A Forest Near the Town of Malinon. Pax, 32nd.

Olea Munroe

It was early morning, already. I had spent the night doing God knows what, again. The dreams are getting worse, the dreams and voices. The voices and dreams. I had been awake for several hours now, even before the sun crested the distant horizon. I could not see the sun per se, but I could see the canopy of leaves overhead beginning to glow with early morning light.

“Scientific deduction, that.” I said to the empty air.

Again, I think I have lost my mind. Though it could not be all bad if I could make unfunny jokes to myself, and recognize them as both jokes and unfunny, right? I did not know. The forest floor was clear all around me, spotted only with small rocks and struggling saplings rushing to grow faster than their neighbors so that they may survive and thrive in the sunlight rather than being slowly drowned in an environment too dark to sustain proper growth.

Nature is a harsh mistress, a stone-cold murderer, even. I wonder if that means murder is the natural way of things. No, no, no. That is not right. Maybe struggle is the point, a struggle to survive against the other things trying to do you in, through no fault of their own. Just a basic desire to be the best as all around you other creatures are falling into ruin. That still did not feel quite right, but better than murder is nature, I supposed.

Me? I am simply mourning a lost friend or at least one of those others, the only connection I have been able to recall in these past few days, weeks. How long had it been? No matter. My eyes are drawn to that mound of dirt, it is a small thing, barely worthy of the life lost. The soul extinguished…

“Gah, I sound like an emo girl in a teen rom-com.” I find myself chastising my own thoughts again, though recently some of the thoughts in my head are not my own. I do not know who they belong to, but they are not mine.

Some of the thought-voices keep asking me questions, some are speaking to other thought-voices, and sometimes all the voices talk all at once, trying to figure out who the others are. I would like to know who they are, and why they are in my mind. They should be paying rent and keeping it down.

Enough about the stupid voice-thought things, I had work to do. I had spent the last few days enshrining my feelings and memories of this noble creature by making its mound presentable to the heavens, like some great Celtic rite performed by the druids of earth. I had gathered a series of stones to ring the mound and planted some thick green moss upon the stones as a blanket for the deceased. I knew they were dead, and as such would not get cold but who really thinks straight when they are in mourning.

No one. And, I believe, I am doubly due for some leniency as I may be slipping into madness. I wonder if Alice will be around for a spot of tea.

Back to the work at hand, I needed to plant these flowers I had found earlier in the day. They were a strange type of flower, all red with traces of silver moonlight streaking through the petals. Any time I looked at them I found myself being drawn to their beauty, and as the sun continued to rise the flowers fragrance would increase in potency.

I thought it was a trick of the wind at first but as time wore on, I could scent the flower from further and further away. Indeed, at first, I would lean in and catch a small whiff of the sweet intoxicating scent but now I could smell them even as I stood several yards distant. I could also almost see a visible haze of glowing dust, or was that pollen, rising from the buds.

No matter, now that the sun had warmed the soil, I could plant the pretty thing in the soil there and complete my makeshift memorial to my mysterious benefactor. As to the benefit I received, I cannot say. I am at a total loss as to what happened or even who this being was. I should know, shouldn’t I? I was certain I had dug the grave and buried the body. I had to have known at some point, why couldn’t I remember?

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The forest around me was coming to life with each passing minute, more and more sounds emanating from all around me. I listened closely, relaxing my mind as nature wove its song through the sounds of life.

Then I set to work.

I dug a small hole atop the mound, pushing the dirt here and there in the rough shape I needed to plant the flower. Once I had finished that part, I grabbed the clod of deep-red, copper-scented soil and placed it ever so gently into the hole, being careful not to damage any of the sharpened root’s protruding from the underside. This was one feisty flower.

I had just barely begun patting the soil into place around the wonderful smelling plant when I heard it, the low growl of some small scurrying creature.

Several small scurry creatures.

I found myself looking upon a vast array of small carrion consuming pests of the forest. Possum, rats, badgers, foxes, and several birds were also alighting down from above as they stared upon my memorial mound.

“What the bloody hell…” words fail me as I try to figure out why the denizens of the forest have sought out my clearing. Were they after my fallen friend? Surely the smell was barred from entry onto the breeze by the sheer virtue of being covered in packed dirt, my nails will attest to the fact that this was no shallow grave.

Could they be here for me? I am only barely a narcissist sometimes, but even I could not fault them for wanting to see me, though today was not a good day. I was covered in the signs of my labor, the dirt, blood, more foul things. No, not that. Probably.

I got to my feet gripping my digging instrument, a large broken length of bone, or tusk. It was here when I got here, no idea where it was from. It was however stained a deep red though, the color of dried blood, and of course dirt.

“Wait a minute.” I looked down at my feet to stare at the flower, which had taken on a slightly darker hue while still possessing the slivers of moonlight splitting the petals. They proved to be quite contrasting shades. Was this a magical plant, were the creatures trying to eat this innocent flower?

I would not have it, whether they were here for my friend’s body, myself, or the flower I would stop them.

“Arrrrgh.” In my moment of contemplation one of the little vermin had decided to latch onto my leg, my bare leg. I will not say that my shrill scream was macho, or even remotely barbarian adjacent. I will also not say that it sounded like the scream of a girl on the run from certain slasher-flick villains. Nope, not me.

“You bastard, get off!” I shook my leg to and fro for several painful moments before it went flying into the mob before me, with a piece of my flesh.

“That better not scar!” a small stream of blood began flowing almost comically fast from my small puncture wound. Did the damned thing’s saliva have an anticoagulant?

I dipped a little lower, not sure why at first. Then I felt something, a small certainty that my form was right. My body remembered something about fighting that I did not, chalk this up to the struggle of nature, or nature being struggle idea. Probably.

Anyway, I did not like the looks of this. More creatures were coming in from behind the ones I could easily see. Dozens now, more?

I moved to the side as I felt the wind shift, barely missing a large rat as it flew through the air and crashed into the mass of animals before me. As it landed and turned about to face me and have another go, a large animal bit into its neck and crushed its spine. I only think the spine was crushed because I heard a very dull crunching sound followed by several cracks and a pop before the badger jerked its head back and sent the corpse flying into the bushes.

Then it all went to hell. I had beats leaping up at me from below, thankful all the while I had the high ground. I dodged, blocked, fake-parried, and sometimes failed to do any of those. I was beginning to think I would be buried in a mass of fur-covered teeth and small paws when I saw movement at the edge of the clearing and the glint of sunlight on metal.

A pair of men were making their way through the lake of creatures before me. One was laying into the beasties with a short spear and a machete style blade, cutting and hacking at anything that came near. Hell, his lead attack was a spear through the stomach of one animal before using said animal to club another. It was spectacular.

A sound from above caught my attention and I looked up to see a large bird swooping down on me just as an arrow took it through the abdomen and pinned it to a tree, the other fellow was like lightning using that bow of his. I saw arrow after arrow being loosed into the air, all save one finding a nice spot to rest inside my would-be attackers.

I continued fighting the beasties that were before me clumsily by comparison to the men laying waste to the horde below. I took a great many cuts and scrapes, a tumble or two, and several more bites to places that should never even be laid bare in daylight. I could feel the familiar symptoms of blood-loss settling in even as the last of the beasties died.

“You a’rite, lass?” said the older hunter with his spear held to the side, his friend was walking the clearing pulling arrows from corpses.

“I feel fine…” I managed, before the world went black.

Somewhere deep in my mind a sultry voice began to whisper, and then scream.

Weird.