Of Crystal Flames & Dragon Fire

CHAPTER TWO

I stay crouched on the ground for several more minutes, waiting to see if the dragon emerges from the fog again, but it does not return. I stand up and slowly turn in a circle to get a better view. The area to my right levels out to a small plateau and then drops off a cliff into an unknown and foggy abyss.

I glance back at the fog between the mountains. The forest before them leaves me both in awe of its beauty and in dread of its interior. I know nothing of what lurks underneath the tree mantle. In fact, I know nothing of what lies anywhere around me. I have no knowledge of the animals that roam, which ones are good for food, what plants can be eaten, or if anyone lives anywhere remotely close.

But I know one thing for sure.

Dragons exist. The only living breathing creature I know to be alive on the surface is a dragon, and it went between the mountains.

That’s where I’ll go. I’ll trek through the forest and make my way to the gorge. Maybe I’ll find answers there. Maybe I’ll find human life in the forest or beyond the mountains. Surely there must be people here after all this time.

I could be wrong, but all I can do at this moment is move forward. There is nothing left behind me.

The creek beside me bubbles along, as if a dragon had not disrupted its flow no less than five minutes prior. My eyes follow its curving path down the highland. The creek bed gradually widens and fades into the shadow of the forest, eventually reappearing on the other side at the base of the mountains.

I’ll stay along the water’s side as I venture out. I can count on having a constant source of hydration and hopefully of fish. The creek also provides a sure way out of the trees without getting lost. That is, as long as I’m not driven away from the creek by what might be lurking in the depths of the trees.

I gather my courage and make my way down to the tree line. My legs falter and wobble slightly as I continue to recover from my meeting with the black dragon. My empty stomach begins to rumble and cramp. The hunger and lack of food begin to ebb on my strength. But I force myself to numb my senses. I have to keep moving.

It takes quite some time for me to cover the mileage toward the trees. My predetermined path is a rocky downward slope, and the fatigue continually nags in the back of my mind. The water trickling beside calms me and keeps me company. Birds sing melodies back and forth to each other, and chipmunks chase each other through the sparse trees and shrubs.

As I stumble along, something familiar catches my eyes in the grass beside the bank. Dark green shoots, similar to but much hardier than tall blades of grass, rise straight up from the ground. Small light brown bulbs rise out of the dirt. I kneel down and pull at the base of a stem. An onion half size of my fist emerges from the ground. Its thin spidery roots hang from the bottom and shiver in the breeze.

I pull as many as I can find in the small patch of grass. Once my fist is filled with wild onions, I walk back over to the creek and rinse the bulbs off. Sitting down on the dry grass, I peel the dried out brown exterior to reveal cream flesh underneath.

Without hesitation, I take a large bite out of the first onion. The taste is somewhat sweet, but my eyes still water and sting from the fresh onion fumes. I never loved onions, but I am so hungry that I don’t care. I finish the first one off in another two bites and immediately begin peeling the next bulb.

I stop myself after the third onion disappears and stuff what remains in a pouch strapped around my shoulders beneath my cloak. I don’t know when I will get to eat again, so I need to savor whatever I can forage. I lean over the edge of the water for one more drink to wash away the onion taste before I continue forward.

Another hour or two passes and I finally draw near to the edge of the forest. The sun descends behind the tendrils of clouds to my left. The azure sky fades into cloudy wisps of fuchsia pink, fiery orange, periwinkle and violet. The moon and commanding stars hang above the eastern horizon, their pearl white lights shimmering against the approaching indigo night sky. The setting sunlight casts a warm orange glow across the tree trunks.

A cool wind blows from the north and bends over the trees into the highland. Fir trees rise over twenty feet above me at the edge of the forest. A dense thicket of dark brown branches with deep green foliage make it impossible to see more than forty or fifty feet into the woods. The faint glimmer of the water stretches deeper into the dark trees as it reflects pockets of skylight through the treetops.

My insides shudder in trepidation of the shadowy depths beyond the tree line. Standing still, I listen to the sounds around and beyond me. The only noise filling my ears is the low whistling of the wind coming down from the mountains, the gentle rustling of the trees, and the constant gurgling of the water. I see nothing stirring in the entrance of the forest and forcefully decide to brave the shadows.

I step across the tree line and the light around me dims drastically. As I make my way along the creek’s side, I glance up at the leafy expanse above me. I’ve never seen anything like it. The dark brown tree trunks starkly contrast the leaves at the top of the trees. The sun shines through the juniper leaves and fluffy pine branches, illuminating them in a variety of green tones and surrounding each one with a waning golden halo.

The creek gurgles happily beside me, winding between trunks and disappearing into the dark thicket of low-hanging branches. Small white flowers crown the edges of the creek. Their petals, though closed in time with nightfall, almost glow as they reflect the last of the day’s light. I begin my trek along the bank, staying close so as not to lose my way. The sun sets quickly, and the remnants of light diminish with every passing moment.

New smells fill my nostrils. The musty scent of fallen leaves and dirt mingle with the fragrance of pine needles and cedar wood. Damp moss scents gently rise from the edges of the creek.

I glance around me in search of a tree to climb. I might lack knowledge of what all lies on the surface or of what creatures abide in a dark forest at night, but I am not wholly ignorant nor stupid. Grandfather warned me of things on the surface and prepared me for the time when I might find myself here.

Before the last tendrils of light disappear, I spot the perfect tree on the other side of the creek. Covered in moss, the trunk spreads wide, more in an oval shape than a circle. It appears two trees grew together and slowly separated in opposite directions, joined only at the base and up to about chest height. The conjoined trunks fan up and out with large branches covered in leaves. The split of the two trees creates a naturally made cavity I can use as a step. The layering of the branches provides an easy climbing route for me to remain high off the ground and out of reach of the unknown creatures below.

I move to step across the creek and immediately shudder as frigid mountain water soaks through my damp boots. I hurry through the water as fast as possible in long strides. As I land on the other side, fallen leaves crackle and crunch beneath me. The base of the tree spreads much wider than I thought, stretching at least five or six times my own width. My back arches backward as I strain my neck to observe the top of the tree. The very top limbs rise so far that branches from other trees hide them from view. This must be the oldest tree in the forest with its massive trunk and unobservable expanse. The bark on the trunk is weathered from age and the elements, splintering out in several spots.

I hike my leg up to reach the nature-made step and prop my hands and arms on the lowest hanging branch. Once off of the forest floor, I carefully climb up the branches, zigzagging from one to the next until I reach a comfortable height. I keep my eyes up, refusing to look down in case my nerves crumble. My palms feel damp as I continue my ascent.

My final resting place is a thick, wide branch roughly two feet wide and nearly thirty feet off the ground. Bracing myself against the trunk, I slowly turn around to face the forest. My gaze drops, and I finally see the distance down to the ground.

Suddenly my heart begins to race and my insides flutter intensely. It’s much farther than I thought. Quickened breaths of fear dry out my throat. Sweat forms on my brow and temples. My fingers tremble as they grip the tree bark behind me.

Leaning into the tree, I press my head against it and close my eyes. I swallow and force my lungs to inhale a deep, long breath to calm down. Carefully, slowly, I slide myself down to a seated position. The uneasiness in my stomach recedes a bit. Only then do I notice the smaller branch stretching out to my left. It is so close that I am able to use it as an armrest and a prop for my body. I slump against it, thankful to have a small means of support.

Exhaustion creeps in. My body suddenly feels as heavy as a boulder. Forcing myself to adjust, I bend my left leg and prop it up against the supportive branch and stretch my other leg out along the branch beneath. I slip my hood over my head and wrap my cloak around me, crossing my arms to hold it in place.

My eyelids become heavy…so heavy.

I snap them back open. I have to stay somewhat alert.

Can’t have any wild beasts catching me off guard! No random animals. And no more dragons!

I survey the area around me. My vision has adjusted to the darkness of the forest with ease. After all, I just left The Dwelling, which is nothing more than an underground maze of tunnels and halls beneath the mountains and valleys. Many areas, especially the farthest tunnels, are dimly lit by constantly burning torches and lanterns.

Realization hits me:

The home of my childhood could very well be winding beneath the very ground I wandered today. It could be underneath this tree. There could be openings and entrances littered throughout this land and the mountains on the other side of the forest. Home is so close; yet I am so far removed from it, from everyone. Here I am, alone, sleeping in a tree with one eye open, fleeing, fearing for my life, hoping I survive long enough to find the truth. To find anything and anyone at this point.

My chest feels tight again. I miss home. It hurts so much. I clench my jaw and then bite my bottom lip to stop it from trembling. I squeeze my eyes shut so the tears don’t start next.

After a few moments, my eyes once again look around me. My ears listen to the stillness around me. Only the gentle rustling of the leaves and the happy trickling of the creek create sound and movement. I glance above me. The pearl white light of the full moon splinters hazily through dark silhouettes of leaves and branches. Small clusters of stars come into sight between the fluttering leaves. An owl hoots softly in the distance.

My attention holds for a short while as my mind tries to stop thinking about home and the trial of survival ahead, as I try to avoid dwelling on the past twenty-four hours. A headache begins to form, shooting behind my eyes from one temple to the other. Tiny needles prick and prod at my brain. The exhaustion returns as I fight and struggle against the ache.

Soon my eyes begin to droop. My head slumps forward toward my chest and my hood blocks out the moonlight. My lungs inhale deeply and exhale slowly, relaxing my entire body from the shoulders down through the legs. The dim forest blurs through my half-open eyelids and then fades entirely.

. . .

“Val, look! Look what I found!”

My best friend in the whole world yelled after me, running down the empty tunnel toward me, one hand high in the air. He held something in his outstretched fist, but it was so small and flimsy that all to be seen was a blur.

“What is it, Gavriel?”

His wavy brown hair flapped wildly about his face as he ran. His mismatched blue and brown eyes shone with utter delight and excitement, and his normally side-ways grin was spread into a wide toothy smile.

He reached me and came to an abrupt halt. A soft pink hue rose in his cheeks, and his face glistened with perspiration. His chest and shoulders heaved up and down in rhythm with each labored breath. His hair finally settled in a tousled mess. Loose strands plastered against the sides of his face and across his sweaty forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. His eyes looked even more alive up close.

I giggled at his crazed appearance and reached up to sweep his damp hair off of his face. Though only a year apart at ages fifteen and sixteen, he stood nearly a head taller than me.

“What have you found?” I ask him.

He brought his hand down and opened it. The fluffy object in his palm measured about a handbreadth long, with soft-swept edges that curved upward and a pale, off-white shaft. The base of it started out in a light gray and quickly darkened into pewter. Pale white spots dotted the entire thing like the gems sparkling in the deep mountain mines.

“It’s beautiful!” I breathed out. I glance up at his handsome face. “What is it?”

“A feather!” he answered excitedly. “I found it on the ground in one of the harvesting caverns. There is a skylight that opens to the Surface. It must have fallen through the hole. One of the elder harvesters told me this came from a field bird called a pheasant.”

“It’s incredible! Can I touch it?”

Without speaking, Gavriel took my hand in his own and placed the feather in my palm. It weighed nothing. If I had not been looking, I would never have known if it was in my hand. I ran my finger over its soft, fluffy edges before picking it up by the shaft, turning it this way and that in the torchlight. It shimmered and changed tones with each movement.

“Let me show you something,” Gavriel said as I admired and marveled at this natural beauty.

He took the feather and then grabbed my hand again, turning the palm upward. His mouth curved into a mischievous smile as he looked from me and back to my hand. Taking the feathery tip, he lightly dragged it across the soft skin of my palm. Cold bumps rose all over my skin, and my spine tingled all the way down.

“That tickles!” I giggled, trying to snatch my hand away.

He laughed and tightened his grip on my hand. He continued to drag it back and forth from my fingertips to my wrist. I squeaked as quietly as possible while my hand uncontrollably spasmed and jerked at the sensation.

“Okay, okay! Stop! I can’t take it anymore!” I stammered out between giggles.

He finally ended the torture and relinquished his hold on my hand. I rubbed my palm along my hip to stop the tingling. Gavriel chuckled beside me, amused and quite satisfied with himself. I grinned at him.

His eyes softened as he looked down and met my eyes. “I have one more thing for you,” he said quietly, his hushed tone capturing my attention.

He reached into the small pouch looped on his belt and pulled out a tiny cloth and gingerly opened it one fold at a time. He peeled back the final layer to reveal a trio of tiny flowers. Pale blue petals crowned bright yellow centers the same hue as yellow flames. The base of each petal faded into white just before touching the golden middle. Each of the three small flowers sat perched atop a bright green stem that all converged together at the very end.

The beauty and brilliance of colors took my breath away. I was lost for words, having never seen anything like it. The bright hues starkly contrasted the dismal brown and gray mountain walls and the soft golden glow of flickering torches and lanterns. The tiny flowers seemed like life - real life - compared to the dark existence we endured below the surface.

“It is called Millani,” Gavriel murmured, his voice deeper than normal. When I met his eyes, he continued. “It means ‘beloved’ or ‘memories of my beloved’.”

He placed the cloth and flower in my hand without breaking eye contact, his eyes seeming to bore into my very soul. My gaze quickly darted about, and my ears listened for signs of others nearby. But I heard nothing over the pounding of my heart inside my chest - it was so loud I’m sure even Gavriel heard it. My chest constricted so tightly that I could barely breathe. My stomach felt like an empty pit that was somehow filled with mountain moths fluttering about.

“That is…this is what you are…to me,” Gavriel whispered. I could read the nervousness in his eyes. He swallowed, gathering his courage. After all, he was talking to royalty, though it never felt like such a gap between us - until now. “You are my Millani.”

The mountain moths inside me went crazy. Their fluttering channeled through me to the point that my whole body felt jittery and shaky. But it was the best feeling, the best kind of joy. My face broke into a nervous smile, and tears of happiness filled the corners of my eyes.

Suddenly I became aware of my silence. Gavriel watched me, uncertainty flashing through his eyes as to whether it had been wise to speak such things to me, to his princess, to the next royal heir.

I swallowed the nerves and joy. “And you are mine,” I whispered back.

A smile of relief spread across his face. His hand reached out to tilt my chin up, and his eyes flickered between mine and my lips. I mirrored his actions. Closer, closer. I couldn’t see anything outside of his face as his features slowly became blurred. I could feel his breath on my chin, on my lips. I quickly, nervously licked my lips.

Our mouths collided, the softness of his touch sending sparks shooting off throughout every nerve ending, every cell in my body. My brain felt alive and fuzzy, and every cohesive thought vanished into oblivion. Gavriel’s arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me closer. A deep noise sounded from his throat, a mix between a moan and growl at the same time. He deepened the kiss, and I became lost in it.

When he pulled away and ended the kiss, all I could manage was standing on my own two feet. I didn’t move, didn’t open my eyes. I feared that if I did, all of this would be a dream. His lips caressed my nose. Then he planted a soft and gentle kiss on my forehead. My eyes fluttered open and his beautiful pale blue and honey brown eyes filled my vision.

“I love you,” I confessed, my voice barely audible. The weight of the suppressed truth and passion lifted off of my chest in an instant.

“And I, you,” he replied, his face alight with joy.

I giggled again, the feeling of elation making my soul fly. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he wrapped his about my waist and pulled me off the ground in a hug. He swung me in a quick circle before setting me back down on my feet.

He held up the feather and playfully ran it across the tip of my nose and my cheek. Its fluffy edges tickled, and I suppressed a laugh, desperately trying to bat his hand away.

“Millani,” he murmured before bending down to kiss me again.

. . .

My nose and face twitch to one side. Then again. The feather keeps tickling my skin, slowly awakening me from my sleep.

“Stop it,” I moan sleepily.

I lazily swipe my hand across my face. The tickling moves over to the other side of my face. I swat at it again and end up slapping myself, immediately jolting me awake. Whatever was tickling me is no longer on my face, but the sensation, along with the sting from my own hand, lingers. I search around me as my eyes adjust to the night. I glance down on my lap to see something dark and black on my lap in the moonlight. A fat round body sits encircled with eight thick fuzzy legs.

I squeal in horror as I realize what it is - my worst fear.

A spider! No, no! Get off! Get it off!

I squeal again in alarm. A spider the size of my hand scurries its way across my legs and back toward my stomach. Both hands instinctively swipe down and collide with the unwelcome creature. It flies off of my lap and into the darkness below. My legs flail in my panic as I nearly lose my balance and fall off of the branch. I quickly grab hold of the branch beside me to steady myself.

A voice echoes through the forest. It’s me. I clamp a hand over my mouth. I need to be quiet! My wide eyes search the forest for any sign of movement, any sign of strange or dangerous creatures heading my way. My ears strain to listen for any new sounds approaching, but all I hear is the pounding of my heart and my stifled breathing.

Eventually my pulse slows and my lungs inhale and exhale normally. Nothing has made a sound, nothing has moved besides the fluttering leaves. The sensation of the spider on my face returns, and I wipe my hands on my face to rid the prickling from my skin.

Suddenly my hand flies to my chest. I undo the top of my overtunic and feel for the chain around my neck. I sigh in relief when I feel it against my skin and carefully pull it out. A bronze locket lays in the palm of my hand. I run my thumb over it, feeling the grooves of the floral wreath etched into the metal. Tilting it toward the moonbeam laying across my lap, I open it.

The inside of the locket reveals a cluster of three pale blue flowers set in foraged tree sap. Their coloring has been kept true by the clear sap, and they look as brilliant as the day Gavriel brought them to me.

Tears prick my eyes as I stare at the Millani flowers. I miss him so much. I never got to say goodbye. To explain what happened. To tell him about what it’s like on the surface. He’ll never know what really happened to me or how Father died, how he was beaten and then murdered.

And who knows what Ruskin and the Elders add to their lies to cover up the mess of dead Guardians. Who knows how they will explain away why the king is dead and the princess is missing to the people of the Dwelling.

Argh! I grab my head with both hands as pain explodes through my head.

It hurts so much. A band of pressure snakes up from the base of my skull and crawls around behind my forehead. My pulse pounds through both temples. My eyes feel like they are going to pop out of their sockets. Even the bridge of my nose hurts.

I lean my throbbing head back against the sturdy trunk and close my eyes, waiting until the stabbing pain passes. I feel around for the locket and tuck it back into my shirt. Once my head stops spiraling I readjust on the branch once more and try to sleep. Eventually, I fall back into a breathing rhythm and my mind numbs over enough to rest.

I awaken just before dawn, my tired eyes fluttering open. A faint light from the approaching sunrise begins to shine through the treetops and illuminates everything in a pre-dawn blue. Fog hangs in the air, coating everything in misty vapors. The forest is still; not a single leaf shutters. The early morning birds slowly raise their soft voices in a hushed echoing aria.

I allow my mind and body to awaken gradually. The forest floor remains dimly lit, and I have no rush to climb down from my perch. My stomach rumbles and the pangs of hunger stab my left side. Reluctantly I reach into my pouch to retrieve an onion and eat it slowly. The sharp, pungent taste has diminished a bit since yesterday, but the fumes still rise to water my eyes. The burning and stinging of my eyes become too much. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve as best as I can and start my descent from the tree.

Every foothold is carefully placed. Every muscle in my hands works overtime to maintain a tight, desperate grip on the tree. A moistness coats the tree bark, presumably from the early morning dew, creating a slippery route down to the ground. My nerves begin to fray at the prospect of climbing down a wet surface. My vision also remains blurry, and I question my perception the entire way down. However, I successfully crawl and zig-zag my way down.

As I place a foot on the second to last branch, my footing slips. My hands grasp at the trunk only to be scratched and torn by splintering shards of bark. My heels hit the ground first and I tumble backward and onto my back. A tree root slams in between my shoulder blades and forces all of the air out of my chest. Pain throbs through my spine and shoulders. I lay there for several moments to catch my breath and clutch my bleeding, pulsing palms to my chest. I squeeze my burning eyes shut as tears prick from behind them, slowly washing away the onion sting.

Once the air returns to my lungs, I sit up, using my elbows as leverage. I open my trembling hands to examine the damage. Splinters of varying sizes protrude from both palms. Blood pools underneath my skin around the base of the larger shards. Torn patches of skin streak upward with crimson dots forming inside each one as the blood clots.

I gingerly start removing the splinters one at a time. I pull at them carefully to avoid the tips breaking off and leaving the bottoms still embedded beneath the skin. They sting and burn as I work, and blood trickles out as each wooden dam is removed. A rather long, thin shard of bark, deeply embedded, sticks out from the soft tissue between my left thumb and index finger. I barely get a hold of it and it snaps deep inside the skin.

I curse under my breath, knowing there is no way I will get it out now. I am not adventurous enough at the moment to attempt to dig it out with the tip of a dagger. I already have enough open wounds on my body as it is. I will just have to wait for it to rise to the surface before attempting to extract it again.

Finally, the last piece comes out. I heave a sigh of relief as it falls to the soft, damp leaf-laden ground. I use my legs to rise from my seated position and slowly walk to the creek side. Dropping to my knees, I dip my hands into the cold water and wash away the blood, dirt, and bark remnants. The bleeding stops almost instantaneously on my right hand, and I use it to wash the onion burn from my eyes and face. Leaning over on fists, I take several long drinks of mountain water to satisfy my parched mouth and throat.

Sitting back on my heels, I reexamine my hands. Blood still seeps from multiple gaping holes, and a rather large clot forms under the embedded splinter. I reach into my pouch and pull out my fingerless gloves. Better to keep them covered now than to risk infection later.

As I rise to my feet once more and slip on the gloves, I take in my surroundings. The sun must be nearly at full sunrise. A pink and golden glow breaks through the treetops and sprays bursts of sunlight through the leaves. Birds chirp happily from their nests, and squirrels chase each other from branch to branch.

The forest awakens as I trek alongside the creek and continue my journey northward to the mountains. Hours pass without incident and in silence. My palms lightly throb under my gloves, and the sword wound on my upper left arm slowly rises in temperature. I can feel dried blood around the wound and down my arm, but I ignore it. My mind and heart wage a war of neutrality as I try to keep everything numb and avoid fear and anxiety. I have to stay vigilant. I also need to find more food.

I must survive. I have to.

The shadows in the forest gradually shift from left to right with the afternoon sun dipping toward the western horizon. The hunger pangs in my stomach reach maximum, and I nearly double over as stabbing pain ignites my abdomen. I reluctantly sit down on a nearby stump and reach for the onions in my pouch. I want to ration them, but I can no longer avoid my body’s needs. Only three small onions remain, and I have seen nothing else recognizable for food along the creek today. I eat two of the three and pocket the last one for tomorrow.

I bend over the creek again to freshen my mouth and rehydrate. When I finish, I hear leaves and twigs crunching and snapping ahead of me. My muscles tense, and adrenaline shoots through my veins. My breath stops and my hearing sharpens. My skin crawls, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

Someone - or something - is watching me. On the opposite side of the creek. I can feel it.

Hesitantly I raise my eyes, and my blood runs cold.

Yellow eyes stare at me from within a mask of silver and gray fur. Fluffy gray ears poke out above the terrifying eyes. A wet black nose scrunches upward on a dark wrinkled snout. Sharp yellowing fangs bare themselves at me in a menacing snarl. The wolf, the same size as me, growls at me in a rumbling, breathy sound. It arches its up in defense. Or maybe as a threat? I don’t know. I’ve never encountered one before now.

I feel frozen in place. The wolf stands no less than fifteen feet away, and I guarantee it could cross the creek and pounce on me before I even have time to run.

Then I notice more furry silver and gray bodies dotting my vision. This wolf is not alone; he’s brought a pack with him. At least six more wolves stand and crouch behind the first, their eyes just as terrifying, their stances just as threatening. There could be more than six; there could be less. I don’t care to focus enough to count.

But how did they find me?

They can smell me! I realize ruefully. They can smell the blood on my arm. I never wrapped it.

This isn’t a stance of defense because I invaded their space. This is a hunting circle.

And I’m the prey.

Slowly, carefully, I shift my weight from my hands and arms to the balls of my feet. I need as much spring in my legs as possible for my adrenaline-pumped, highly unlikely escape plan. The wolves watch my every move, their snarls echoing and rolling over each other. I grab a medium-sized river rock with my submerged hand and slowly draw my arm up. The oval shaped rock is smooth with rounded edges. It won’t kill anything, but should be guaranteed to stun anything it hits.

The wolf in front of me snarls, but does not charge. Two of the others inch closer, crouching lower to the ground. Their brows furrow into angry expressions, their eyes wild and dangerous.

I swallow my fear and breathe deeply to take control of my adrenaline. I need it to work with me to escape. Relaxing my shoulders, I force all of my strength and agility into my lower body. My grip around the river stone tightens, and my arm flexes as I prepare to launch the rock. In one desperate and swift motion, I throw the rock at the first wolf and spring up onto my legs. I spin on my heels, not waiting to see the stone meet its mart.

The almost sickening sound of stone colliding with bone followed by a high-pitched whimper follows me as I dash through the trees. Then the barks and snarls from the pack explode as they splash across the creek. The scurry of fast-paced paws crashes behind me. My arms pump vigorously, and my legs pick up speed, propelling me forward as I dart between trees and leap over fallen logs and roots. My mind runs blank of everything except for the view before me.

Don’t look back. Don’t trip or get caught on a root. Don’t stop!

As the environment passes me in a whirl of blurred color, I start looking for another tree to climb up. If I could just get off the ground, I should be safe. Wolves can’t climb trees…right?

A growl snaps me out of my thoughts. It was close - too close for comfort.

Find a tree!

My eyes scan the landscape in desperation.

There!

Just to my right, a tree with a series of wide, low branches and an easy climb up stands fifty feet away. I change my direction and charge ahead. I leap up onto the lowest branch and throw my arms over the next. The wolves come to a halting stop, their paws skidding across the slick covering of leaves. Angry snarls rise above the blood pounding in my ears and the ragged wheezing of my lungs as I pull and push myself up to get out of reach of them.

Then, my mind goes white with pain. I scream in agony.

Stabbing, searing pain explodes throughout my ankle and leg. Sharp fangs puncture and tear through skin and muscle. The pain intensifies as the wolf tenses its hold and jerks backward, trying to drag me out of the tree. I cry out again, hanging on for dear life. I will not become a meal for this hungry pack.

Instinctively I kick out with my other foot. It collides with the wolf’s face and the jaws around my ankle loosen. I kick again and again until they release completely. The wolf whimpers, and his comrades howl in anger at my retaliation. I quickly push myself all the way up on the branch, safely out of reach. The wolves below me bark and growl, their fangs clamping and snapping, furious that their dinner has escaped. A few of them attempt to reach me by jumping up and down.

Suddenly, I am violently jerked to the side and nearly fall off of my perch. I glance down with wide, panicked eyes. A wolf clamps down on the edge of my cloak, desperate to reclaim what he thinks is rightfully his. I grab a fist full of the fabric and yank as hard as I can. The cloth rips inside the wolf’s mouth and he falls backward with a whine. I pile the length of the cloak into my lap and pull my knees up, trying to make myself as small as possible.

The wolves tire of jumping and barking and begin circling the tree instead. They pace back and forth, looking longingly up at me. My leg begins to tremble and shake as the shock and pain set in. Fresh blood soaks the hem of my trousers, and the punctured and torn flesh around my ankle stings. I shakily reach to inspect the injury with one hand. The skin is hot to the touch and already shows signs of significant swelling. How I wish I had some water or a salve, but there is no way I can get down

The sun has faded and long since set. The darkness of nightfall envelopes the forest around me, and the sounds of the night begin their dreary melody. Leaves continue to crunch with the pack’s pacing, a sound that grows steadily slower as they tire. I watch as one by one they collapse to the ground and fall asleep.

The pain in my leg spreads through my whole body. It is exhausting. My eyes are growing heavier by the moment as I continuously tremble. The dark forest blurs as my eyes droop and my head nods toward my knees. I snap my head up and force my eyes open. I can’t afford to fall asleep. I am not stable enough on this branch. I am certain I will fall to the ground if I drift off, and then I will be at the ravenous disposal of the wolves below. No! I cannot sleep! I must stay awake!

Eternity seems to pass as the night crawls by. Every sound, every rustling of the trees sends sparks down my nervous system. The fight to stay awake and alert ebbs back and forth. Chills set in as a fever spikes. I can feel it spreading through my shivering frame even as sweat forms and drips down my brow.

As dawn approaches, the pack beneath awakens. Their black noses lift up toward me and sniff the air. The largest of them looks at me and scrunches his snout before giving a resigned huff and trotting away. The others follow him and disappear in the darkness, their echoing footsteps fading away.

I remain lofted in the tree. I dare not move. My inner monologue runs wild with questions:

What if they come back? Maybe with more? What if they’re just going off to hide and wait for me to climb down so they can attack and finish me for good? Are they even that smart? I don’t know. Maybe.

I don’t feel like taking the risk and finding out right now.

The early morning melts away the cloak of night, draping everything in deep blue tones that gradually lighten to a dove gray. A thick layer of clouds hides the rising sun, and a thin fog glides and hangs between the trees. The forest remains still and quiet; not even the morning birds stir or sing around me.

A low rumble echoes in the distance above the treetops. The thunder grows louder with the approaching storm, and the trees wave in the rising wind. A light rain trickles down from the tree tops. The soft pattering of raindrops plopping from leaf to leaf provides a comforting sense of peace in my frazzled and anxious state. I pull my hood over my head and wrap my cloak tighter around me.

My stomach cramps as hunger stabs at my insides like knives. I reach into my pouch only to find it empty. My shoulders slump in defeat. A saddened sigh escapes my throat and tears of frustration, exhaustion, and fear prick the backs of my eyes and slide down my cheeks. I quickly squeeze them shut.

The storm worsens. The clouds turn dark, and the rain falls heavier, soaking me to the bone. Branches in the surrounding trees bend and sway in the winds. Even the branch I sit on begins to rock from side to side and threatens to dislodge me from my safe perch. It’s time to climb down. I can’t stay up here much longer.

As I readjust, I bring my injured leg over the top of the branch. Grabbing hold the tree, I start to lower myself down to the next branch. My ankle lights up with stabbing, burning pain as my weight leverages on it. I release the pressure and shift my weight to the other leg as I hiss in pain. Taking a few breaths of preparation, I even out the weight between both legs. I grimace through the pain. There is no time to think about what hurts and what doesn’t. I have to get down!

After a few more moments of igniting agony, I make it to the wet forest floor. I breathlessly lean against the tree trunk to rest my leg. All the while, my eyes nervously dart around the landscape, searching for the wolves or anything else that might pose a threat. I squint through blurry eyes and blink in vain to clear them. My shoulders heave up and down with my heavy breathing.

Finally, I push myself off of the trunk and force my legs to move. Each limping step is fiery agony, but I have to keep moving. I need to find the creek again. I have no idea how far the wolves drove me into the forest, but I need water and food - and soon.

I stumble along, crashing through the trees, slapping stray branches away from my face and creating quite a ruckus through the quiet forest. All sense of caution and prowess has evaporated. I almost feel drunk. My head feels like it is filled with tons of rock, and my neck struggles to hold it up. My legs wobble unsteadily beneath me. I can’t stand up straight or walk in a straight line. I can barely think straight.

Something bright catches in my peripheral vision to my right. Something red. Or maybe a deep pink? On the ground in a tangle of vines and leaves.

Berries! Food!

I alter my path, only for my feet to trip over each other. I slip and fall to the side, crashing into the wet earth . The hood of my cloak falls over my face and blocks my view. With a weighted and unruly arm, I swipe at the hood. The bridge of my nose lights up in pain as my hand slaps it instead of the hood. I take a second, slightly more careful wave. The hood, heavy with rain water, flaps off and lands on my back.

The beautiful brightly colored berries lie just beyond my reach. I push myself up and scoot closer. The brightly colored fruit looks just like raspberries - one of my favorite treats back home - only, instead of one small clustered berry, these look like three conjoined raspberries. Reaching out with a desperate, greedy hand, I take a fist full of the deep magenta berries. I pluck them off the vine strand and pop two in my mouth.

My face immediately scrunches up. The texture is much fuzzier than I remember. And the taste! Oh, the taste - tart with a bitter backend. I swallow the berries without completely chewing, and they hit the bottom of my empty stomach like stones. I shove another one into my mouth. And another.

I pause to catch my breath, as I am so famished I barely stop to chew any of them before swallowing. I reach out and yank another handful of vines and berries. I push myself to my feet.

A tall thick shadow dashes around a tree. I turn and sway in that direction. The forest around me immediately blurs and spins around me.

“W-who’s t-there?” I whisper to the trees, blinking to stop the spinning. My voice sounds strange, slow, and distant.

No one answers my question.

I grab at my face. My lips and cheeks tingle, like a million tiny needles are poking my skin from the inside. My face starts to go numb. My breathing suddenly becomes labored. My lungs feel sticky. My heart rate jumps with my panic. Then my knees buckle and gravity begins to take control.

As I collapse onto the damp forest floor, the rain falling on my flushed face, the tall shadow dashes toward me through my diminishing vision. The cloud of darkness merges with the shadowy figure, and the hum of the pattering rain fades.