¡¯t travel too far from the camp, but the forest has this cookie cutter monotony that is doing a number on my head. It¡¯s all so uniform, with little to orient yourself with. As if it could stretch on forever, or stop just outside your line of sight.


    I dig my fingers into the pine needles and dirt, trying to work though some of my anxiety when I realize I forgot my dagger. Again. I need some way to keep it on me or I¡¯ll continue to forget about it. Something to ask Tolsti about when I get back. I sprout a weak smile. See Henry, when, not if. Stay positive!


    My syrupy encouragement, annoying even to myself, is enough to get me up and moving. Picking what I think is the general direction I came from, I hope for the best and start walking.


    * * *


    With a final swing of her hatchet, the nail sinks into the stripped wood of the tree. Just in time as the the viscous golden sap was beginning to flow out. The only thing left was to hang a small bucket from the nail and wait for her prize to drip down and collect. With a stretch, she stole a gaze upward to check the time, not wanting to be gone when Henry returned. She liked the kid, polite when the situation called for it and showed a good amount of respect. Maybe even feared her after their spar. It was nice to receive some proper treatment every once in a while. Too long she had been surrounded by people who made her feel well adjusted in comparison, no small feat.


    Returning the hatchet to her belt, Tolsti checked the other tapped trees one last time, making sure they were properly set up. She didn¡¯t need too much, but better to do this right. Normally she would hesitate to go this route, but she¡¯d been away too long this time. The rest of the band would be gossiping like washerwomen. Little chance they don¡¯t collectively decide to stick their noses in her business again. Yes. Much better to do this the fast way. She has been upfront with Henry from the start. She couldn¡¯t and wouldn¡¯t be there forever. At least this way she might leave him with a semblance of skill and her with some peace of mind.


    Confident that everything was ready, she headed back towards camp. Mulling it over, she decided to skip the lecture she had planned. Basic survival knowledge: how to pick and prepare a proper camp site, collecting the right type of fire wood, how to start a fire, which plants to forage in the area and so on. She wasn¡¯t a monster, despite everything Tectos had to say on the matter. Yep, Henry could take it easy the rest of the night. Feeling good about her magnanimity and with a skip in her step Tolsti wondered how things would turn out. Tomorrow would be interesting indeed.

 Chapter 12 - To Fear Fire

    I woke up with the sun breaking over the horizon, easing the camp fire¡¯s burden in lighting the clearing. I would have liked to say I was adjusting to a new routine. Taking cues from the natural world in how I lived; Rising with the sun to greet each new day as it spread out before me. Maybe there was a hint of truth in that. I was adjusting, but the means left a decidedly sour taste in my mouth. I wasn¡¯t striving towards a new and invigorating future, my sweat laden clothes and cramped muscles said otherwise. No, I was merely running away from the pain that slunk around in the corners of my mind. This wasn¡¯t the first time I had woken up with no specific memories, only a lasting unease. A feeling, mirrored in my clenched and trembling body, that I had barely escaped from an ever reaching hand.


    I was stuck. By the time night rolled around, I gratefully embraced the coming of sleep. The promise of a swift cessation from the stresses of the day. But every morning I arrived on the other side tired and raw, as if I had been pushed through a fine mesh sieve. Nightmares or just the slow unwinding of a broken mind, I didn¡¯t know. On some level I understood that I had to give myself time to recover. The speed with which my muscles, skin and bones reknit was an exception, not the rule. An injured mind would heal quite so easily.


    Rational thought, however, held little leverage at the best of times and the early morning was not one of them. I had never been a morning person and that had yet to change. I cherished the short period after I opened my eyes, but before I got up. When I could simply lay and let everything¡­ settle. Yet I was unsurprised when a blade sank into the dirt, worryingly close to my face and cut my hopes to ribbons. As if on cue, a self amused voice followed.


    "Until I say otherwise, you are to hold onto your dagger. Eat, sleep and piss, you will not let it leave your grip." The cocktail of chemicals released by the presence of a sharp blade helped to catapult me over my usual morning grogginess. I pushed myself up and grabbed the handle without delay. The unspoken ¡®or else¡¯ unnecessary.


    I was coming to understand that Tolsti was much like the blade in my hand. Helpful and comforting to have around, but liable to cut if treated without care. She joked and affected an indifferent air at times, welcomed a casual atmosphere, but expected to be obeyed.


    She never said it out loud, never really implied it with her actions either, but there was an undercurrent between us that we were both aware of. For all the loose banter and freely given help, the truth still stung. She was doing this at her own sufferance. I wasn¡¯t her disciple, nor a family member. There was no contract, informal or otherwise. She had a life outside of these last few days and despite the immensity of the role she had played in mine, I was merely a passing spark in hers. Catching her interest for now, but destined to fade as she moved on.


    She saved my life at risk to her own. Put her life on hold to care for me and make sure I didn¡¯t blindly walk into death¡¯s embrace once she was gone. Her presence was a blessing that I didn¡¯t deserve, one that was fated to soon be nothing but a memory. And here I was, acting as if this wasn¡¯t literally a matter of life and death. She was an open hand to a world I knew nothing of. A shoulder to lean on as I stumbled though an existence foreign to everything I understood.


    It started last night as I wandered through the trees, trying to find my way back. With a shock that left me thinking long into the night it dawned on me that I had to strip myself of old habits. Scour away the assumptions and frameworks I operated on because they were useless to me now. Worse, they would only push me to sprint with open arms to a steep cliff and shallow grave. If I didn¡¯t take the time to squeeze everything I could out of her guidance, while I could, then it was better to just jump off the cliff myself.


    * * *


    Despite all attempts to focus, the thought refused to let go. Was I going the wrong way? It was impossible to tell, either I would find the camp or not. Yet the concern continued to dog my heals. A stunned resignation over the situation. Over the sheer stupidity that I couldn¡¯t find my way back. Almost funny in a way. I couldn¡¯t even remember the last time I was lost. Everything I needed was always a button or two away. The information ready to guide me where I needed to go. How many times had I reached for my pockets only to stop myself, my torn and frayed pants holding nothing but dirt and air. An easy habit that left me stewing in exasperation.


    But the mirth soon faded as I made my way through the woods. The longer I walked, the less funny it seemed. Before long I was fighting a clutching feeling in my heart as I grappled with the sobering realization that I would never have those things again. Things that moved through me as readily as air were gone. And the realization propped open the door to thoughts I only wished would leave. A heaviness that turned the blood in my veins to sludge and my heart to a creaking, erratic thing.


    Under the silent canopy I moved in a quiet daze. One step and then another. Over and over in a numb march before I spotted the flickering light of a fire through the trees. Soon I arrived at the clearing, greeted by a waving Tolsti adding wood to the growing flames. My spiraling thoughts of loss stemmed by the relief of making it back and the unexpected promise of an early night.


    But as the hours passed, sleep eluded me. Or maybe it was me who ran from it. Knowing something I couldn¡¯t yet admit.


    The weight returned with the setting of the sun, as if the night itself was slowly pinning me to the earth. So I lay there and watched the stars blink in the sky. Struggling with a mounting pressure that stole my breath.


    It ended with an errant look across the camp site. Tolsti lay in a hammock of sorts, spiked between two trees. The dying fire occasionally sent enough light to illuminate her sleeping form, only for the night to wrest away control and cast her back into shadows. Sick of the turning sky, I resigned myself to watch fire and night dance upon the clearing. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    But with a creeping surety, I realized it wasn¡¯t the loss of technology that had me squirming in dread. Upsetting to be sure, but something I would get over eventually, a lingering scar, nothing more. It was the rising panic that pressed down upon me when Tolsti disappeared from sight. The bubbling unease that threatened to burst forth each time the shadows covered her figure. A lingering memory that clawed for attention with desperate vigor.


    I was going to be alone.


    Again.


    The word rang like clashing bells in my head. Alone. It was all I could do to bite down on my lip, fists clenched tight as I fought down the storm in my soul. Eyes pressed shut against the threat of tears. What was I going to do? What could I do? I had nothing. Was nothing. How many more times could I wake up in ignorant bliss, only for the sick reality to come hammering home? How long could I endure the false hope and desperate fantasies before I simply lost it?


    I wished I had an answer. Something that fit everything together nice and neat. A direction to head or a path to seek. I stole a quick peak across the camp. No, I didn¡¯t have an answer. Not a path, nor or a direction. But maybe a start. A first step I could take with something resembling confidence. I no longer had friends or family to lean on. I didn¡¯t have a society around me to show the way. Access to the world¡¯s information at my fingertips was a shadow of a dream. For now, all I had was her.


    * * *


    "Why do you think I¡¯m making you do this?" Tolsti asked with a finger pointed at the dagger in my hand.


    I took a moment to answer, not that I needed to consider the question, it was something I had been thinking about all morning. Rather, I was all too happy to grab a few moments to catch my breath and rest my burning limbs. After awkwardly completing a smattering of chores: collecting dead wood for the fire, filling up the water skins and a primer on what plants could be eaten raw and which were edible after after some preparation, I was put through conditioning drills that soon had me shaking in fatigue.


    "To ¨C to get used to it," I replied between large mouthfuls of air. The thought had occurred to me that it was more than simply becoming accustomed to the weapon. There was magic in this world, at least in the sense of rules and laws that I had no ability to deal with. A means of operating that stood in stark contrast to what I understood to be normal. At this point, it was bad procedure to assume anything. Least of all that I knew what was going on. And my dagger definitely stood as a prime example of things not to be underestimated. It was dangerous in more ways than sharp metal. That much was clear.


    "In part," she replied after a pause, whether to consider my answer or hers, I couldn¡¯t tell. "Giving a child a knife doesn¡¯t make them dangerous to others, only to themselves."


    I didn¡¯t disagree with her point. If anything a child was being generous. I was a baby with a sharp blade, more liable to hurt myself than anyone else. My flailing attempts to use the dagger had been laughable at best. Developing some degree of familiarity seemed as good a start as any.


    "The beginnings of any martial path should be a strong foundation. The worth of any art, order or supposed master will be apparent in how they treat the new and inexperienced. Do they jump right into skill work? If so, they are charlatans at best and incompetent at worst. The mark of someone or something worth following is in the preparation. The ground work."


    "A friend once remarked that if you¡¯re not suffering and dreading each new day, then something is wrong. In a way, I agree. Foundations are crucial, yet they are often hidden out of sight, below ground or behind walls. They are not exciting or eye catching, nor should they be. Foundations are what hold everything else up, the base upon which everything else rests. To build on a weak foundation only begets disaster down the road. But the work is hard and often boring. At least from the perspective of those who wish to be strong. Worse when you must clear the ground before you begin."


    "Weapons are¡­" Tolsti trailed off, looking away in quiet thought. "They are fire. So much potential for both good and bad. Heat in the cold and light in the dark so easily becomes the pain of burns and the sight of ash. There is a middle ground you must find. A balancing act with fear. Some is good, healthy even. Fear teaches us not to come too close to the fire, lest we burn ourselves. But too much fear and we never come close enough to enjoy the warmth and light. Do you understand?"


    Something in my face must have given answer because she continued on without waiting for a response. "You leave your dagger behind when you go do chores. Keep it at arms length when you go to sleep. Always just out of sight, far enough that it slips your mind. What else do you have but the clothes on your back? It is the sum of your possessions and yet you act as if it were a rock stuck in your shoe. An annoyance to be reminded of. There is fear there and that is normal. Understandable. Good even. To a degree, weapons should always be feared. But only if the fear is to your benefit. Then, it is merely the respect that it deserves. Instead, you go to lengths to keep it away. And in doing so deprive yourself of all the good it can bring."


    By the time she finished I was looking down at the dagger. It was too difficult to look her in the eyes. What she said¡­ a lot of it struck home. My initial reaction was to dismiss the idea. It wasn¡¯t as if I trembled at the sight of it. But as I ran my thumb over the red corded handle I had to admit that fear wasn¡¯t always so simple. To assume that it would reveal itself in plain colors was giving it too little credit. Giving the mind too little credit. I had a lot of blind spots when it came to myself and if I was going to survive, it was best to trust that Tolsti could see where I could not, or would not.


    A soft crunching catches my attention and I turn my head to see Tolsti walking towards me. With a smile on her face she reaches over and socks me in the shoulder, sending me a half step backwards. "No need to overthink it. Stay too long in your own head and you¡¯ll only get lost. Focus on what you''re doing for now and try not to cut yourself. The body is the best teacher, beside myself, and with time will do a lot of the heavy lifting."


    I wasn¡¯t sure how to respond and I didn¡¯t have a smile in me, so I merely nodded in return.


    "Come, let¡¯s see if you remember which plants were safe to eat. I hope you were paying attention because it¡¯ll be your breakfast. Try not to poison yourself."


    At that, I couldn¡¯t help but give a tired smile. But the look on Tolsti''s face had it dripping off mine. I really hope she¡¯s kidding. She¡¯s not serious is she? Please tell me she''s not serious. Whatever. It''s fine. I''ve got this. Red veins are generally a sign of poison. Unless the leaf had a waxy feel to it. Then it could be boiled before eating. Or was that red stems with serrated leaves? No, no, I¡¯m pretty sure the it was okay to eat those. Except for when it had a waxy film. In that case they were intense diarrhetics, right?


    Shit.

 Chapter 13 - Seeing the Trees

    Forget facing down Tolsti in a spar, I had a new high mark for stress in my life. Tentatively crouching down to reach towards one plant after another, utterly unsure whether it was going to be the start of a fresh salad or hours of pain and misery. Each and every time I would look back hoping, foolishly, for a sign either way. No, all I got was the same cheerful smile. Was this okay? Smile. Am I even close? Smile. Will this plant decimate my digestive system? Smile. She would smile at me. I would smile back at her. Everyone would smile.


    Maybe she would have stopped me before I did serious damage to myself. I¡¯ll never know for sure since enough time had passed for the sun to reach midday and I seemed to be fine. There was a point where a string of stomach growls nearly set off a panic attack, but Tolsti¡¯s reaction calmed me back down. I was pretty certain she wouldn¡¯t giggle herself into a fit if I were really dying.


    I even managed to relieve myself without cutting off anything important. Sure, I could have just dropped the dagger. I was fairly far away from the camp and Tolsti with it. There was no reason she would have known. And yet, the mere thought left me uneasy in way that all but begged me to take notice. She could have been watching me, I doubt it, but she could have all the same. It was the kind of off-kilter worry she probably wanted me to stew in, but honestly, I was fine giving Tolsti her due. An extra minute while I worked out the logistics of getting everything ready one-handed was a small price to pay. And as simple as it seemed, there was a visceral satisfaction to doing so. The type of mindfulness that only a sharp blade and an open fly can bring.


    At the moment I was cutting the loose threads off my shirt and pants, a small bit of self care that I found oddly relaxing. The sun was in the perfect position to send a warm ray of sunshine onto my back and a comfortable silence had settled over the camp. I looked up from my busywork and took a steadying breath. It seemed as good a time as any to voice some questions I had been working through. There were glaring holes in my knowledge that I had been hesitant to draw attention to, but time and a new perspective had blunted the edge of those worries.


    For one, this was exactly the kind of thing Tolsti had warned me about. I would never get the information I wanted if I feared to even broach the subject. If pressed, I would tell the truth, simply a version that invited assumptions on her part. Namely, that I wasn¡¯t from here. It was technically true. Sure, I was banking on the likelihood that this was a very large world without the inter-global connectivity I was used to. I didn¡¯t want to lie to her, but neither would I fight against misunderstandings. I wasn¡¯t from here. Whether that meant some backwater on the other side of the world, or whatever twisted relation my world held, it was up to Tolsti to infer. And if even that fell through? So be it. Tolsti had already proved herself to me many times over. If she really pushed, I may as well lay my cards on the table. At worst, she would think I was insane. Not the outcome I desired, but¡­ agreeable considering the dwindling time frame we had together. That being said, she seemed to respect my need for privacy. I didn¡¯t see it going that far.


    ¡°Tolsti?¡± She stopped whatever she had been doing, some kind of wood carving if the thin ribbons of bark on the ground were any indication. ¡°I was wondering if we could talk?¡±


    ¡°I knew this day would come. I had hoped ¨C no, I can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised. It¡¯s just never easy.¡± With a heavy sigh, she dropped the wood she had been holding and turned around. A forlorn expression settled on her face before she began again. ¡°It¡¯s perfectly natural. I saved your life after all. Nursed you back to health with my gentle ministrations.¡±


    ¡°No, I¨C¡±


    ¡°Shh, it¡¯s okay. It will hurt at first, but it¡¯s best we get this done now.¡± A few steps brought her over to my position. Looking into my eyes, she knelt down and gently grabbed my hands in hers.


    ¡°That¡¯s¨C¡°


    ¡°The pain will fade in time,¡± she started, raising her voice over mine. ¡°You aren¡¯t the first to fall for my charms, and you won¡¯t be the last. But¡­¡± She paused with a wistful glance to the sky. ¡°It would never work. Flattering, yes, but ultimately doomed to fail.¡±


    The seconds stretch on as I considered the best way to get her back on track. It felt appropriate to meet her farce halfway.


    ¡°Woe is me, however will I recover from my broken heart. I¡¯ll never ¨C oh, look at that. Good as new. Now with that taken care of, there were a few other things I hoped you could help me with.¡±


    ¡°Sure, just remember, it¡¯s okay to hurt. Hide your pain if it helps, but you¡¯re not fooling anyone.¡±


    Giving her a vague grunt of affirmation, I tick through my list of questions. I think it would be best to ask around what I want. Frame it in ways that led intent in other directions. I could always be more direct if needed. First on the list, where exactly were we? Hopefully I could shake some of the local landmarks out of her.


    ¡°You said you were leaving eventually. I was wondering where you planned on going.¡±


    She gave me a sad, knowing look at my question, confusing until I realized it played into her soliloquy on my unrequited love. As if I just couldn¡¯t help asking after her. Unable to hold in the exasperation, I curtly motion for her to get on with it. I was getting wrapped up in her pace and feeling less sure about my indirect approach.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be taking the hunter¡¯s trail to Deirden before cutting West to Allvirs Bay. But that¡¯s not what you wanted to know now was it?¡±


    Oh my God. Lord, give me the strength to continue.


    ¡°No, Tolsti, that very much is what I wanted to know. I¡¯m sorry, but can we just put this whole infatuation joke aside for now. I¡¯m being serious. Please.¡±


    I stressed the ¡®please¡¯ with a tone that bordered on desperate. She had yet to release my hand and I was getting increasingly uncomfortable. I know she enjoyed keeping me off balance, but this was getting tiring.


    ¡°So am I little Henry. Ask what is truly on your mind. I¡¯m not here to judge nor belittle. I am still here for one reason. To help. Opening yourself up is hard, much harder than simple words can paint. But know that I am here to listen if needed.¡±


    I watch her open gaze with the wariness her personality demanded, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But¡­ nothing came. She continued to kneel in front of me with an understanding look that set my heart racing, more urgently than any hackneyed jokes about love. It would be so easy to just ¨C just tell her. She had all but asked me to.


    My hands were sweaty in her soft grip and my thundering pulse was making it hard to think. All my clever plans and rationals clashed against the growing desire to just let everything out and pray she understood. I wanted to. Needed to. The stress was twisting my blood to battery acid, making every beat of my heart a struggle to endure. And through it all she gave that same smile from this morning. A smile that drove me crazy. A smile that endured, unflinching and steady no matter what I said, no matter the situation. A smile that said she was there for me, whether I made the right choice or not. Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°I¨C¡± The word was croaked out, soaked through with emotions held together by my fingertips. I broke away from her face and turned my head to the side. Running my fingers over the rough corded grip of my dagger as I watched the fire crackle away. I had to stuff down the self loathing that derided the move as cowardly. It wasn¡¯t something so easily denied; It just was easier if I didn¡¯t have to look her in the eyes. ¡°I know you¡¯re leaving. And that¡¯s ¨C it is what it is. I understand. And I want to tell you. To talk to you. It¡¯s not that ¨C I just don¡¯t want you to think I¡¯m crazy.¡± By the end I was nearly at a whisper. The words seemed to wring the energy right out of me.


    ¡°Oh Henry, I already think you''re crazy.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know how to respond. I wasn¡¯t sure if I could. An iron clamp had tightened around my chest, choking any further response. I was looking down from a precipice, sliding and stumbling, about to tumble down. I dug deep to stem the tide of tears when she suddenly let go of my hands, only to firmly turn my face towards hers.


    ¡°But in this, you are in good company. I may think you¡¯re a bit crazy, but I know I am. It comes with the territory. Henry, in this world¡­ power never comes without a price. For us, that price is steep¡±


    ¡°There are people that could burn this entire forest to the ground before the sun sets in the sky. People that are suns unto themselves. They know fire so deeply it is a part of themselves. Indistinguishable from any other limb. But to welcome fire into themselves is to know the pain of its burn. It is to know the frantic glee with which it will consume and consume until all is ash.¡±


    ¡°To awaken is to see things in ways others do not. To see things we should not. We must peek behind the curtain and bring something back¡­ but just as often we must leave something behind. Whole peoples have found their doom, seeking what you have found. To creep to the edge without falling is no easy feat. If you were to end up a little crazy afterwards¡­ well, it wouldn¡¯t be the worst thing in the world.¡±


    I wanted nothing more than to break away from her large brown eyes, but she held my head firmly in place, waiting for a response. ¡°You keep saying that, saying that I¡¯m awakened. How do you even know? It¡¯s not like I¡¯ve done¡­¡± It¡¯s all I can do to throw my hands up into the air. ¡°...anything.¡±


    ¡°Besides recovering from death''s embrace in only a few days, you mean?¡± A poke to my chest drives the point home. ¡°You don¡¯t need to take my word for it.¡± Although the set of her face implied it better if I do. ¡°Tonight should reveal a lot. Until then, my words are simply words. Maybe they will reach you, maybe not. What I can do is listen to what you have to say.¡± With that, she let her last hand drop down from my face. ¡°So don''t worry that I''ll think you''re crazy and talk to me.¡±


    * * *


    ¡°That¡­ does explain a lot.¡±


    I had broken down and told Tolsti everything. It had taken a few retellings and a good deal of back and forth. Mostly to clarify what I was trying to say. Between bouts of tears that cascaded into shuddering sobs and my manic drive to finally have someone to talk to, I hadn¡¯t done a great job. It was like a faucet had been turned on, rusty and sputtering at first, but flowing out freely soon enough. If anything, I applauded her patience. Surprisingly, she didn¡¯t seem to care a lot about my world, instead focusing on sussing out a clear timeline from when I first arrived to when she found me. Questioning me here and there when something caught her interest.


    I felt like I could float out of my shoes at any moment. A buoyancy that stood all the more clear when I thought back to the grinding worry and heavy stresses I had stewed in before. In hindsight, it seemed so silly. I felt this profound gratitude towards Tolsti, yet refused to trust her. Didn¡¯t allow myself to believe she might take things in stride as she had everything else. I had set myself towards making the most out of the time available, but I was unwilling to ask the questions that mattered. Instead, trying to steal table scraps in fear of what she may think. Always one foot turned towards the door. Just¡­ silly.


    And now I had a crooked smile that I couldn¡¯t wipe off my face. The sheer relief had me giddy in a way that I couldn¡¯t help but bask in. I was so caught up in the stark relief that I nearly missed her response, the echo of her words bringing me back out of my head.


    ¡°That¡¯s it? You¡­¡± I didn¡¯t want to ask if she believed me. It felt cliche at best and insulting at worst. She was here and that was all that should really matter. Should, but the disbelief was a needling itch that demanded to be scratched. ¡°Just like that?¡±


    ¡°Come help me with something. We¡¯ll talk while we work.¡± Getting up with a long stretch, Tolsti guided me over to her side of the camp, near a small collection of her things. Grabbing a leather satchel, she motioned me to follow.


    We moved off in the opposite direction of the stream, an area I had yet to see. I lengthened my strides to catch up and soon settled in beside her as we made our way through the woods.


    Tolsti gave me a quick look before affecting a shallow shrug. ¡°I hate to repeat myself, but things will be clearer tonight. I guess it all comes down to perspective. The more you see the more you can imagine. Where you once saw a few trees,¡± she continued, gesturing around us, ¡°you can begin to view the whole forest.¡±


    A sharp slap on my back followed. ¡°Who am I to say what¡¯s over the next hill? It¡¯s a big world and I¡¯ve stopped assuming I know what lies in the shadows.¡±


    * * *


    For the first time, the numbing monotony of the forest began to break. The relatively open spaces gave way to a series of obstacles: half buried rocks, rotting tree trunks and thick roots that burst from the ground, taking the surrounding earth with them and turning the footing to a more tiring and treacherous fare. Before long I was breathing heavily and struggling to keep up with Tolsti, despite her relaxed pace.


    We moved in silence, giving me time to let the whirlpool spinning around my head to calm itself. It left me with an emotional and mental languor that began to seep into my body. An almost surreal state, as if the frame rate of the world had been turned down. At least until a splash of color caught my eye.


    It seemed so out of place. A ferocious smattering of bright red, almost pink, that burst from a thin tree up ahead. A blossoming smear of leaves that dragged me out of my daze. Surrounded by the tall, earth-toned evergreens I had come to expect, the red hued tree was a glimpse of fire on a dark night. My interest piqued, I twisted my head side to side, catching more flares of red in the distance.


    A rustling drew me back to Tolsti. Digging through the satchel, she removed a tiny wooden box before tossing the leather bag to the ground. Starting towards the nearest red leafed tree, she unhooked her hatchet and gives me a ¡®come-hither¡¯ motion. Following right behind, I notice a few details that I had overlooked in favor of the eye catching canopies. A collapsable metal bucket hung from a nail driven into the tree. Above the nail sat a small metal tube, poking an inch or so out of wood. Angled slightly downward, it had a clear liquid of some sort dripping out and into the suspended bucket. Was she collecting sap?


    ¡°What is that?¡± With a practiced ease, Tolsti removed the bucket before knocking out the nail and tube with the back of her hatchet. Opening up the tiny wooden box, she dug a finger into its contents and removed a sticky yellow bead which she used to close up the hole.


    ¡°Alden Wood Sap, a potent poison. Intense delirium, usually followed by loss of motor skills and eventual organ failure. Properly prepared though, it can be quite the useful ingredient. Intense, but very useful. Grab the rest of the buckets and bring them here. There should be three more in the area. And don¡¯t forget to knock out the nails and taps. Be gentle with the taps, a little back and forth should do the job. I¡¯ll be over to seal up the holes. Always good to leave as little a mark as possible.¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to ask the obvious question. For better or worse, Tolsti answered it for me. ¡°Don¡¯t look so uptight Henry, I¡¯ll have everything ready by sunset. You¡¯ll finally be getting the answers you want. Probably. Either way you¡¯ll never see things the same way again. Now hurry up and try not to get any on your hands.¡±


    Wonderful.

 Chapter 13 - Viewing the Forest

    ¡°First we¡¯ll need to grind up the Alden Wood bark into a powder.¡±


    We made it back to the clearing with buckets in hand. Or in my case, in the crooks of my elbows, unable to figure out a way to carry two buckets and a blade without hurting myself. By then, the trip had lapsed into silence and I was focused on not spilling any of the harmful contents, especially onto myself. Any attempts to wrangle more information out of Tolsti were quickly given up on. I wanted reassurance, but her gleeful mood had alarms ringing in my head. The small pieces of explanation I did receive only deepened my misgivings. The whole thing was foreboding to the say the least.


    ¡°And we didn¡¯t collect any while we were actually there¡­ why?¡±


    A handful of tinder and sticks in her arms, Tolsti instead pointed her foot towards the ribbons of bark littering the ground. Oh, so that was what she had been doing. After dumping the wood to the side of the fire pit, its embers still a warm orange, Tolsti unrolled a bundle of cloth to reveal a stone mortar and pestle. Grabbing the surprisingly heavy set, I plopped down near the strewn fragments of bark and silently considered how I would do this. A pinecone wizzing by my face brought me out of my thoughts.


    ¡°You can put the dagger down for now. I''m not a monster. I understand you only have two hands to work with. Just keep it close.¡±


    I briefly entertained questioning how much she understood, before discarding it as suicide by stupidity. Her anticipatory scowl proved she understood the general direction of my thoughts and strongly hinted that no response was the way to proceed.


    I stabbed the dagger into the ground, the blade sinking in a few inches to my right. It occurred to me that I should ask Tolsti about proper weapon maintenance and care. I didn¡¯t think the pine needles and dirt were in any way harmful, but it seemed prudent to ask at some point. With a shrug and a crack of my knuckles, I readied the mortar and reached towards a piece. ¡°Wait, they¡¯re not poisonous, are they?¡±


    ¡°Not at all. The opposite actually,¡± she said, dumping a second armful of wood on the growing pile.


    ¡°They¡¯re¡­ good for you?¡±


    ¡°Well, no. They counteract the sap¡¯s poison. Takes the edge off the whole thing. Brennus explained it as a defensive mechanism the tree developed over time, to make sure it couldn¡¯t harm itself. Like how our stomach linings protect us from the acid inside.¡±


    ¡°Brennus?¡±


    ¡°Oh, just someone I know who loves the sound of his own voice. Too stupid to realize how stupid he is.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± It was hard to tell what Tolsti actually thought of this Brennus. Stupid to the point of self-ignorance, yet a seemingly trusted source of woodcraft knowledge. The two didn¡¯t really parse, but I guess knowledge didn¡¯t have to equate one-to-one with intelligence. It could be that Tolsti was simply the type to jovially disparage her friends. That did seem the more likely of the two. I spent a moment watching her snap some of the larger sticks in two. I wonder how she viewed me?


    Returning my attention to the task at hand, I cut up a strip into more manageable pieces and dumped them into the coarse stone bowl. Up and down, around and around, I used the thick pestle to grind the bark down. More difficult than I would have thought, my hands and forearms were soon burning with a deep exhaustion. An irritated glance revealed frustratingly little progress. The pieces barely broken up, let alone ground into a powder. A poorly hidden snort had my head snapping around to it¡¯s amused source.


    Hands in the air in a mock pleading gesture, Tolsti struggled to contain her smile, the edges of her lips twisting up in delight. ¡°Bring it here, you¡¯ll be done by winter at this rate. You have to dry it out first. There¡¯s still too much moisture in the bark. Come, rest your weary arms and help me build up the fire.


    * * *


    A few hours near the edge of the fire had stripped the bark of a fair amount of moisture. While still not easy, the dried pieces eventually gave up their fight, leaving me with a course mixture that Tolsti deemed acceptable. During the wait, Tolsti consolidated the sap into a single bucket before going off to wash out the now empty containers in the stream. By the time the bark was properly broken down, the sun had fallen through the sky, only a few hours left until it dipped over the horizon. The now ready material was dumped into the sap bucket, mixed thoroughly and set into a newly formed bed of embers and coals.


    ¡°Now we wait,¡± Tolsti said with an eager lilt to he voice.


    ¡°So,¡± I began, carving furrows in the dirt with the tip of my blade. ¡°Is this one of those things I¡¯m not ready to know of yet? Because I would really like to know what exactly that,¡± I continued, pointing towards the lightly simmering mixture, ¡°is going to do to me.¡±


    Tolsti pursed her lips, eyes staring off into space while she considered the question. Her soft leather boots barely made a sound as she strode over to her satchel and dug a hand inside. A few seconds of rummaging ended with a pleased smile. Tolsti turned back towards me, the edges of her eyes taking on a bright golden glow as she threw her hand into the air, a scattering of things following right behind. A varied assortment of small metal odds and ends flew upward, arching around us and scattering into a bevy of trajectories. Glinting as they caught the late afternoon light, the nails, beads, cups and taps collectively paused in their flight, hovering over the clearing like our very own collection of satellites and moons. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°How can I do this?¡± Tolsti began with her hands spread wide, dragging me out of my mouth open wonder. ¡°Because I¡¯ve awakened. And because I remember.¡± With a glance my way, Tolsti gave a twitch of her fingers and the floating array began to move again. ¡°You¡¯ve opened the door, Henry. Traveled there and back, of that I have no doubt. But," she stressed, "you¡¯ve failed to bring anything back with you.¡±


    The scattered metal items coalesced into a rough grouping above her head and one by one made their way down into the waiting satchel. ¡°The door has only just been opened, propped open with a foot. Enough for a peek, maybe enough to slip through, but a tight squeeze at that. You return, but anything you might have found is left waiting on the other side. And so you sit, remembering nothing, having nothing. That, my little Henry,¡± she indicated with a finger towards the simmering solution, ¡°will help grease the hinges of your Heart¡¯s Door. Allow you to open it wider than ever before. And, with luck, you''ll come out the other side with something to show for it.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± I replied, with a nod in her direction. I didn¡¯t, not really. But I was still thankful for the explanation, even if it sparked more questions than it settled. Although it did make one thing exceedingly clear. Wetting my dried throat with a sip of water, I turned back to carving designs in the dirt. If I wanted a hope of surviving in this world, do more than fumble from one crisis to another, this would be my chance.


    * * *


    ¡°Is there anything else I have to do. Any preparation or¨C¡±


    ¡°No. Just drink it down and find yourself a comfortable position. It will take an hour or so to kick in. You¡¯ll know when,¡± she added, answering my question before I had a chance to ask. ¡°It does have a¡­ rather interesting taste, so be ready for that.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure that¡¯s it? Nothing else I should know?¡±


    Oh, right.¡± With a light slap to her head, Tolsti gave me an apologetic look. ¡°It¡¯s an incredibly potent aphrodisiac so your feelings towards me, not to mention heavily repressed lust, will undoubtedly come surging up and¨C¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay.¡± With a wave in her direction I stopped her there, indicating I understood. If it was worth knowing she would have told me already. I was only delaying at this point.


    The cup in my hand radiated a comforting warmth, a remnent of the now cooling liquid. It had taken on a light amber color from the cooking process, possibly from the addition of the bark. It didn¡¯t look especially off-putting, kind of like a watered down maple syrup. But my stomach was a bit of a mess at this point, roiling and turning, betraying my frayed nerves. I could feel Tolsti¡¯s gaze on me and tightened my grip on the metal cup. One minute. I would give myself one minute to do it.


    I dragged my eyes away from the liquid and up to Tolsti. She flashed a confident smile my way, the dying embers between us bathing her in a warm light. I thought back to her words from earlier today. If I feared the fire, I deserved the darkness and cold I recieved. The light and heat forever out of reach. With a final breath, in and out, I returned a nervous smile Tolsti¡¯s way and tossed back the drink.


    * * *


    Beating my fists against the ground, fighting back the overwhelming urge to empty my stomach, I turned watering eyes to Tolsti in an accusing glare. The minutes stretched on while I struggled to keep the vile concoction down. The bitter nausea and stomach turning disgust taxing my reserves. A final swallow seemed to settle things down, somewhat, before a thick burp escaped my mouth unannounced. The sound accompanied by Tolsti¡¯s out of breath laughter as she rolled around the ground in undisguised glee.


    I narrowed my eyes in her direction before deciding not to give her the pleasure of my misery. I wiped my hands across my face, brushing off the trails of tears wrung out in my suffering and croaked out a response. ¡°Not bad at all. A little spicy for my tastes though.¡±


    The off handed remark only set her into another breathless fit. Her giggles floating through the surrounding woods before she threw up a hand in defeat, gulping in large lungfuls of air in an attempt to calm down.


    Despite my best attempts to stay mad, helped along by the lingering rancid taste on my tongue, a ghost of a smile teased my lips. A sprinkling of Tolsti¡¯s delight, even if it was at my expense, washed over me.


    Finally over her amusement, Tolsti made her way over to my position and tossed a wrapped bundle my way. Giving a questioning look in her direction, I unwrapped the cloth to reveal a leather sheath. A deep brown with a faint grain, the leather was thick, but relatively soft to the touch.


    ¡°Give it a try. It should fit, close enough, if not perfectly.¡±


    A small strap looped around the opening of the sheath, from the back over to the front, where it attached by means of a raised bronze stud. I slipped off the strap and tentatively slid my dagger inside. Pushing until the edge of the handle neared the opening, I rewrapped the strap around the base of the blade, hopefully locking it place. A few tugs on the handle proved as much.


    ¡°Thank you Tolsti,¡± I offered in a quiet tone, running my thumb over the leather in appreciation.


    A smug face greeted me when I looked back up. ¡°We¡¯ll call it a fair trade for services provided. Good entertainment is so hard to find these days.¡± With a shrug she continued. ¡°It was easy enough to come by, nothing special. And you''ll need it much more than I ever would.¡± With that, she made her way back to the other side of the fire, tossing in a few small sticks along the way. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s better this way. The last thing I wanted was to save your life again when you inevitably cut, stabbed or otherwise sliced yourself during the coming hours. My words are still very much in effect. The blade stays in your hand tonight.¡±


    ¡°So sit back and relax, dear Henry. Because now it begins.¡±


    With nothing else to do but wait, I played around with the new sheath for my dagger. Studying the tight stitching down the sides and getting a feel for the gift. As the sun inched closer and closer to the horizon my nerves began to blossom once again and it became more difficult to affect a semblance of calm.


    The crackling of the fire seemed to roar right beside my ears, while Tolsti¡¯s gentle humming sounded miles away. Sometimes the two would suddenly swap, the humming buzzing in my ears while the fire burned in the distance. The last vestiges of light that made their way into the clearing had an almost¡­ physical presence. The beams of light becoming pillars that held up the sky. The ground around me rose and fell in steady waves, the breath of the earth making itself known. My own breath felt¡­ not thin, but off in some way. Secondary. As if it wasn¡¯t really entering me, more¡­ passing through. I felt untethered and the rising details of the world grated on my mind. Happy to escape it all, I closed my eyes, only for a new world to open itself before me.