《Lore and Legend - The Werewolf》 Nightmares Everything is black. Overwhelming. I can''t breathe. Desperation. I need to breathe. Flashes of color and sound suddenly take over my senses, whispering softly to me, filling me with breath. Purple and blue tendrils of smoke drift out of the darkness, and my world slowly becomes illuminated by a pale greenish light. It bubbles up from nothingness, getting brighter until it''s so bright it hurts my eyes. Then the wolves come. It''s always wolves. They appear in the mist, creatures that at a glance don''t belong in this world. Charcoal black wisps of smoke, held together by a tangible hatred. Their blood red eyes, fierce points of light, seep out of the darkness surrounding them. They move toward me without ever seeming to have taken a step. Crimson eyes bore into me. Their mouths hang open, and blackness takes over my body, suffocating me once more. ¡°Leira?¡± A voice. Gasping, drawing in as much air as my lungs can hold. ¡°Leira...¡± Another nightmare. I remember now. ¡°I''m fine sweetheart. Just a bad dream¡± There''s a pause, and I know he''s thinking about what to say. He''s woken me up from so many bad dreams before. It''s always the same. I wake up, he asks if I''m alright, I say yes, and we drift back to sleep. That, or I wake him from his own nightmare, and we move on. ¡°What was it about?¡± His voice sounds calm, but there''s a hint of desperation. He''s never actually asked that before. Our nightmares have always been our own personal torments. As soon as I think about the dream it seems to fade away. Like waves along the beach that seem so forceful before they slip away into nothing. I can remember the feeling of terror, but even that evaporates. What was I afraid of? I try to reach into my memories but they slip through my fingers. I can''t seem to actually remember what it was I was dreaming about. I was running away from something, I think. Something dark. ¡°I can''t remember.¡± We both lay still for a moment until he puts his arm around me and lays his head next to mine. We''ve almost fallen asleep and I hear the whisper of his voice. ¡°I love you.¡± The fear left over from the dream leaves me and I close my eyes. ¡°I love you too.¡± A scratching noise wakes me up, followed soon after by a whine. Ranger. Every morning, faithfully, he scratches at the door to let us know that it''s well past time he should be fed. I glance at my husband, who''s still snoring peacefully. Another whine from the other side of the door. ¡°Alright.¡± I say, convinced. ¡°I''m up.¡± The noise stops, and I know Ranger''s ears have perked up and his tail is wagging. If ever an animal could make you smile, it was that one. * Hruuhff * A pleading look as I open the door. ¡°Oh hush.¡± The stern glance I give him does absolutely nothing to calm his wagging tail. Still, I can''t help but feel like sometimes he understands what I''m saying. ¡°I''m working on it, give me a second.¡± It pacifies him briefly. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. I fumble with my shoes, turning them upside down and giving them a rough shake to detach whatever creature may have decided to make a nest in them for the night. It''s a hard learned habit that''s resulted in a few very embarrassing moments, and on one occasion, a sprained knee. The morning air is crisp and cool as I step outside, trying not to make the front door creak. It''s an impossible task. The hinges have been rusting for some time now. There never seems to be enough time to fix it, or when there is the time, enough care to do so. Ranger runs ahead of me, not quite bouncing like he would have in his youth. His muzzle is grayed, his fur somewhat greasy an unkempt. It''s been a number of years since I first started worrying that he would pass on. He came to us on his own, already a few years old and gentle to those around him. He''s never tried to break into the rabbit hutch¡¯s like so many other wild curs in the area. I''ve always wondered what happened to his family before us. Did they lose him, or did he lose them? I may never know. He''s far past him prime, but I hope he will survive a few more years yet. I''m sure he''ll wander off on his own again when he feels the time is near. Still, for all his age, he''s at the shed well before I am, waiting patiently, tail still wagging. * hhurrh * It''s more of a cough than a bark, but I''m sure he feels it hurries me up, as it only takes me a few seconds to take three smalls fish down from the drying racks for him. Racks that, with a sigh, I realize are far too empty. Winter is around the corner, and we only have enough food to last half of it. The Brindlefish run is late this year. Normally there are thousands of the tiny speckled fish swimming upstream to spawn, but this year there was only a short spate of them a few weeks ago. Since then there''s been nothing. I''ve been told that even the crab pots are coming up empty as of late. Fear tries to take hold of me but I manage to shove it aside. My family needs to eat. We need to survive the winter. That hasn''t been a guarantee for years, but knowing what needs to be done keeps me focused. It''s a few weeks yet until I can harvest the rabbits, so I grab a few woven baskets and my net from a shelf and look at Ranger again. ¡°Ready to catch some fish?¡± I ask him, but he ignores me and looks out the door, his tail slowly comes to a stop, and he cocks his head to the side. Suddenly there''s yelling coming from my house. No, it''s screaming. My blood turns to ice and my heart beats faster. What''s going on? It''s my husband that''s screaming. The pain in his voice is apparent as I rush from the shed. This time Ranger can''t hope to keep up, but I can hear him huffing somewhere behind me. My heart sinks as my home come into view. The door is ajar, the wooden crates usually so neatly stacked near the door are scattered about the entry way, and all I can hear is more screaming... Moving Forward The force of my entry knocks the door off it''s rusty hinges. ¡°Wyatt?¡± The small pause before he answers is almost more than I can handle. Dark thoughts rush through my head in the moments between my frantic call and his response. ¡°I''m fine.¡± He cries from further in the house, but his voice is trembling. Rounding the corner into our bedroom I find him sprawled on the floor, his legs twisted underneath him. ¡°Gods above, are you alright?¡± It''s all I can do to keep from shouting. ¡°No. Yes,¡± He groans ¡°I don''t know.¡± I reach down to help him up ¡°Let me-- ¡°No!¡± He shouts at me. ¡°No.¡± More calmly this time. ¡°I''m sorry. Just let me lay here a minute.¡± Awkward seconds pass as we both stare at each other, trying to figure out who''s will is stronger. His legs are bent in a way that must be painful, but I''m sure he knows what''s best. Finally Ranger catches up to us and storms through the doorway, huffing and whining, somehow at the same time. ¡°Easy, friend.¡± I manage to get my arms wrapped around his chest before he can step on Wyatt. No doubt Ranger''s attempts to help would involve enthusiastically licking and stepping all over my husband, which I''m sure he doesn''t need at this exact second. The initial stress of the situation eases, so I sit down next to the straw mat that serves as our bed and take in the situation. I lost count of how many times I''ve seen him wince in pain. I''ve seen his leg give out on him in the past, forcing him to grab onto whatever nearby object he could steady himself with. He stopped coming with me to fish nearly a year ago. But I''ve never seen this. ¡°Your back?¡± I ask, even though I know it is. How could it be anything else? He only sighs in response, and so we sit in silence. He told me when they sent him home that nothing had even happened, that he just fell one day while readying his armor, and he simply never recovered. They gave him time to rest, and the doctors tried all manner of concoctions, but the ones that took away the pain took away his mind as well. Some made him sleep near days on end, and others did nothing at all. That was five years ago, before we realized he''d never sit a horse again, or be able to run, or... Gods know what else. They had granted us land, not much of it, in compensation for his injury. His commander made the case that a fall from his horse during battle just a few weeks prior to the incident had been what caused the injury. It was his incredible strength, they said, that had kept him from collapsing until then. Whoever his commander plead the case to, they must have known he was telling the truth. The Long War may have made my husband the last son of a last son, but his family has been well know for unusual strength for as long as anyone alive can remember. Giant people, well fed, broad in shoulder and narrow in hip. The family has done nothing else but serve as guardsmen and warriors for generations. I can tell that he''s thinking about the same thing I am, but I decide not to press him. ¡°What can I do to help?¡± I ask gently, hoping that he will let me. ¡°There''s nothing.¡± He says, clearly dejected. ¡°I just need to wait for it to stop hurting long enough to roll over, then I''ll drag myself to bed and wait.¡± The way he says ¡°wait¡± makes me unsure if he means waiting to get better, or something else. Has this happened before when I was away? Living together, you get in a routine, and the little things you remember to hide about yourself at first soon become forgotten. Chewing your fingernails, and things like that. When he came home, I would hear him say something from another room, and at first I thought he was talking to me, so I would ask him to repeat himself. The answer was always ¡°Nothing,¡± or ¡°Never mind,¡± and eventually I realized he was talking to himself. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. As time went on, he would forget to hide it when he was close enough for me to hear. Little phrases like ¡°Should have been there,¡± and ¡°Killed them all,¡± soon became a daily occurrence. It made me worried, and I tried to figure out if there was anything I could do, but after a few hundred times of hearing the same answer, I just stopped asking. Anymore, I barely notice it. Ranger squirms in my arms and nuzzles my hand, snapping me back to the moment, and bringing my husband out of whatever dark place he was exploring in his mind. ¡°You should take him with you today.¡± He says, although I haven''t told him my plans yet. Daily life doesn''t change much around here. He knows the rabbits aren''t ready yet, and we haven''t got enough food to feel secure. The only other option is for me to leave for the day, head towards town, and hope there''s fish in the river. ¡°I will.¡± I let Ranger go and he gently approaches Wyatt, licking him. ¡°With any luck the fish will be running.¡± They''re empty words trying to bridge the silence that seems to be creeping in again. ¡°When I''m in town I can stop by Sir Atlee''s home, see how he''s doing. Maybe he can stop by to visit for the evening.¡± More silence, and my husbands face ever so slightly falls. I shouldn''t have suggested it. Sir Atlee came home a few years after my husband did. Of course he wasn''t a ¡°sir¡± when he left, but whatever glory my husband regrets missing, Sir Atlee apparently found it. Rich would be an over statement, but he was well off, with a young family, living in a comfortable home, and with a name that most people in the region knew. To my husband though, he was just a long time friend from childhood. Wyatt finally starts to sit up, slowly, painfully, until he''s leaning against the wall. ¡°Another time. Next week perhaps.¡± He says, though I''ve heard that answer a number of times before. ¡°Wonderful.¡± I''m sure my feigned enthusiasm is painfully obvious. A few minutes later my husband has shifted himself across the floor and into bed. He convinces me that he will be alright without me, and sends me on my way with a kiss. I would stay if I could, but leaving means hope for the future. Staying doesn''t. Ranger, blissfully unaware of such concerns, waddles along next to me as we make our way to town, occasionally stopping to bark at leaves as they skitter across the path. Town is only a few miles away, and before I know it I''m walking through the copse of trees bordering the river that flows through town. A crow quarks from somewhere above and takes flight. I can hear the rough beating of it''s wings. The air cools as I approach the river, until I can just barely hear it''s soft lullaby playing along the rocks. Another crow flits through the trees, cawing. I can smell the cooking fires from town. It''s a good sign. Why light fires if there''s no fish. Today will be fine, I tell myself as I round the final curve in the road. The fish will be there, I can fill my baskets, and be home before dark. But darkness is all I see as the river comes into view. Hundreds, maybe thousands of crows swarm along the bank, cawing and squabbling with each other. In their mouths, ripped to pieces, are all the fish I need to survive the winter. The smell hits me as I get farther away from the soft scent of the pine trees. Dead fish, rotting in the sun. So many that I don''t have the numbers to count them with. Their speckled bodies litter the shore in a thick layer. In the water, I can see river lions making circles with their mouths hanging open, scooping up the dying fish coming from upstream. Above the commotion there''s a slight fog. A haze, really. Smoke. Not smoke from the fires like I thought, but a thin cloud of smoke dimming the sun, coming from somewhere in the forest beyond. The site is more than I can take, and I fall to my knees. Ranger comes to a stop and sits down next to me. ¡°I don''t know what to do.¡± I confide in him, but he just wags his tail as I lean into him. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes as I bury my face into his fur. Possibilities ¡°Make way!¡± The shout brings me back to my senses and gives me just enough warning to dive out of the riders way. Shod hooves send bits of dirt and rocks flying as he spurs the horse to run faster. His hands hold the banner of our kingdom steady, the crossed crimson and blue cloth flailing madly as he goes thundering past. A chorus of angry squawking erupts as the rider barrels into the swarm of crows, forcing them to take flight, blooming like some dark flower, before they settle back down to continue their feast. A few minutes later the distant clatter of horse shoes drifting through the trees marks the much less sudden arrival of the rest of the entourage. Weary looking faces march past holding the reins of pack mules. Knights of various rank pass by without thinking to taking notice of me, their standards emblazoned on shields, sewn into tabards, or adorning the caparisons of their horses. From the looks of them, this is less a group going off to battle, and more of a show of force. Finally, a carriage trundles laboriously over the roots that have overtaken the remnants of what was once a cobblestone road. It''s driver, seeming much less dour than the rest of the group, nods to me as he passes by. Ranger, having taken all of this in while patiently waiting at my side, decides that now is the appropriate time to bark. A single low * Hrrrrrruff! * makes the diver smile, and his horse turn it''s head to consider if Ranger is a threat before turning back to it''s task. Clearly, the horse has decided, he''s not. ¡°Shall we get going then?¡± I ask him, and he''s heard the word ¡°go¡± often enough to know that it''s exciting, and gives me a few wags of his tail. There''s a small group of villagers talking excitedly as I get to the edge of town. The birds are too busy gorging themselves to be a nuisance to us, though they fly uncomfortably close in their haste, having become braver after their previous encounter with the envoy. ¡°What''s going on?¡± I demand of the group. They look up, startled. The sight before them had them so entranced that they didn''t see me approach. One of them I recognize. The crabber I''d spoken to a few weeks ago who''d had no more luck with the river than I did. ¡°Shen. What''s happening?¡± His eyes are wide, fearful. ¡°Dunno.¡± He stutters. ¡°This morning, it was terrible! Bright lights swept across the sky and crashed into the mountain.¡± He pauses to catch his breath before the words cascade out of his mouth. ¡°Then there was a big sound. Loud. Like a horse broke it''s leg and is screeching in pain. The ground shook something terrible, then the smoke started to drift in, and rocks fell from the sky! Course we asked the Vicar what to do, and he says it''s nothing to worry about that the Gods can''t fix. Pah!¡± He stops and makes a disparaging gesture to show his feelings for the Vicar before continuing. ¡°He says it''s something they knew about was going to fly here, but they didn''t know it was going to get so close. We got on about our day for a while, but then the fish started drifting down the river, all of ''em dead or dying. Ask the Vicar to explain that one!¡± He shouts, clearly still distraught. A woman, short and skinny, pipes up as Shen finishes his story ¡°The Vicar did explain! He says we aught to be prayin'' more. Oh things were bad but we figured we''d be alright, but we was just bein'' arrogant. We need to pray the Gods will save us is what we aught to do!¡± This new assertion is enough to send the group back into a frenzied argument. I can''t do much more than stand back, watch, and hope to glean some kind of information. Further into town I can see the knight''s banners dancing effortlessly on the breeze. No doubt the building they are all gathered in front of is the Vicar''s house, or some other important official''s house. I can''t remember there being any delegates from the kingdom living here, but I haven''t been able to keep up on everything that goes on in town, either. Stolen novel; please report. Suddenly the shutters of a nearby house are thrown open and an old woman thrusts her face out. ¡°Would you rabble shut your fool mouths? I can''t concentrate in here!¡± She screams at them. They stop only long enough to dismiss her before turning back to their argument. The woman''s face contorts in rage ¡°Oh, I warned you!¡± She screeches and disappears back into her house. I can hear thumping and cabinet doors slamming before she reappears with a bucket. ¡°How about this then!¡± She dumps the contents of the bucket as far as she can heave them, but they fall short of the group, only splashing on a few people''s boots. One woman, her laughter more grating than the rest, makes a dismissive motion with her hand, before she covers her nose suddenly. ¡°Uhg, what was in that?¡± ¡°Go away you old hag.¡± Another yells. Despite a variety of other insults being levied on her, the old woman smiles and holds up a small clay jar. She tosses it from one hand to the other, and the motion brings back a vivid memory. It''s a memory from so long ago that I had almost forgotten it, but still it''s there. Suddenly I realize that I know what''s about to happen, so I grab Ranger by the collar and take a few quick steps backwards. ¡°I said go away!¡± She finishes, and throws the vessel into the puddle of liquid already on the ground. The clay jar cracks and a viscous brown liquid seeps out. The villagers, ignorant to what I think is about to happen, take the moment to mock her for missing again, but their taunts soon turn into shouts of terror as the liquid begins to spark at their feet, sending up plumes of thick greenish yellow smoke. Within seconds they have scattered and are running back towards their homes, shouts of ¡°Witch!¡± and ¡°Demon!¡± thrown over their shoulders. Ranger likewise tries to run, but I hold him solidly in place until the reaction on the ground starts to die down, and we''re left standing alone with tendrils of smoke drifting around us. ¡°Aren''t you going to run home, too? Who knows what I put in that stuff!¡± The woman''s voice is softer now that the crowd has disbursed, and her last vague threat doesn''t seem to hold any weight. Our eyes meet and we slowly consider one another. She must be curious about why I didn''t run. ¡°It''s harmless.¡± I say, sounding more confident than I actually am. ¡°If it was dangerous, you wouldn''t have done it in front of almost a dozen witnesses, or have been dumb enough to do it 300 feet from a contingent of knights.¡± I say, gesturing to the grouping of men just down the road. Her eyes squint. ¡°You''re not just some peasant, are you? What''s your story?¡± She asks, immediately following up with ¡°On second thought, I don''t really care.¡± And with that the shutters clank shut as abruptly as they opened. The audacity of it all makes me laugh, and I lean down to scratch ranger between his sholders. His back foot starts thumping on the ground enthusiastically. ¡°Maybe we''ll visit Sir Atlee after all.¡± But before we can start walking I hear the door of the old witch''s house creak open and turn to find her standing in the doorway. ¡°Come inside.¡± She tells me. ¡°You just might be the right person for a little job I need done.¡± The Way Out I start to go inside, but hesitate with one foot in, one out. What am I getting myself in to? I don''t have any time to ponder the thought before Ranger nudges the back of my knee with his nose, trying to shove past me into the house. ¡°Stay out here buddy.¡± He protests with a pathetic whine that I can still hear though the heavy wooden door after I shut it. I know he''ll eventually realize that his efforts are proving futile, and he''ll settle down to rest somewhere nearby instead of scratching at the door. Inside the house is comfortable and warm, but the woman is out of sight somewhere. I had expected to find tinctures and bottles, some concoction brewing in a stoneware pot, but they are nowhere to be seen. Instead the glow of a hundred candles light the interior, illuminating a neatly arranged desk and the shelves of books that sit behind it with a warm glow. A pot of ink, capped, and the quill placed nearby, have left no evidence staining the desk. Even the candle holders are neat and clean, though I''m sure she burns enough of them for the melting wax to have coated them many times over. I can hear rattling and clanking coming from around the corner, just before the woman comes back with a tray laden with cups and a tea kettle. ¡°You like tea? Of course you like tea.¡± She says, pouring two cups and placing one in front of me. ¡°There''s sugar and milk if you''re so inclined. I haven''t had lemons in years, so you''re out of luck there. I suspect that''s what you would actually want in it.¡± She says almost expectantly. The way that she speaks is demanding, blunt, and leaves no room to disagree with her thoughts. Eerily, she''s not wrong about a my preference for lemons. ¡°I used to love lemon in my tea.¡± I admit somewhat sheepishly, although I have no reason to feel ashamed of it. People in this area consider brewing tea with lemons nearly sinful, but it''s a regional oddity as far as I''m concerned. There''s a brief pause. ¡°Tell me about Iarba.¡± Iarba. The word brings back a flurry of memories, most good, but the ones that aren''t so good make me catch my breath. This woman knows more than she''s letting on, and I''m suddenly hesitant to continue talking to her. I grew up in Iarba before it was destroyed, but she couldn''t have known that just from my preference for lemon tea, could she? Everything I say, every twitch of my mouth, tells her something about me that I don''t want to reveal. I take a moment to stare idly into my drink, stir it, and take a sip. I''m stalling, trying to get my thoughts into order, and I''m positive that she knows it. The tea is fragrant and strong, with a hint of... ¡°Lemon?¡± My eyes dart back up to meet hers. The flavor brings a rush of memories, of my father showing me how to brew it just so, how to combine the bitter flavors of different herbs to somehow make a sweet concoction, and sitting on the porch taking sips of it as the sun fell slowly to the earth, before the moon rose to take it''s place. ¡°Lemon.¡± She nods, but provides no explanation. Perhaps if I hadn''t tasted the flavor before, I never would have noticed it''s subtle presence. Was it some kind of test? We both stare at each other for a long moment, and the silence becomes too uncomfortable for me, finally prompting me to speak. ¡°It was a very small, but important place. I lived there a very long time ago with my family. It was before The Riverlands burned. I suppose that much must be obvious.¡± Her gaze seems to force the words out of me, and for the first time I notice that her eyes have flecks of purple in them, like many of the people I grew up with there. ¡°My father was an alchemist.¡± She nods slowly as I continue. ¡°I don''t know what position he truly held because I was rather young at the time. I don''t remember too much about the place to be honest, but I do remember him showing me different things he was working on. He could split the sunlight into pieces with a brick of glass. Once, he was showing off his work to the duke and I saw him create great clouds of smoke just by pouring two liquids together. That''s how I knew what you did couldn''t be too harmful.¡± This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°He sounds like a very intelligent man.¡± She leaves the words hanging in the air. ¡°He was.¡± I agree. ¡°But he''s been dead for many years now.¡± As I say the words, she slouches slightly in her chair, but I continue without asking her to explain it. ¡°Most of my family died when the city was taken. My eldest brother found me in time and took me here, assuring me that my mother would be here soon, but she never came. When he left, that was the last time I saw him. That was the last I saw of any of my family.¡± This time she''s the one who takes a moment to sip on her tea. ¡°What was your fathers name?¡± she asks innocuously. Distrust blooms within me. I''m tired of her pretending to guess at my past. Clearly, she must know the answer, but wants to keep playing games. ¡°Does it matter? You said you needed my help, but you haven''t told me what for. I don''t have time to waste, not today.¡± My usual resolve has returned. She shrugs, accepting my refusal to continue, but I feel like she would have kept pressing for answers about my past for hours if I''d let her. ¡°I''m running low on supplies. You don''t have any idea--¡± She pauses for a moment. ¡°You have every idea just how hard it is to keep something like that in stock. I need someone smart enough to know the difference between a mushroom and a muskrat, and who is nimble enough to go get it for me. I''m not as strong as I once was, so the deep woods aren''t a good place for me to go wandering, and my usual help is indisposed at the moment.¡± She leaves enough room in the conversation to give me a chance to speak, but I don''t take it. The deep woods? I haven''t been there in a few years. I haven''t been able to wander that far without fear for my husband making me turn around and head back home. It''s the same fear that makes me want to turn around right now. The woman places something on the table in front of me, dried and black. ¡°This is Mendax, or Liar''s Mushroom as it''s better known. It grows in a very specific place. It''s most of the way up a rocky incline, east of where the river is just a few feet deep, near a group of caves, but not inside them. I need you to go see if there''s any there.¡± Her voice, after all of her earlier confidence, sounds sad as she says it. She''s visibly crestfallen, and seems deep in thought. Her uncertainty prompts me to question her. ¡°What do you mean if? You said it grows there. Why wouldn''t they still be there?¡± ¡°Oh those fools!¡± She shouts, making me fall back into my chair, startled. ¡°Those fools think they know everything but there''s so much they don''t know. They wanted nothing to do with anything I said. I knew we weren''t safe. I knew disaster would come. But did they listen? No. No the gods would keep us safe, provided we were pious and humble, and prayed for safety. Damn them and their arrogance.¡± She''s fuming and her hair has fallen into her face. ¡°Oh, they didn''t force me out, but I knew I was no longer welcome. I packed up my things and left, and this is where I ended up. All the better for me in the end.¡± Her words trail off limply. ¡°Let them rot where they fell.¡± Silence takes over the room once more. It feels awkward, but I pick up the mushroom from the table and try to lead the conversation again. ¡°So you need more of these, and I''m supposed to get them for you. I hate to sound trite, but what''s in it for me? I have more important things to be doing.¡± I say, taking one final drink of my tea. She snaps out of whatever dark fog she was wandering through inside her mind. ¡°That''s where you''re wrong, child. Do this for me, and I''ll pay you one thousand gold pieces.¡± Tea cascades out of my mouth, a fine mist bursts out as I start coughing, and I gag and as I try to keep the rest of it from settling into my lungs. ¡°One thousand? Just what kind of mushroom is this?¡± I ask. She picks it up and twirls it in her fingers. ¡°It''s the difference between life and death.¡± Success ¡°One thousand gold, Ranger!¡± I tell my companion as we walk down the street. ¡°We could eat for years with that much money.¡± * Hrruhhf * He agrees happily I look at the small dried mushroom in my hand. Desiccated as it is, it''s hard to tell exactly what shape it should be when I go looking for more, but the crown of it is rather unique. Black, with small divots filled with a dark smokey blue color. My fingers burn after having held it for so long, so I stuff it into a pocket. She had warned me about handling it too much, and explained that it was very potent. If I felt light headed, any pain when touching it, or burning in my eyes, I shouldn''t touch it except to compare it to what I decide to pick. I suppose I should have just put it in my pocket then, but I can''t help to feel like this is the same sort of thing my father must have done at my age, and just seeing it in my hands reminds me of him. He always spoke proudly of how he''d studied under some of the most talented alchemists in the world. There was no where else like Iarba, he''d said, where like minded people got together and put aside differences for the sake of knowledge. There had been some kind of major discovery shortly before it was destroyed, but I''ve no idea what it was. That was why the duke had been there. My father said his display of smoke and spark was child''s play, really, but the Duke had been awestruck by it, as most were. There was no interest in long explanations of chemical processes, or what they meant... All people wanted to see were fancy tricks. That always chafed at my father. I can remember long nights where he lamented to my mother that the discovery would change lives. He was so passionate in everything he did. ¡°Leira!¡± A booming voice pierces the late morning air. ¡°Jesson?¡± I know it''s him as soon as I hear him, and as I turn around strong arms wrap around me and lift me into the air. ¡°Where have you been? I haven''t seen you in months! I''d begun to worry.¡± The concern that spreads across his face is real as he puts me back down. ¡°Jess, I mean, Sir Atlee, --¡± ¡°Oh, quit with that.¡± He reprimands me and leans down to scratch ranger behind his ears. ¡°Don''t go calling me that. It feels wrong. You didn''t call me that when we were children, I don''t expect it now.¡± I blush at his scolding. ¡°Sorry, it''s just that you''re supposed to be important now, right?¡± ¡°Only important enough to be the Baron''s errand boy for the most part, although I did route a den of thieves a few weeks ago.¡± ¡°I thought you looked a little more fat than the last time I saw you.¡± I tease him and poke his sides. ¡°You''re probably right actually.¡± He sighs, pinching at his stomach. ¡°Too much mead, no doubt.¡± ¡°I haven''t haven''t had mead in a long while.¡± I laugh, and realize it was a mistake as soon as the words come out of my mouth. Jesson looks at me, worry plainly written across his face. ¡°How are the rabbits doing?¡± ¡°Good, good.¡± I try to sound cheerful. ¡°They''re nice and fat, thanks again for sending them our way. A few more weeks and I''ll be able to slaughter most of the bucks. We''ve got enough food to winter about a dozen of them I think, and then next year we can sell some of the hides and meat. The first batch is going to replace some much needed winter clothing for Wyatt and I though.¡± It''s a lie, the part about having enough food to feed them, but it''s harmless enough. I''ll have enough food soon, and Jesson has already done so much for us that I can''t force myself to ask for his help again. The smile that beams across his face tells me he doesn''t suspect anything about how we might be living. ¡°Great, well if you''re not busy we should--¡± ¡°SIR ATLEE!¡± a voice booms loudly from behind a building and a squat man wearing a striped black and blue tunic waddles from around the corner. ¡°This way at once, we''re done here.¡± ¡°Right away, sir.¡± He shouts to the man and gives me another quick hug. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°The Baron?¡± I ask. ¡°The Baron.¡± He groans. ¡°I''ll see you again soon I hope.¡± He''s gone before I have any time to consider when that might be, and I turn once more onto the road. Ranger follows and walks patiently at my side. He''s too old to still have the energy to bark at the shadows as we near the woods on the other side of town. Minutes fade into an hour, then two, as I think about my childhood. I don''t remember much of Iarba, but it''s where my heritage is, although it''s in ruins now. Yet I still consider this area my home. I grew up in these woods, with Jesson and his parents acting as my surrogate family. It''s been a number of years since I''ve been here, but the path doesn''t feel any different than it did then. The log over the river is still there, slick with moss, and I''m over it by stepping in the same places as before. I follow the river bank, still lost in thought, until the pitch of the earth increases dramatically, and the river becomes so thin and narrow you would hesitate to call it a river at all. At this point, I realize, I would normally have turned back to go home. The vegetation becomes thinner and more sparse as I keep walking, more out of breath with each step. I reach a small plateau and pause long enough to catch my breath and take in the scenery. ¡°It''s beautiful.¡± I tell ranger, shielding my eyes from the afternoon sun. ¡°I''ve never seen it from up here¡± I turn in a circle to look around and my breath catches in my throat. A large swathe of the land is burnt black and destroyed. The trees that should be there are missing. Everything is missing. Everywhere to the south is speckled with large black patches. I realize, looking east, that I can actually see the ocean, but just like here there''s a large burnt area, only it''s still smoking there. After I''ve looked at the desolation for a few long minutes I start walking again. East of the river, to a group of caves she said. I''m past the river by at least a mile now, but I haven''t seen any caves. I devour the landscape with my eyes and finally see shadows that might be the caves she spoke of. As I walk towards them, I scan the rocks around me and suddenly I see it. Just above me on a large outcropping, a small cluster of tiny black mushrooms with blue spots that seem to be glowing in the sunlight. I scrabble up the rocks and pull the dried mushroom from my pocket. Alive, it''s shaped much different, but there''s no doubt this is what I''m looking for. Mendax. I found it! I pluck the mushroom from it''s perch and drop it down to where ranger is pacing below me. Now I can see there''s more of them, covering the ledge I''m clinging to. In a few minutes I''ve made a small pile below.I look higher and there seem to be even more of them. I''m going to be rich! I climb to the next group of mushrooms and pick a particularly large specimen and toss it down the escarpment. I reach for the next mushroom, but as I shift my weight the rocks slip out from under me, sending me tumbling down a few feet. I manage to catch hold of another rock and keep myself from falling any farther. Stupid. I''m rushing because I''m excited. I take a deep breath and look down to ranger, who''s barking frantically, having dodged the rocks that almost fell on top of him. ¡°We''ll be on our way home soon buddy, just a couple more and you can eat as much as you want for the rest of your life!¡± I turn back to my task, reaching for another mushroom, this time much more careful about where I put my weight. Another mushroom, and another, and then a small pebble clatters past my hand, giving me pause. I look up in time to see the cliff face collapsing on top of me, but before I can react a rock slams into my head. Pain. Pain and blackness, then flashes of white and green light. I can''t see. It hurts... a feeling of floating takes over, and I feel like I''m drowning. I can''t breathe. I can''t... A Winding Path Falling. I''m falling! No, no! I''m going to die. I can feel my heart racing. My chest feels ready to burst and I still can''t see. Where is the ground? I''ve been falling too long. I''m going to die. Am I already dead? My body feels like it''s burning from the lack of air. ¡°Breathe, breathe, breathe!¡± I scream inside my head as I fall further into the blackness, but every muscle seems paralyzed. It''s been there the whole time, but I suddenly notice a piercing, shrill noise. Like screaming. No, not like screaming, it is screaming. It''s my screaming. ¡°Aaahg!¡± My body slams into the ground, but there''s no pain, like when you fall in a dream and wake up suddenly startled by something you can''t remember. Blinding white light fills my eyes, and the world is spinning. ¡°Huuhhn.¡± I try to stand up but instead I collapse and lay on the ground with my eyes shut, forcing myself to take deep breaths until my heart stops racing. The light is less obnoxious when I open them again, but everything still seems out of focus. It''s all too much, too overwhelming, and I roll over to cough up a thick liquid onto the ground. ¡°Ranger?¡± I rub my eyes to try to clear my vision so that I can look around. ¡°Ranger?¡± I ask again more desperately, but there''s no response. Where is he? He never wanders far... The fog that clouded my vision finally dissipates enough for me to take in my surroundings. Everything seems cast in a pale green light, but it''s in focus now at least. I can hear birds flitting through the trees somewhere, but try as I might I can only seem to see their shadows. Their calls are strange and distended, seeming to echo off of every twig and branch. Everything seems foreign, and yet I recognize the trees around me, and the flowers, the ferns. There''s a painful throbbing in my head and my thoughts are clouded, but I push myself to try to stand up again. ¡°Where am I?¡± I whisper to no one. I know I need to go somewhere. But where? I don''t remember picking a direction, yet I find myself walking through the forest in the direction that seems right. There''s a path winding through the trees, but as to who made it I have no idea. There''s no other evidence that anyone has ever been here except for it''s presence. As I continue down the road I can''t shake the feeling of floating. My footsteps don''t seem to be making any noise, although I can feel the ground beneath my feet. I walk for what seems like hours until something compels me to stop. I feel safe here. I feel right. The pale green light ebbs and I blink, looking at my surroundings. There''s a pile of rocks, and ¨C Gods, there''s a body! What poor soul met their fate this far from home? Their clothing is torn, bloodied, and their body is face down in the dirt. They don''t seem to have been here long. I can''t help but think it might be someone I recognize from town, and I know I can''t leave before I find out. Slowly, warily, I approach them, steeling myself for whatever I''m about to see. I''ve seen a body once before, when my adopted mother died. Of course I''ve seen hundreds of butchered animals before but those died for a purpose, and their limp bodies never bothered me, nor did tearing their hides away from their muscle. Those deaths were for a reason, but this one looks like it was just bad luck. I remember looking at my mother, her face a contorted visage of peace. She had been sick for a long time, so her passing wasn''t unexpected, but I still remember feeling angry when people told me that she was in a better place. What better place could there be than with your family? They were right of course; She wasn''t in pain. But she wasn''t in happiness, either. She wasn''t anything. Just dead. I take hold of the fabric at the persons shoulder and attempt to roll them over, but they''re heavier than I expected. Despite my greatest efforts I can''t seem to actually move them. The light that had subsided earlier suddenly gets brighter again and my mind starts swimming. A shrill noise slowly fills my ear, like a cicada who had the nerve to spend the night on your windowsill. Shaking my head does nothing to clear the sensation, but it does make me lose my balance and fall to the ground. What the hell is going on? A mixture of anger and confusion bubbles up inside me. All I want to know is who this person before me used to be, and why they are so damned hard to move. Forcing myself to stand up I grab onto their clothes again and pull with all my might. ¡°Damn it! Who are you?¡± I yell at them, until finally their limp body rolls over. The light and sound, the shrieking noise, the confusion all fills my head again and for an instant I''m sure I''m going to vomit. Instead I crumple into a ball next to the corpse and find myself unable to move. All I can do is lay motionless, looking into their eyes. Such striking blue eyes, with a little streak of grey on the bottom of one. No one has eyes like that... except for me. The light is getting brighter and brighter, overwhelming everything I can see beside her face. My face? Flashes of purple and green start dancing in my vision, and my entire body feels like it''s vibrating. There''s a sharp pain in my head and I start convulsing, unable to control myself. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. No! I don''t want to die like this. I don''t want to die at all! Panic. Fear and panic and desperation set in and I try to gain control of myself, but I can''t stop shaking violently! Something from my childhood comes back to me in a flash. I had started suffering from terrible nightmares shortly after I arrived at my new home. My family told me to focus on the smallest body part. A finger, or toe. Will it to move, and you can wake yourself from the nightmare. It''s all I can do to still my mind and focus, but slowly, slowly I manage to take control of my smallest finger, and I can feel it move. Amidst the blinding whiteness that''s taken over my vision I can see flashes of color burst into existence before fading away again. I force another finger to twitch, until finally I close my hand into a fist. The colors come and go so quickly now that they start to make patterns, until all I can see is a scintillating vision of every imaginable color. I can hear blood rushing through my ears, and the swirling lights suddenly seem to be more subdued, twirling in time with my heartbeat, until they slowly fade away all together, leaving nothing but a dark void in their place. A warm sensation takes over my body and I realize I can feel my arms and legs again. I''m covered in a thick layer of dust, and I ''m forced to blink as I open my eyes, but soon I''m looking up at the stars. The warm feeling fades and pain takes over. Every inch of my body feels like it was stepped on by a horse. Cuts and bruises cover my arms and I can feel that my ankle must be broken. Even with all the pain, I can''t help but to notice that it''s a beautiful night. The moon is high in the sky illuminating everything with it''s perfect face. It''s amazing how much light it can put off sometimes. It almost feels like daytime. Daytime. It''s a long way off, I realize morosely, and I''m stuck here. The cool evening air doesn''t feel so pleasant anymore. There''s nothing nearby that I could hope to make a decent shelter under, just rocks and a few scraggly trees casting shadows onto the bushes. Even with all the light from the moon making it easier to see, I feel a bit uneasy looking at the line of darkness just a few feet away. No. This is nothing like daytime. ¡°Ranger?¡± I whisper cautiously into the night. He''s never far, but who knows what else might be close by. A bird briefly flies in front of the moon. Or maybe it was a bat, I''m not sure. It was silent, whatever it was. Only the dip in light allowed me notice it. The wind is humming softly among the rocks farther down the mountain, and rustling the branches of the nearby bushes. It''s almost peaceful, except for the searing pain in my leg, and the uneasy realization that I can''t see anything farther than 20 feet away from me. A twig snaps and I strain my eyes trying to see, but it''s useless. It''s nothing but shadows. My eyes must be playing tricks on me, but I feel like I can see a dark shape in the bushes. My heart beats faster, the natural response to being alone and vulnerable in a strange place, but the form doesn''t seem to move. A pang of guilt shoots through me as I realize that the rock slide may have killed ranger, or seriously injured him. ¡°Ranger buddy.¡± I sing softly to the shadows, hoping to lure him to me. If he''s alive he must be terrified. Rocks don''t often fall from the sky after all. ¡°Ranger, come here.¡± I say much more loudly this time, willing my ears to hear a response, hoping that through the pitch black I''ll see the shadows move. Nothing. ¡°It''s safe now buddy, come on.¡± Desperation tinges my voice. Finally the shadow shifts and comes slightly closer. ¡°You''re OK bud I know it scared you.¡± I assure him and he comes closer. His familiar black form almost glides into view, in a way that seems almost too agile for his age, but he stops short of the moonlight, still veiled in shadows. ¡°Ranger?¡± I question the darkness as the black shape moves closer again. ¡°Please let that be you.¡± My words echo off of the rocks as my thoughts clatter around my mind. I put away visions of the familiar dog stepping into view and wrestle with reality as a wolf steps into the moonlight. ¡°Ranger!¡± I shout one last time into the darkness as the wolf lunges at me, snapping. I scrabble to find a nearby rock and throw it with all the force I can muster, but it bounces off of the wolf''s shoulder without it seeming to notice. Lessons taught about wilderness survival flit through my head. Snakes won''t attack unless provoked. Never turn your back on a catamount. If a bear finds you, don''t fight back... there''s no rule to draw on for wolves. Wolves don''t attack people! But then the wolf attacks...