Timbrelle snapped her mouth shut at the unexpected sound. She’d been in the middle of pulling bright green apples out of a I heavily laden tree.
She was stuck there. Both hands had been firmly smacked over her mouth to stop the impending word that would be building up. There was no way down from the perch when she couldn’t risk removing her hands from her face. Instead, she huddled closer to the thorny trunk. Waiting for her pursuer, she struggled to silence her ragged breaths.
But nothing came. In fact, once the panic settled she realized that the choking she’d come to associate with her nearby pursuer had not changed much from earlier. If anything, it was more faint.
Timbrelle climbed down from the tree. Nothing in the Dorark could make such a noise. It was not the sound of a tree falling, nor was there any animal large enough to create it. It was completely out of place.
Her eyes went wide. Could it be… a person? Could she have wandered close enough to the road that she’d overheard the rumbling of a passing caravan?
The thought was enough to propel her out of the tree and through the forest at break-neck speed.
Life! A path out of the forest! People! She could hardly contain her excitement.
Her pace slowed to a halt just a few steps beyond the tree line. Before her sat a large pond and along the perimeter… more forest. The pond itself was nothing special. The only notable feature was the landslide that recently muddied the waters.
Timbrelle fell to the ground staring at the cause of the sound she had heard. “Oh, Timbrelle. You fool.”
She sat on the bank of the pond for a long while. There were no tears, nothing so pitiful, and she was grateful to herself for the unexpected composure.
“Are you listening?” She asked the trees. “Because for once you can’t get away from me. I may be your prisoner, but you’re my captive audience so act like trees for once and listen.
“Where do I even start?” She dropped her head into her hands. It had been months of running, lying and desperately trying to survive. For the first time, she genuinely wondered how to explain her situation. The people she met were kind and welcoming to the young, soft spoken drifter that wandered into town. They’d offered their homes to her but in the end… she was sure they regretted it in the end.
“I’m… I’m not Yostier or Florentine or Phillamen, I’m American. I have to get back to see my cat; I don’t belong in this awful forest! This isn’t my world! This isn’t my life!” The tears that had only prickled at her eyes in the deepest, quietest nights began in earnest.
“I don’t want to be hunted. I don’t want to get eaten by a tree. I don’t want to scrounge for mushrooms and termites anymore. I hate mushrooms!”
She’s screamed the final sentence, catching her breath as the sound skated over the pond and dissolved into the trees. Much quieter she added with a sob “And termites.”
***
In the morning Timbrelle considered leaving the pond. Ever since she entered the Dorark she’d felt compressed by the omnipresent foliage. Each tree was a perfect hiding spot for her attacker, but somehow that certainty didn’t translate to herself. Each time she hid behind a tree she felt ridiculous. She was covered from one angle and completely exposed from everywhere else. With the trees watching her every move it felt more like a reality TV show. Except here she might as well have been a tree trying to hide amongst a live studio audience.
She’d decided to stay at the pond for as long as she could. There was no knowing if the forest was able to move the pond. It was entirely possible that the pond was an anchor point in the layout of the forest.
An old rotted stump promised shelter for the night. Around the pond was gathered all manner of detritus. A threadbare ribbon, the front half of a wooden arrow with a stone head, 30% of a single leather boot, and quite a bit more, though it was all similarly useless. But she could finally tie her hair back with that ribbon.
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In the end she pulled the ribbon and an armload of sticks out of the mire into her rotted tree. The sticks functioned as a wall in the opening of the trunk. When she laid them carefully, no one could see in and she couldn’t see out. It was finally safe to sleep.
***
Timbrelle woke up to a splash just outside her tree. She realized in a moment of nauseating dread that she could not open her mouth. She clamped her throat down on the compulsion, but it did not abate. There were quiet footsteps outside and she knew for a fact that the painfully slow pace and consistent, uncaring crunching of leaves and sticks belonged to her follower. It seemed that though it could sense her, it could not see nor smell her.
The creature came to a stop before the trunk. There was no telling what was happening beyond the thin, fragile walls of her shelter. But she got the feeling that it was doing… nothing. It walked up to the old tree and stopped.
Was it waiting? Could it know that its prey huddled just outside of sight? She made no sound, but perhaps it could sense her the same way she could sense it.
A trickle of sweat dripped from her hairline. She was not positioned to bolt. If she moved, the detritus below would give her away. If she could twist her body to position her legs beneath her, she could spring through the makeshift wall and hopefully catch the creature off guard.
PING! A clear and cheery note cut through the night.
Timbrelle’s eyes went wide at the appearance of a floating dialogue box. Within, the words read “You are in danger. If you do not take action, you will die.” The box quickly disappeared at the sound of the creature approaching. To her surprise, another box appeared with a ping.
“Mortal danger unlocks the use of your lifelines.
(3) remaining.
Use? Yes/No”
She could see four long, thin fingers slide through a gap in the sticks. Where nails had once been, there were muddy scabs. It forced its fingers straight with such force that the muscles shook slightly. It seemed… excited.
Timbrelle jammed the “yes” option and was surprised to find that she felt no different. The power she’d expected did not come rushing into her veins, instead, a small rock became illuminated.
She grabbed it, unsure of what to do until a yellow dotted line curved from the rock out the top of the tree trunk, a set of foot prints of the same color disappeared through the wall of sticks. What it wanted was obvious, but it seemed too simple.
The spidery fingers slowly curled around the stick, moments from exposing her. Timbrelle tossed the rock out the top of the tree and waited. The footprints quickly turned an alarming shade of red, then disappeared entirely.
Timbrelle burst out of her shelter to see the trail of blazing red foot prints quickly disappearing. She’d followed them too slowly, three steps behind.
The sound behind her was unnatural. It was the clicking of an insect but much too loud. Nothing in the Dorark had been this loud, the trees soaked up every noise as if they were hungry for it but they could do nothing to the rapid clicking that pierced her mind.
The footsteps were gone. They ended all of a sudden at the edge of the pond. She knew instinctively that she was meant to jump once she reached the edge.
A cold hand brushed her wrist. In the brief point of contact she could feel the pressure in her lungs well up to an unbearable level. She felt a snick and a spike of pain in her chest.
Momentum pulled her further, tumbling her end over end into the pond.
To her surprise, the bed quickly fell away to a depth she could only tread. Water flooded into her ears, nose and mouth. There was no light by which to see the surface. Of one thing she was horribly certain: she was sinking.
Ping!
You are in danger. If you do not take action, you will die.
Ping!
Mortal danger unlocks the use of your lifelines.
(2) remaining.
Use? Yes/No
The windows reappeared in order but a new third window popped up in front.
Ping!
Congratulations! You’ve received two ‘Impending Death’ notifications within a single minute. You have been awarded the title: Fragile.
The box vanished and a fourth box appeared in front of the first two with a low gong noise.
Dong…
Error: you cannot use your second lifeline before completing your Unmaking.
Boxes kept popping up but Timbrelle lost interest. Absently, she noticed the hand that had been covering her mouth float away. The pressure in her throat was gone for the first time in months. Yes, her lungs burned for air but the sensation was an oddly welcome change to the dread that hung over her. In that moment she only felt calm.
***
Timbrelle awoke to the smell of roasting meat. She recognized the Dorark at a glance from the way every single tree grew thorns. Short, fat, thin, serrated, hooked—there was no tree without them. Some were long enough to use as footholds for climbing, most were far too short and prohibited any sort of contact. Part of why she never felt confident hiding in them from the creature.
Timbrelle bolted upright, suddenly remembering the encounter. Black spots dotted her vision, making it difficult to make out the figure sitting by the fire.
“Woah! Again?”
Timbrelle felt a steadying arm around her shoulders.
“You sat straight up a while ago and passed out immediately. Take it slow.”
She spun out of the person’s grasp, turning on her knees to face them. They made tense eye contact for a brief moment before Timbrelle vomited a rather impressive amount of pond water into the space between them.