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Flowering. Approach. Part 5: Dangerous Words

by Thavien Yliaster 6 months ago in Series
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There are known knowns, and now there is an known unknown.

The series and artwork are both a work in progress.

Reader discretion is advised: This series contains death, violence, and sexual content. Flowering is not a lighthearted series. Flowering is meant for a mature audience. It is not my intention to mislead those who read it, thus misleading the perception of the series itself, leading your hearts astray.

Please, "take this lesson to heart." - LaRha and Wetah

By Timotheus Fröbel on Unsplash

Looking back over his shoulder as he sprinted off, he took one more look at the creature. “How beautiful.” He thought to himself, as he began to zig and zag through the forest. Instead of running straight home, he ran in weird trails in the hopes that if he were to be followed, that he could lose her quickly. “Where is it from? Has it always been there? Was it watching me when I was at the river?” More questions popped up and rang off in his head. However, the more he focused on the questions, the less he focused on his running. “I have to tell Mom and Dad.”

Making haste, he sprinted through the forest through all of the deer trails that he had memorized. Not caring for the spider webs that he hit, not caring for the mass of gnats that he ran across, not caring for the fish and crawfish that popped out from his vigorous running, he sprinted home with fear boosting his mind like he had never known before. For him, it was like encountering a monster from his nightmare, except this time he was actually escaping from it, and doing so with speed.

Bursting out of the forest, he threw his basket trap down, and ran over to his mom, crashing onto her lap as she was busy weaving another basket trap for him. Panting faster than a fire starving for oxygen trying to save its last ember, he wheezed heavier than a bellows.

Taking in a deep breath of air he rolled over and let out, “THERE’S A STRANGER!”

Wetah stopped chopping the firewood. Xelu and Zaria both stopped playing their handshake game. It was as if Zephyr had spoken forbidden words. It was as if the words that he spoke were worse than the vulgarities that their parents would let slip on occasion.

“What?” Wetah dropped his axe. “LaRha, what did he just say?”

Sitting Zephyr up on her lap, she asked him, “Did you just say-,” she took a moment to gulp, “that you saw a stranger?”

“Was it a man,” Wetah walked forward, “or was it a woman?”

“It-” he took in a breath, “was-,” he sucked in a gulp of air, “a woman.” LaRha put her hand on his chest to help him find a rhythm with his breath. In and out, in and out, in and out his airflow went as his lungs expanded and shrunk with every passing breath. “She’s in the forest… and she’s beautiful.”

“Can you tell us where,” his mother asked him.

Nodding his head eagerly, he said, “Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh. I saw her under the tunnel path.”

“I would expect anybody to come from there too,” Wetah chimed in. “Especially since that’s the largest trail around these parts. It may be natural, but our proximity to it might put us in danger of vagabonds.” Still, something wasn’t quite right. LaRha looked at him, and they both knew what the other thought. “The trail only exists within the forest. There are no small paths or even deer trails that bleed out from the forest to either end of the path. This means that she would’ve had to traverse and enter from an overgrown section, let alone walk through shrubberies and foliage alike.”

“The tunnel leaves.” LaRha stood up, “Do you think you can lead me back there and show me where you saw her?”

Eagerly nodding his head, Zephyr stood up, grabbed his mother’s hand, and tugged her into the direction of the forest. LaRha turned to look at Wetah. The look on her face said to him, “Keep them safe, and run if you have to.”

Wetah’s face remained stern, unnerving, and unchanging. Regardless, even though he rarely changed his expression, she read from him, “I’ll find you.”

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About the author

Thavien Yliaster

Thank You for stopping by. Please, make yourself comfortable. I'm a novice poet, fiction writer, and dream journalist.

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