Herald woke with a start, his heart pounding against his ribs like a caged bird. The remnants of the strange dream clung to his mind like cobwebs, the amorphous shadow still looming large in his memory. He could almost feel its oppressive presence, bearing down on him with a weight that made it hard to breathe. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes as if he could wipe away the unsettling image. The warm summer breeze drifting through his open window did little to dispel the chill that had settled deep in his bones. He told himself firmly that it was just a dream, taking a deep breath of the sweet, sun-drenched air. Just a silly nightmare, nothing more.
“Herald! Time to get up, my boy!” His father’s cheerful voice floated up from downstairs, cutting through the last tendrils of the dream like a beacon in the darkness.
Herald felt a smile tug at his lips despite himself. His father always had a way of making everything seem brighter, no matter how dark the shadows in his mind.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, stretching his arms high above his head until he felt his spine pop. The floorboards were warm beneath his bare feet as he padded over to the washbasin, the water still cool from the night. He splashed his face and neck, letting the bracing chill chase away the last vestiges of sleep.
As he pulled on his clothes for the day - a simple linen shirt and wool trousers, both soft with wear - he caught a glimpse of himself in the small mirror hanging on the wall. At nine summers old, he was finally starting to look less like a child and more like a young man. His brown hair, so often unruly, was getting long enough to brush his shoulders, and there was a new depth to his green eyes, a hint of the courage and curiosity that burned in his heart.
With a final tug to straighten his shirt, Herald bounded down the creaky wooden stairs, taking them two at a time in his eagerness. The main room of their modest home was awash with morning sunlight, dust motes dancing in the golden beams like fairy lights. The comforting scent of leather and beeswax filled the air, as familiar to Herald as his own heartbeat.
His father, Garrett, was already hard at work at his bench, his hands moving with sure, practiced strokes as he stitched a leather satchel. He looked up as Herald approached, a broad grin splitting his weathered face.
“There’s my Herald,” he said, putting down his awl and opening his arms wide. “Come here and give your old da a hug.”
Herald went willingly, burying his face in his father’s shoulder and breathing in the scent of him - leather and sweat and something uniquely Garrett, something that always made Herald feel safe and loved. For a moment, he let himself just be held, soaking up the warmth and strength of his father’s embrace.
“I had a weird dream,” he mumbled into Garrett’s shirt, his voice muffled.
Garrett pulled back, holding Herald at arm’s length so he could look into his face.
His brow furrowed with concern. “A nightmare?”
Herald shrugged, suddenly feeling foolish. “Sort of. There was this...shadow. It was huge and dark, and it felt...bad.” He shuddered, remembering the feeling of malevolence that had radiated from the formless thing.
Garrett’s eyes softened with understanding. “Dreams can be unsettling things,” he said, smoothing a hand over Herald’s hair. “But they can’t hurt you. They’re just your mind’s way of sorting through the day’s events, nothing more.”
He gave Herald’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his calloused palm warm through the thin linen of Herald’s shirt. “Now, what say you and I have some breakfast, and then you can go out and find some real adventures, eh? No need to dwell on shadowy dreams when there’s a whole world waiting to be explored.”
Herald felt his heart lift at the prospect, the lingering unease from the dream dissolving like mist beneath the sun. He gave his father a quick, impulsive hug, then dashed over to the table where a hunk of crusty bread and a wedge of cheese sat waiting. He tore into the bread with gusto, suddenly ravenous.
Garrett chuckled, shaking his head as he watched Herald devour his breakfast. “Slow down there, my boy. The bread’s not going to run away.”
Herald just grinned around a mouthful of food, too excited to mind his manners. His father’s words had sparked a flame in his chest, a burning desire to be out in the world, to discover all its wonders and secrets. He could almost hear the forest calling to him, whispering of untold adventures waiting to be had.
He finished his breakfast in record time, hardly tasting it in his haste. His father just smiled knowingly as Herald leaped up from the table, his eyes bright with anticipation.
“Off with you then,” Garrett said, shooing him towards the door with a wave of his hand. “And mind, you’re back before dark, you hear?”
“Yes, Da,” Herald said dutifully. Still, his mind was already elsewhere, racing ahead to the forests and fields awaiting him.
He burst out of the house like a cork from a bottle, the bright summer sun warm on his face. The village of Whosawhatsit stretched out before him, a quaint patchwork of thatch-roofed cottages and well-trodden dirt paths. It seemed to Herald that the town never changed, frozen in time like a painting. The same faces greeted him every morning, the same routines played out day after day.
But that sameness was comforting in its own way. There was a rhythm to life in Whosawhatsit, a predictable ebb and flow that made Herald feel secure and rooted. Even as his heart yearned for adventure, a part of him loved the familiar sights and sounds of his village, the people he had known all his life.
As he passed, he waved to Tilda, the baker, watching as she drew water from the well with solid and sure movements. The scent of baking bread wafted from her open window, making Herald’s mouth water despite his hasty breakfast.
Next came Walter the woodcutter and his son Thomas, their axes rising and falling in perfect synchronized strokes as they chopped wood for the winter stores. They paused to wave at Herald, their faces ruddy with exertion and glistening with sweat.
Herald couldn’t imagine spending all day in one place, doing the same task over and over. He loved the freedom of roaming, of never quite knowing what each day would bring. But he respected the hard work and dedication of the villagers, the way they poured their hearts into their chosen crafts.
As he neared the edge of the village, he spied Greta and her flock of geese, the plump birds waddling comically behind her as she led them to the village green. Greta caught his eye and smiled, her weathered face crinkling with fondness.
“Off to slay some dragons, young Herald?” she called, her eyes twinkling with mirth.
Herald grinned, puffing out his chest. “Or discover hidden treasure,” he replied, patting the sturdy leather satchel that hung at his side. “Who knows what adventures await?”
Greta chuckled, shaking her head. “Ah, to be young and full of dreams again,” she said wistfully. “You enjoy your adventures, my boy. But mind you stay safe, you hear?”
“I will,” Herald promised, already itching to be off.
With a final wave to Greta, he set off down the winding path that led out of the village and into the wild, untamed expanse of the forest. The well-worn dirt soon gave way to lush grass and towering trees, the canopy overhead dappling the ground with shifting patterns of light and shade.
Herald breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the earthy scent of moss and leaves. He felt genuinely alive out here, every sense humming, anticipating what lay ahead. The forest was a living thing, constantly changing and full of surprises. No two days were quite the same, which thrilled Herald down to his bones.
As he ventured deeper into the woods, following a meandering game trail, he heard the unmistakable sound of laughter echoing through the trees. His heart leaped with excitement - he would know those voices anywhere.
Sure enough, as he rounded a bend in the path, he spotted his two best friends in the world: Emil and Robin. The boys were engaged in a spirited mock battle, wooden swords clashing as they darted between the trees.
Emil, his blond hair glinting in the dappled sunlight, let out a mighty roar as he lunged at Robin, who nimbly dodged the blow with a laugh.
“Aha! You’ll never defeat me, evil dragon!” Robin crowed, brandishing his sword with a flourish. “I, Sir Robin the Brave, will slay you and save the kingdom!”
“Never!” Emil growled, puffing out his cheeks and flapping his arms in a credible imitation of a dragon’s wings. “I’ll roast you alive and pick my teeth with your bones!”
Herald couldn’t help but laugh at their antics, drawing their attention. Two pairs of bright eyes swung his way, lighting up with joy at the sight of him.
“Herald!” Robin exclaimed, lowering his sword and grinning broadly.
“You’re just in time! We’re about to have an epic showdown between Sir Robin and the terrible dragon!”
Herald hefted his own wooden sword, falling easily into the familiar rhythm of their play. “Well, it seems to me that a brave knight like Sir Robin could use a trusty squire,” he said, moving to stand at Robin’s side. “I pledge my sword to your cause, my lord.”
Robin clapped him on the shoulder, his grin widening. “Well said, my loyal friend! Together, we shall vanquish this foul beast and bring peace to the land!”
Emil let out another mighty roar, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Two against one, eh? No matter! I’ll take you both on and still emerge victorious!”
And with that, the battle began anew, the three boys throwing themselves into the fray with joyful abandon. Their laughter rang out through the forest as they chased each other through the trees, wooden swords catching the light and flickering in the sunlight.
For Herald, there was no greater joy than this - the simple, pure delight of playing with his friends, of losing himself in a world of imagination and adventure. In these moments, the cares and worries of the real world faded away, replaced by the thrill of the game, the rush of adrenaline as they fought mock battles and emerged victorious.
Their play shifted as the morning wore on, taking on new stories and challenges. One moment, they were brave knights; the next, cunning spies infiltrating an enemy castle. They climbed trees and waded in the clear, burbling stream, their laughter and shouts of excitement carrying on the warm breeze.
But even the most intrepid adventurers needed sustenance. As the sun reached its zenith overhead, the three boys collapsed in a happy, exhausted heap on the soft forest floor, their stomachs grumbling.
Herald reached into his satchel, pulling out the crusty bread and cheese he had packed that morning. He divided it up, handing a portion to each of his friends, who fell upon the simple fare with gusto.
They talked and laughed as they ate, recounting their favorite moments from the morning’s adventures. Herald felt a deep sense of contentment wash over him, a feeling of rightness and belonging. These were his people, his tribe. Together, they could face anything.
But as the afternoon wore on and the shadows began to lengthen, Herald knew it was time to return to the village. His father would be expecting him, and he had chores to attend to before the evening meal.
With a sigh of regret, he hauled himself to his feet, brushing off the clinging leaves and twigs from his clothes. “I should head back,” he said, smiling ruefully at his friends. “Da will tan my hide if I’m late for supper again.”
Emil and Robin nodded, their own expressions mirroring his reluctance. “Same time tomorrow?” Robin asked hopefully, his eyes bright.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Emil’s eyes widened with excitement. “Yes! I bet there’s treasure hidden, just waiting to be discovered!”
Herald laughed, his heart already racing at the prospect of a new adventure. “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow, we’ll uncover the secrets of the enchanted forest and become the richest boys in all of Whosawhatsit!”
With a final round of laughter and promises to meet again the next day, the three boys parted ways, each heading back to their respective homes. Herald walked with a spring in his step, his mind whirling with plans and possibilities.
The village was quieter as he passed through, most folks having retired to their homes for the midday meal. He waved to Bartholomew the cooper, who was putting the finishing touches on a large barrel outside his workshop, and to Ezra the chandler, who was carefully dipping wicks into vats of melted tallow, the sharp scent of rendered fat hanging heavy in the air.
As he neared his own home, he saw his father standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and a stern expression on his face. Herald’s steps faltered momentarily, wondering if he was in trouble. But then Garrett’s face split into a wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Herald relaxed.
“There you are, my boy,” Garrett said, uncrossing his arms and pulling Herald into a quick, rough hug. “I was beginning to think you’d been carried off by pixies.”
Herald laughed, hugging his father back. “Not pixies, Da. Just dragons and enemy spies.”
Garrett chuckled, ruffling Herald’s hair. “Ah, of course. The perils of the forest, eh?”
He stepped back, holding Herald at arm’s length and looking him over with a critical eye. “You’re filthy,” he said, tsking softly. “Go wash up, and then come help me with these satchels. Mrs. Milligan is expecting a delivery tomorrow, and we don’t want to disappoint her, now do we?”
Herald nodded, a flicker of pride warming his chest. He loved helping his father with his work and loved the feeling of creating something useful and beautiful with his own hands. Garrett was a master craftsman - his leather goods were sought after by all the villagers, who were known for their durability and fine workmanship.
He hurried to the washbasin, scrubbing the dirt and grime from his face and hands until the water ran clear. Then, he joined his father at the workbench, eager to learn and to help.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of stitching and cutting, the sharp scent of leather, and the quiet conversation between father and son. Herald lost himself in the work, his hands moving with growing confidence as he followed his father’s instructions.
As the light outside began to fade and the first stars appeared in the twilight sky, Garrett set down his tools and stretched, his spine popping audibly. “I think that’s enough for today,” he said, surveying their handiwork with a satisfied nod. “You did well, Herald. A few more years, and you’ll be a master leatherworker in your own right.”
Herald flushed with pleasure at the praise, his heart swelling with love and pride. “Thanks, Da,” he mumbled, suddenly shy.
Supper that night was a lively affair, full of laughter and good-natured teasing. Herald recounted his adventures with Emil and Robin, embellishing the details just a bit to make his father chuckle. They talked about the day’s work, the latest village gossip, and their plans for the coming week.
And as he sat there, surrounded by the warmth and love of his father and the village, Herald felt a deep sense of belonging, of rightness. This was his place, his home. No matter where his adventures took him, he would always have this to return to.
As the meal wound down and the dishes cleared away, Herald felt his eyelids growing heavy, as did the day’s events.
And so passed the lazy days of summer in Whosawhatsit. Harald spent mornings in the woods with Emil and Robin, hunting mythical beasts and exploring every nook and cranny. After a quick lunch of bread and cheese, he’d wander the village running whatever small errands Garrett asked - fetching meat from Walter, the butcher, or dropping off newly crafted satchels and packs.
Every evening after supper, the trio of boys would return to the forest once more until the fireflies emerged. It was a simple life but one filled with the unbridled joy and freedom of childhood.
As summers passed and Herald grew older, his adventures ranged farther into the forest’s depths. The woods seemed to beckon him, subjecting his senses to a thousand new sights, smells, and sounds around every bend. Emil and Robin lost interest in their made-up games. They were content to spend the days in the village working beside their fathers, absorbed into Whosawhatsit’s ageless unity.
But Herald’s adventurous spirit only burned brighter. There was something almost... otherworldly calling to him from the forest’s shadowy heart.
When he turned twelve, his father crafted him a sturdy leather satchel, but the gift was tainted by a strange, strained look on Garrett’s face. It was like he struggled against some invisible force for just a moment before handing the finely worked bag to his son.
“For all your treasures and discoveries,” Garrett said, his usual bright smile looking almost pained.
Herald accepted the gift, brow furrowed in confusion and concern. “Father, are you alright?”
Garrett blinked, and just like that, the uncharacteristic tension drained from his features. “Of course, my boy! Why wouldn’t I be?”
He let out a rumbling chuckle and ruffled Herald’s hair with a calloused hand. “No need to worry over this old man. Now get out there and find me the greatest treasures this forest has to offer!”
Herald adored the new satchel, running his hands over the intricate stitching and sturdy buckles. Something about the puzzling moment with his father faded into the back of his mind as he stuffed the bag full of rocks, feathers, bones, and shells - any fascinating oddity he could unearth.
His wanderings became more solitary as he grew older, and the villagers now regard him with a strange mix of indulgence and disapproval. While Emil and Robin seamlessly transitioned into working lives, integrating into the timeless unity of the village, Herald remained transfixed by the endless wonder of the unexplored woods.
The once comforting sameness of Whosawhatsit began to feel stifling, the villagers’ behaviors increasingly unsettling. It started subtly initially, with a comment here and a pointed look there. But the pressure to conform mounted as the summers passed, and Herald’s adventures took him farther into the forest.
One morning, as Herald was heading out to the woods, he passed by Greta, who was mending a basket on her doorstep. She looked up as he approached, her weathered face creased with concern.
“Herald, my boy,” she said, setting down her work. “Don’t you think it’s time to put aside these childish adventures? Your father could use your help in the workshop, and there are plenty of nice girls in the village who would make a fine wife.”
Herald paused, taken aback by her directness. “I... I’m not ready for that, Greta,” he said carefully. “The forest calls to me. There’s still so much to discover.”
Greta sighed, shaking her head. “The forest will still be there when you’re ready to settle down. But youth is fleeting, Herald. Don’t waste it chasing shadows and daydreams.”
Herald forced a smile, trying to ignore the unease prickling at the back of his neck. “I appreciate your concern, Greta. But I promise, I’m not wasting anything. This is what I love.”
He hurried off before she could respond, her words echoing in his mind. It wasn’t the first time one of the villagers had tried to dissuade him from his wanderings. Still, something about Greta’s insistence, her talk of settling down and getting married, made his skin crawl.
As the days turned into weeks, the comments became more frequent and insistent. Bartholomew the cooper, who had always been kind to Herald, now regarded him with a mixture of pity and frustration.
“You’re a man now, Herald,” he said one afternoon as Herald was returning from the woods, his satchel heavy with newfound treasures. “It’s time to put away childish things and take your place in the village. Your father won’t be around forever, you know. He needs you to carry on his legacy.”
Herald bristled at the implication that his adventures were somehow childish, that his father was anything less than proud of him. “Da understands,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “He knows the forest is a part of me. And I’ll always be there to help him when he needs me.”
Bartholomew just shook his head, his expression one of resigned disappointment. “I hope you’re right, my boy. I hope you’re right.”
Even Walter the butcher, who had always been one of Herald’s staunchest supporters, began to express doubts.
“Herald, lad,” he said one morning as Herald was picking up some meat for his father. “I know the woods are exciting, but don’t you think it’s time to focus on more important things? Like finding a trade, starting a family?”
Herald could feel his frustration mounting, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Why couldn’t they understand? Why couldn’t they see that the forest, his adventures, were as vital to him as breathing?
“I am focused on what’s important, Walter,” he said, his voice tight. “The forest, the discoveries I make there... that’s what matters to me. And I won’t give it up, not for anything.”
Walter held up his hands in a placating gesture, his eyes wide. “Easy there, lad. I didn’t mean any offense. I just worry about you, that’s all.”
Herald took a deep breath, forcing his anger to subside. He knew Walter meant well, that all the villagers did. But their concern felt more like a cage with each passing day, a cage he feared would eventually snap shut around him, trapping him in a life he didn’t want.
As the pressure mounted, Herald spent more and more time in the forest, seeking solace in its wild, untamed beauty. The trees didn’t judge him or try to mold him into something he wasn’t. In the forest, he could be truly himself, free from the expectations and limitations of village life.
But even as he reveled in his solitude, he could feel the weight of the villagers’ disapproval bearing down on him, their words and looks haunting his steps like malevolent spirits. He knew they meant well and only wanted what they thought was best for him. But he also knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that their vision of his future would suffocate him, would snuff out the very things that made him who he was.
And so he continued to wander, to explore, even as the villagers’ concerns turned to outright disapproval. He smiled, nodded, and made vague promises about “someday,” all the while feeling like a traitor to himself, to the wild, untameable spirit that burned within him.
At seventeen summers, Herald moved with the grace and surety of a born adventurer, his steps light and his bearing proud. Once rounded with boyhood, his face had sharpened into the chiseled planes, his jaw firm and his cheekbones high. His skin, tanned from long days beneath the forest canopy, and frame filled out with the wiry strength of an active life spent largely outdoors.
While the passage of years had changed Herald’s appearance, his eyes remained the same - a vivid, piercing green that seemed to see straight into the heart of things. They were the eyes of a dreamer, a seeker, filled with a curiosity that could not be sated and a hunger for knowledge that knew no bounds.
Herald started to dodge the villagers’ remarks, his heart still feeling the inexorable pull of the wild forest surrounding their hamlet. The villagers’ disquieting distaste for his wanderlust only enhanced the allure of the untamed woodlands as an escape, more than just a chance to discover.
One crisp autumn day, his wandering feet strayed farther than ever before, drawn by the lure of strange, haunting music echoing through the gnarled trunks and rustling leaves. He didn’t realize how far afield he had strayed until the shadows grew long, and the path vanished beneath a dense shroud of underbrush.
Herald froze, the musical trill fading into silence. He turned in a slow circle, suddenly aware that he was hopelessly turned around. The familiar comfort of the woods had given way to something darker and unknown.
“I’ll just retrace my steps,” he muttered, straightening the strap of his well-worn satchel over his shoulder.
But as he pivoted one way and the other, every direction looked exactly the same. Moss-covered trunks and a carpet of dead leaves as far as he could see.
Herald felt his breath quicken as panic set in. He was utterly lost, with no way to find his bearings. The lush canopy above blotted out the afternoon sun completely, leaving him in a shadowy, perpetual twilight.
Think, he commanded himself, trying to regain his calm. If he made a fire, someone from the village would be sure to see the smoke and come find him. He just needed...
There, tucked into the base of a fallen log, was the yawning mouth of a cave. A way to get out of this disorienting forest tangle! Herald could make camp for the night in the cave and build his guiding fire in the morning.
His satchel was reassuringly heavy with supplies - a knife, flint, and steel, waxed canvas for making torches. And, of course, an abundance of curiosities he could burn if needed. Herald squared his shoulders and marched resolutely toward the cave entrance.
Inside, cool air and the scent of damp earth greeted him. Herald used his flint to spark a makeshift torch, casting a wavering glow over the natural stone walls. Water dripped from somewhere deeper within, the echoing plips and plops bouncing off the twisting walls.
Frowning, Herald ventured further into the tunnel. This was no simple cave. The ceiling grew taller and taller, the passage sloping gently downward into inky blackness.
His torch flickered in an unseen draft, casting grotesque shadows that danced and writhed across the craggy surfaces. What was this place? Herald’s pulse quickened with both curiosity and trepidation. Apprehension coiled in his gut, the primal fear of the unknown creeping up his spine.
But his inherent wanderlust won out over his doubts. Only one way to find out...