Truth Be Told: Part 1

What am I? The answer to the question is not as simple as my father seemed to think. “You are flesh and bones, my boy, just like every generation before you.” Even from a young age, I could see that whatever he had to say was as deep as a puddle. When it came to chopping wood and hunting the best game, he would always come out on top. But as I sat on my small hill, overlooking the distant land, I felt that I may have been onto something bigger. Who am I? Am I the voice swirling in my head, forming these ever-changing thoughts? Am I the coy listener inhabiting the same space? Or am I a moment of ecstasy when all my feelings and thoughts are dedicated to a single action? Just as my brain was hinging on an epiphany, one of the sheep, who is known to be exceptionally small and dumb, fell away from the pack. His fluffy white exterior bounced as he fell into a rhythmic trot, minding solely his own need for an abundance of green grass. This stupid creature had been the bain of my existence for quite some time. The sounds that he was able to emit from his snout were despicable, and he had even developed a fear of his own reflection. A neighbor noted that he may have once been a meddling boy that had angered the wrong magical being. I had waved the notion away with a chuckle, but it seemed like a likely explanation as the days went by. My hand brushed gently over the ground, warning the blades of grass that my feet would soon be upon them. As I stood, I stretched my long body towards the sky. Clouds moved overhead in a menacing taunt, warning of the storm to come.

The place I had grown and resided was not quite small enough to be called a village. But not quite large and bustling enough to be deemed a town. Almost as if stuck in limbo, laying in wait for its transformation. If a traveler were to exit the forest, the bridge would be the only way to reach this place. Vines, wood, and the occasional flower intermingled to create a narrow floating mass, powered by magic far older than I. Although no handrails existed, an invisible gravity seemed to balance even the clumsiest creature. Shimmering blue water almost completely surrounded us and no one dared to find out what was just below the surface. With a lack of towering gates, the first sign of life a passerby would experience was the smell of fresh bread. Since the storm had mostly passed and only a drizzle fell from the sky, the thought of Mr. Lindaroas sweet loaves pushed me out of the door that day. My long sheepskin coat protected most of my body from the elements, but drops of water plopped onto my bare face. I hurried my pace, but secretly relished in the ticklish feeling of the moving liquid. Closing in on the bakery, the laughter of a small group of girls filled my ears and created a pit in my stomach. Hyena spirits had invaded their soft bodies, forcing them to cackle in such a way. As I closed the wooden door, thankfully the sound faded into background noise. Lindaroas peeked out of the small window from his kitchen, a furrowed brow, and stern look present. Even a dedicated customer wouldn’t catch a smile on this old kook's face. A guttural sound escaped him, “ahhmmm, the usual?”. I hated when he said that as if I went there every day. “Yes, I suppose.” A symphony began in the kitchen, while I impatiently shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “You know what would come in handy on a day like this?” I was certain that Lindi was not the least bit curious about what I was referring to, but I continued, “heated clothes...or I suppose some sort of coat that has captured the essence of fire. I haven't quite worked out the details, but it will be sure to warm even the most coldblooded beings.” He let out a grunt in response. This sour baker that makes the sweetest bread would be the first to receive one. Maybe then his cold heart will melt into a warm puddle.

The three loaves were still steaming as I climbed my green hill. This time there was no cursed sheep to foil my thoughts, and the sun was just peeking out from heavy clouds. A mixture of pink, orange, and blue was spreading, creating an otherworldly effect. Some say that the elves had figured out the secret to controlling the weather, creating storms just to see the magnificent sunset that came once they had passed. I imagined that they live quite different than us, probably in lavish shelters, they built high in the canopies of the forest. Or maybe in castles atop soaring mountains. I grabbed at the bread, shoving as much as I could into my mouth. The sun began to grow stronger, causing my coat to feel like a hot burden. I shook it off my shoulders and began to deliquesce towards the ground. My eyes felt heavy, weighed down by a full belly and the surrounding warmth. Foggy images of faraway lands and magical creatures played across my mind, lulling me further. As darkness was descending, something began to rumble in the ground beneath me. I could feel long tendrils wrapping themselves around my body, squeezing until my breath could barely escape. Panic, pure panic. Suddenly they began to pull me downwards, sucking me into the belly of the earth. My screams were muffled by the dirt that continued to pile on, filling every orifice of my body. The taste of soil...a distant familiarity. As a child, my peculiar behavior caused many of those my own age to punish me. A group of boys once shoved me to the ground, demanding I dig my own grave. They forced me to consume every morsel of dirt that I dug, taking turns kicking my already aching body. Curse those boys and curse this earth. Just as I was about to suck in the last of the stale air, a firm hand enclosed its fingers on my arm, and another gently touched my cheek. My eyes bolted open, as I lay screaming on top of my coat. The sun had been replaced by the moon long ago, and it took me a moment to make sense of my surroundings. There was someone that awoke me from my hellish slumber...but as I looked and listened I seemed to be only in the company of a night owl. I quickly took to my feet, sensing that whoever it was was not keen on entering a populous destination. Towards the forest I headed, long legs not taking me nearly as fast as my mind was running. Was curiosity pushing me forward? Maybe the slight hint of magical energy dispelled from their thin fingertips awoke something in me. I had reached the river's edge, the water seemingly quaint in its forward movement. I could see my own breath in the chilly night air, although my boiling blood kept me plenty warm. The “fairy bridge” was nowhere to be seen, having an elusive position that moved with a simple gust of wind. I sat down and dipped my hand into the warm water, disrupting the image that the shadows had created of me. Hope seemed to be lost in finding this mystery person until suddenly there was a splash directly in front of me. My breath caught in my throat and I nearly tumbled into the water as I watched a figure emerge from the deep.

Three days. It had been only three days since I had found her casually soaking in the river. Stunned, I couldn't seem to move or speak. I only sat there, probably looking as dumb as my sheep. She had climbed onto the bank, mirroring my crossed legs and cocking her head to one side. “Halloooo?” she sang questioningly. It wasn't an accent I had ever heard before. “W-what are you doing?” is all I could manage. She seemed amused by this question, almost as if the answer was obvious. “Taking a bath”. I fumbled through several more droll questions, finally landing on asking her if she needed shelter for the night. She didn't smirk at this. Instead, she nodded slowly, jumped to her feet, and began walking towards my home as if she knew her way. She had fallen asleep on my cot almost upon contact and hasn't opened her eyes since. After herding my sheep on the third day, I had rushed back to make sure she hadn't woken. I found her breathing evenly and still entangled in the only blankets I owned. From afar, she might have passed as completely human, but on closer inspection, there was no doubt she was of another race. Long, tangled vines rooted from her head and fell to her waist. Her “skin” looked as if it was made from partly translucent leaves, patchy and slighly green. And her eyes. With their catlike shape, and a black vertical line that interrupted the glossy white, they were unlike anything I had ever seen. That night, I sat at my small wooden desk and thumped through every scroll and book I could get my hands on. Most were outdated, or written in another language, but they were the only information I had of the outside world. I was on the last book in my collection, turning the pages in an exasperated manner, when a seemingly unspectacular drawing caught my eye. A man stood over a fallen tree in the middle of a forest. It was an image I had seen in person many times, having been raised by a burly lumberjack. But something was different about this tree. There was almost a human-like quality...and the liquid that escaped from the stump resembled the viscosity and color of something more sinister. I stood up from my chair, needing some fresh air to clear my head. As I looked behind me, I expected to find the sleeping creature. Instead, the blankets had been tossed to the side, and the cot was empty. How on earth did I not hear her awaken? Fumbling for my coat, I bolted out of the door after her.