[center][h1]The Mountain that Walks[/h1]
[i]By Ra’n of the Djinnsha Clan[/i][/center]

[center][b]I[/b][/center]

In the area to the west of the Great River of Ja’rth hills rise and roll wildly with tall and old trees reaching and stretching and leaning and twisting for the warmth of the God-Light. From the steeper hills, rivers and creeks would flow down and towards the distant Ja’rth, carving their paths into the Galbar, with their flows carefully managed by a number of distinct dams located along their lengths. These dams were old. The wood they were made of was rotting, and many had caved in long ago after their previous occupants had abandoned them. 

You see, over the years a lot of clans had tried to settle the area for it was peaceful and bright and bountiful, but none of them had been successful. The Classha had tried to settle the lands with their vast knowledge of proper dam-making, and they couldn’t. The Jonsha had tried to settle the lands with their peaceful and minimalistic ways, and they couldn’t. Even the Tussha, known for their resilience and determination, were unable to claim these lands as theirs. They would all, sooner or later, claim that these lands were cursed as anyone trying to make a life there would soon find themselves plagued by strange dreams as well as illness of both the body and the mind.

The only structure that remained was not even a dam but a burrow. Deep, maze-like, off-puttingly dry and messy, and dug over many years by the Old Bjork. It was now the only structure that remained occupied, although its occupant was now advanced in years and could recognize that his mind had gone a little. Perhaps that was a result of his lengthy stay in the cursed lands, or perhaps it was simply time claiming back what always belonged to it.

It was around summertime that I came upon this area and met the Old Bjork. I suppose I must’ve been the first fellow mind he’d seen in a long time, as he immediately took a liking to me and invited me to stay at his burrow after alerting me to the presence of ‘wild dangers’, which at the time I interpreted as death-bears and perhaps the occasional wolf pack. Eagerly, I accepted his offer.

[center][b]II[/b][/center]

It was during my third day staying at the Old Bjork’s Burrow that I finally asked him the question that had been in my head for days.

“Old Bjork, what is in the center of the woods?”

The Old Bjork had his back facing me as he sorted things out in a basket of his. I was sitting on the floor in the corner of his muddy living room. “Nothing.” He said, after too long a pause.

“Nothing?” I asked again, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, nothing.” He groaned a little as he had to bend down further to pick up an ingredient from the basket. 

“Come to think of it, I’ve yet to see any of the ‘wild dangers’ you mentioned when I met you.” I asked, standing up. The Old Bjork stood straight, spire cracking and popping along the way, and then walked to a flat rock that doubled as a kitchen top as well as a workbench.

“They’ve seen you already, though. They always do. They always do.” He said. My hair stood on end as he slouched over the workbench, pulling out a strange artifact from the pouch he always had slung over his shoulder. It was shiny, with tiny grooves all along its form and a shape that I had never seen before. If I were to describe its colour, I think the most accurate description would be that of an elderly Bjork’s wet fur after a swim. 

I watched the Old Bjork inspect the artifact, and then pull out a sharp stone and begin to try to scratch the artifact. I couldn’t help but draw closer once I saw that the rock couldn’t even scratch the artifact. I rubbed my eyes not once but twice and leaned so close that the Old Bjork had to practically push my face away with his sweaty paws. 

“What is that, Old Bjork?” I asked him. For the first time since I had been his guest, I saw his expression fall and a strange emptiness fill his eyes, which were solely focused on the artifact. At this moment, his disheveled fur, hunched back and lopsided mouth didn’t just look like the results of old age, but something… Something else.

He didn’t answer. Instead, I peeked into his pouch, which he had left open after taking out his knife. The sight nearly made me throw up, and instantly I turned around and went to the guest room. I hastily packed my things and slung my pack onto my back. I was in a hurry, because inside of the Old Bjork’s pouch, I saw a small skull… That of a kit.

I turned to leave the room and saw the Old Bjork standing in the doorway. Sharp rock in one hand, and the other patting his pouch. 

My heart pounded in my chest.

He took a step, “Listen, about tha- Oof!” 

I threw my pack towards him as hard as I could. While he was distracted, I pushed past him and ran out of his Burrow. 

“WAIT! DON’T GO!”

I ran for so, so very long. Until my legs gave out and my lungs felt like molten salt. Deep into Old Ja’rth I ran, deep into the heart of those cursed lands from which no mind came back intact.

There, I hid under a big tree root and passed out.

[center][b]III[/b][/center]

[i]I dreamed of a dark place. There was no light, and yet at the edge of my vision there were shadows reaching towards me with their limbs twisting and fingers and claws stretching and dissipating into nothingness. From the shadows came an incessant whispering… The words were gibberish, but the emotion behind those words were as clear as the waters at World’s End. The whispers, they were the whispers of hunger, of anguish, of a desire to leave--The whispers of desperation. Were these whispers a work of my mind? No matter how many times I turned around, I could never catch a glimpse at any of the shadows.[/i]

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bvk7-5H45Rk&ab_channel=GrahamPlowman-Composer][i]Creak[/i][/url]

I awoke with a start, bumping my head against the tree root above me. I hissed in pain and rubbed the sore spot, before looking around with my eyes peeled. I must’ve looked like an owl back then, as I noticed the… [i]Thing[/i], standing next to the entrance to my little improvised burrow. It had no skin, no muscle, no [i]flesh[/i], and it was made entirely out of little pieces similar to the artifact that the Old Bjork had been tinkering with. I could only see its four (or was it five?) hooves and part of what I assumed were its legs.

I held my breath as it stood there, motionless, and lifeless. It felt as if this was no mere living being, but something far stranger, something that should not be real.

Eventually, I dared breathe. It still did not show any signs of life. Was it trying to trick me into lowering my guard? But what kind of predator would simply stand there while knowing my location and smelling my fear? The thing couldn’t be alive… But if it wasn’t alive, then how had it moved to where it was now? Had someone, or perhaps… Some[i]thing[/i] else placed it there? 

The thought sent a shudder down my spine and I had to forcefully stop myself from slapping my tail against the ground.

Minutes passed.

Eventually, I dared peek out from my hiding spot, up at the body of the thing. As I had expected, its entire body consisted of shiny, gray-ish shapes and forms, intertwined and interlocking with each other. From a certain angle, it looked like a representation of a deer’s body, and from other angles it looked like that of a lynx, or a wolf. 

Finally, I dared to crawl out of safety in order to inspect the thing more closely. No warmth emanated from it, and a strange brownish coat had claimed some of its parts… It was like a life-sized idol, only made by the strange shapes and materials and representing a horrifying amalgamation of creatures. 

I leaned closer to its face, the one which I found so strangely familiar, and looked into its eyes. For the most part, they were smooth and featureless balls, with the only expectation being a tiny depression in the center to pass as a pupil.

Its eyes turned to look into mine.

My heart skipped a beat, then I gasped and took a few steps back. 

I watched it for a long time after that, and when it made no further moves, I turned tail and quickly left the cursed thing behind.

[center][b]IV[/b][/center]

I was lost, I realized. I must’ve spent days in Old Ja’rth at that point, and it showed in the state of my fur and how ragged my clothing had become. The pride of the Djinnsha Clan brought down to such a state. I chuckle from the thought, but the hilarity of my situation suddenly vanished once my mind once more focused on the thing I had seen all those nights ago. 

It wasn’t until later that day that the forest gave way to a… [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VmORBsaldM&ab_channel=GrahamPlowman-Composer]Clearing?[/url] To this day I’m still not sure what it truly was, for its ground was not soil but sand, and it was more like a crater than anything else. Stil, it was a good break from the oppressive atmosphere of the forest itself. The sight of a large mountain far away in the horizon also served as a reminder that the forest wasn’t in fact never ending, and that if I pulled myself together, I would be able to push ahead like I had always done before.

It was dusk by that point, and combined with the lack of trees in the strange clearing, it was the perfect opportunity to point myself in the right direction to escape the cursed forest. 

With that done, I looked back at the sandy, crater-like clearing and noticed something in the center of it--Outcroppings of some kind. One of them caught and reflected a glint of godlight back at me, reminding me of the way that light seemed to reflect from the strange thing I had come across earlier. 

Against my better judgement, I walked closer. I needed to know what the outcroppings were. Closer and closer I drew to the outcroppings… Until I realized what they were. 

I froze in my tracks as they all turned their heads towards me, the shiny and brown artifacts in their necks creaking and grinding against each other--A sound that haunts my bones to this day.

They were not outcroppings, they were heads, belonging to a vast number of buried things. All sorts of creatures, both prey and predator, lay there buried up to their necks, staring at me with those empty, featureless eyes. I heard distant whispering, almost outside of my range of hearing. It was unintelligible, but I could tell… That was the same whispering I’d heard in my dreams, the same whispering I could never truly understand.

I stepped back and stumbled as I saw the head in the middle of it all. It was the only one that wasn’t looking at me, and instead looked at the darkening sky. A small Bjork’s head. A kit.

Then the Galbar itself trembled. Sand was kicked up everywhere, and branches at the edges of the clearing fell and trees broke under the sheer wildness of the quake.

Through the sand, I could see the faraway mountain standing up. As it moved, I saw the way that the dying godlight reflected off of it, and I threw up. Then, the buried figures started to dig themselves out while I was still recovering. I couldn’t gather my strength--Days of aimlessly wandering around had taken their toll. The last thing I remember was hearing something running at me from behind, and then everything was dark.

[center][b]V[/b][/center]

The next time I woke, I was back at the Old Bjork’s Burrow at the edge of Old Ja’rth. In one corner of the room was my pack of stuff, untouched, and on the other corner was a bowl of fruit. I ate them all eagerly, and then the Old Bjork walked in and looked at me with those empty eyes of his.

“You should leave and never come back. The longer you stay, the worse the dreams will get. They know you now, too… So they’ll never stop... This is the reason why no living Bjork lives round these parts. Not because the ruins of Old Ja’rth are difficult to settle with its lack of rivers and overgrown soil--But because its original occupants are still here... Even after the Mountain came and ate them and their dam.” 

After that, the Old Bjork turned and patted his pouch before walking towards the kitchen. “I’ve got what’s left of my kit in my pouch… What was left after the Mountain came, anyway.”

I wasted no time and left the Old Bjork’s Burrow, heading back towards the nearest civilized dam. 

After I had gone back to safety and had time to recuperate from my journey, I vowed to myself that I'd never return to Old Ja'rth nor tell anyone about what transpired there, lest curiosity get the better of them and they end up meeting a fate worse than death itself.

[hider=Summary]A recollection of Ra’n of the Djinnsha Clan’s journey into Old Ja’rth, a land said by surrounding Bjork dams to be cursed.[/hider]