The worn through path wove up and down several rocky outcrops, leading now away from the inner edge of the chasm and snaking through an overgrown wood. The thinning trail of loose dirt wound onward left and right. It had been created by many small steps following the path of least resistance over many years. Unusually excited, Esper went down the familiar path, moving at a half-jogging pace. It wasn’t good to waste energy like this, but she felt unusually light on her feet today. She looked at the many dark trees surrounding herself, as she sped through the thicket. Their giant, night-blue leaves were each easily the size of herself. They billowed up and down, fueled by the ever-present upward current, that seemed to work its way into every corner of the chasm. A spontaneous flicker of light caught the corner of her eye from within the dark tree-line and she stopped in her tracks, putting the heavy rope down.
Walking over a few tight steps to the side of the small path, she knelt down by a particularly large, knotted tree and looked around the base of it. Squinting in an attempt to make some vague detail out, she then ran her hands across the rough, ashy bark. She felt a soft fuzziness beneath her fingers, it was just barely moist and felt oddly warm. A smile crossed her face for the second time that day. Taking a small cloth wrap from her belt, Esper laid it on the ground and pulled out a very crude, stone knife. Watching her fingers as best she could, she laid the knife to the bark and scraped off the fist sized patch of bright blue mold. Once she had gotten most of it, she collected it all together with some of the peeled bark and placed it into the wrap, along with her knife, tucking it back under the frayed cord she had serving as her belt. “What a day,” she thought gleefully, surprised, but certainly not unpleased at her unusual luck.
Picking up the rope, that felt somehow heavier than just a minute ago, with a slight grunt, she continued down on her way. She should be back on time, so there was no need to hurry now. The metal locket felt strangely cold against her skin, even through the cloth of the pocket. Which, to be fair, thought Esper, was as thin as a ghost. With every step, it seemed to bounce back and forth, making her oddly aware of her otherwise unconscious movements. Managing to break the cycle of distraction eventually, her mind drifted back to thoughts of food. It had been two days since she had anything except for the leaves. Her eyes wandered upwards again towards the looming crowns of the wood. They made you full for a little, but they were real work to chew and they tasted just as enjoyable. The worst part was that you just became hungry again an hour or two after anyways, so it hardly felt worth the effort.
Esper saw a familiar widening of the thicket ahead. The trees cleared out here somewhat and gave way to a blurry collection of structures that one could, if desperate, consider houses. This was the Burrow and it lived up to its namesake. Esper stared at the old wooden sign placed at the end of the tree-line and the border of a cleared patch of grass before the houses, which had grown very high as of late actually. A frequently visited memory of the sad man who had come here when she was just a child, returned to her mind. He was the one who placed it here, the sign. Most of the paint had cracked and peeled off over the years and she couldn’t read it either way. But she always stopped to look at the collection of strange lines and said the words she had heard back then from him. “Malbrila Plago,” she slowly mouthed out aloud, rehearsing the words as the end of her daily ritual. Apparently that was what people from above called this place, she guessed. Esper wasn’t sure if she liked the name honestly, so she just called it Burrow like mama did.
Stepping a foot into the clearing, she felt the usual collection of suspicious eyes lock on to her, though they just as quickly lost interest once more when they saw it was just Esper coming back again like she did every day. She glanced around, like she always did when she got back. There was nobody to be seen behind the closed crooked doors and collapsed walls, as always. Yet she felt them. They were there. People here didn’t talk much anymore. It was different when she was a child, before the sad man came. After that, people became more reclusive, though she wasn’t too sure why. She thought of mama’s exasperated sigh and daily mantra of “Times change,” and took comfort in that being the most obvious answer.
The wet crunch of many small rocks and stones rolling beneath her bony feet was the only sound coming from the secluded little village. It was just about pitch black now. The last rays of sunlight had begun to die out for the day. Esper couldn’t see much of anything anymore, even in good light, but she had been walking down this way her entire life so she was sure footed, even in the nigh-perpetual dark down here. Looking to her left, she could vaguely make out a familiar door. She wondered what the old woman who lived behind it was up to, the woman hadn’t been feeling well last time they spoke. An idea hit Esper and her eyes grew wide again in childish excitement.
Pleased with her plan, she hurried down past the next few houses until she reached her own. It was a run-down, time beaten death trap, just like all the others here, but there’s no place like home. She opened the door, which gave way with a long, loud squealing creak, that almost seemed to persist even after the door had stopped moving. Sitting down on the precipice, the girl roughly wiped the thickly caked layer of dirt off of her soles with an old absolutely shredded rag, that lay there before stepping inside, making sure the door was closed tightly behind her. “I’m home!” she called out unceremoniously, throwing the rope to the ground and stretching her aching shoulder. The words echoed aimlessly around the empty, light-less room that made up the entirety of the house. No response, though she hadn’t expected any.
Yawning was her first urge, it had been a long day’s work today. Five bodies was a large amount for one person in one day, especially for someone her size. “Papa would have done it in an hour,” she thought to herself sleepily. She shook her head, she could sleep later. First she had to eat. Despite treading as lightly as she could, the worn down wooden floor groaned, as if pained by every step from the small girl. She always felt oddly bad for it, in an inexplicable sense. Two full steps later and she was at the rough, hand-hewn table, where she placed the pouch from her belt and sat down. Taking the primitive knife and wiping the blue dust off of it that had begun to collect on the surface, she began finely chopping and crushing the mold and bark as best she could in the pitch-black room.
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Soon though, a weak luminescence shone from the fungal goo, once as before filling the room with a weak blue light. It wasn’t much, but not much is a lot when the alternative is total darkness. Satisfied with it, once it had reached the sufficient consistency of a thick, granular paste, she got up and tied the corners of the dirty cloth together, forming a small sealed ball, from which the light still shone through. Carefully, making sure not to drop it she stepped a half step over to an old well worn, but meticulously cleaned, black pot filled with cold stagnant water and dropped the bundle inside. The light seemed to almost grow stronger, as the bundle sank deeper into the cauldron, the blue aura shining out of the cauldron giving it an almost mythical, witchy appearance.
Beneath the large pot sat two stones and a pile of dark-blue branches and sticks. Grinding the two rocks together, Esper watched as the sparks flew out of them. Most of them landed on the wood and died as quickly as they were born. Though a lucky handful managed to survive, whether by chance or divine blessing was unknown. Nesting themselves into the dry tinder near the bottom, they grew and flourished as the young girls’ blown breath filled them with life. The girl looked at the tiny orange embers nested in the tinder and whispered to them “Grow big and strong please,” and soon a small fire rose from the kindling, the rich orange hue from the flames and the deep blue from the water dancing around the room, intertwining in some spaces and clashing with each other in others.
“Bubble, bubble,” she said, looking at the familiar concoction. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but momma always said when she cooked porridge and laughed. So Esper did the same. It would take a while to finish, but the girl was nothing if not patient. With an idle glance, she looked over to her bed, to mama’s book which she now kept beneath her pillow. Esper knew she should read through it, and then promptly decided not to, for that exact reason. Sitting back down at the table instead, she began drawing in a winding circular motion with her finger on the rough surface and hummed a song to herself that she had been practicing as she thought about the old lady who lived a few houses down. A cold touch reminded her of the necklace in her dress, she pulled it out and stared at the odd ornate thing for a while, trying to make out some detail. But it was just too hard for her to clearly make out in this dim light. She would have to wait until the next daylight hours sadly. Holding the back ends of the chain behind her neck was difficult, as her hands were shaking from hunger now. But her trembling fingers managed to secure the latch on the chain and the necklace clicked once more with surprising force. She tugged on it once to make sure it was secure, and then smiled in satisfaction at her new prize.
Soon though, the room filled with a thick, vinegary odor that almost burnt to inhale. Esper rubbed her eyes which had started to turn red and water. That’s how she knew the food just about ready. Walking over to the pot, she looked at its contents. The water had turned into a thick, light blue, luminescent coagulation. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of it. Grabbing two of the old wooden bowls from the wobbly shelf, she blew the dust out of one of the one with a nicked edge, before scooping them each twice through the fungal jelly filling the pot. “Ouch!” she jumped back waving her hand, a larger tear now forming in her already wet eyes. She had burnt herself on the pot. She blew on the burn “Ow,” she muttered to herself, quietly now. It wasn’t bad, but it would sting for a few days. She jumped back realizing she had dropped the bowl in the pot. A small edge was still on the surface and she quickly scooped it out, shaking the excess goo off the outside, before trying again to fill it. Once she had both, she set them down on the table and breathed out in exhaustion. The sudden sensation of cold metal prickling the skin on her chest startled her and popped open her sleepy gaze, her fingers idly fumbling with the locket again.
Keeping that demeanor, she cheerfully grabbed both bowls filled with the glowing goo and sped outside to the old woman’s house, humming joyfully once more on the way. She was glad everyone else was probably still asleep for now, she didn’t want them to hear her hum obviously. She definitely didn’t want to be teased again. She still felt like she had to do it though, to hum when she was happy. So off she went into the night. The two wet bowls of glowing slime dancing through the air, like a pair of will-o’-the-wisps during the witching hour. Reaching the old woman’s house, she peered through the murky, old window. Though there was little to see through the heavy layer of dust, thicker than the actual paper-thin puff of glass it was coating.
Placing the bowls down on the window sill, she faintly knocked on the glass. It rattled an almost frightening amount and for a brief second Esper was afraid it would fall over. No response. “Well I guess I expected that,” thought the girl. It was very late after the daylight hours. Of course an old lady is still going to be asleep now. She rolled her eyes at herself. “Oh well!” Grabbing one of the bowls, she crept quietly towards the door. Crouching down she grabbed the handle and pushed it open just a bit, as quietly as she could and slid the bowl inside through the gap, wincing silently as she nudged her burnt finger against it. Successful, the girl got back up and quietly closed the door, making sure it latched shut. The porridge would be cold by the time the old woman saw it, but she could eat it for breakfast then. Smiling to herself about having done a nice thing, she grabbed her portion from the outside windowsill and fell back against the wall of the hut. Sliding down to the ground.
The night air was warm and moist. It always was down here. Esper took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her exhaustion getting the better of her for a moment. She remembered always fighting with mama, who would always try to get her to eat the porridge. The sour gelatinous mass wasn’t her favorite, but she did grow a fondness for it over the years, especially since the mushroom had become less common these days. And after all, there just wasn’t a lot to eat at all since the sad man had come. Esper wondered what happened to him. He was nice to her. Though everyone else wasn’t so happy with him though, though she never really got why.
Opening her eyes again, she stared at the sour luminescent glop filling her bowl. There was still an hour left until she had to hide. She felt unusually happy, as she began eating, sitting alone on the ground in an otherwise dark street. Today was a good day, she thought with a smile, wiping a strand of greasy hair from her eyes. A blue smear on her cheek.