Collision
Rocks are, as far as inanimate objects go, objectively quite nice. The best kinds are the smooth ones, the ones with a nice even color to them and were probably hauled from some river, tumbled to the perfect shape over the ages. So naturally, there were few things that you could find deep in the woods that were better than a wide, sturdy rock of superior make, preferably with a touch of deep green moss atop it. One of those things, however, would be several wide, sturdy rocks of superior make, stacked on top of eachother.
And that was all Forral could think as he ran through the mountain trails.
The hot day didn’t bother Forral much as he dashed along between the pine trees, the Cord of Summons for Tinmine clutched in his hand. All that he focused on was spying the next stack of stones that marked the seldom used path. Each time he passed a cairn he made sure to run his free palm over it and appreciate the odd power the waymarkers seemed to hold. They dutifully guided the young boy, having been put up many years ago and never once failing.
Maybe he could make some of his own cairns once he joined the Grand Army; Forral would be doing all kinds of exploring and adventuring, surely someone would need a new path marked!
Forral had been running for about an hour, taking breaks whenever he needed. He had filled a waterskin at the point where his path diverged from the creek so he didn’t have to worry about dehydration. Speaking of which, he reached for the skin and took a large swig, running all the while. His water was about half-empty now but he felt he was about halfway to Tinmine, so it probably wouldn’t pose an issue.
The ground beneath his feet turned rocky as the trees began to thin. Forral was higher in the mountains now and his breath was coming harder. He ignored hsi short breath, pushing through. He needed to deliver this Cord as fast as he could so that he could prove to Taev that he was responsible. Forral felt like he was making good time and, indeed, he was ascending the mountain far faster than any other runner would have, but that wasn’t quite because he was swifter than other people.
The cairns lead Forral around a large chunk of granite and into a crag. The path was still wide enough for a wagon to cross, but now a sheer, rocky slope shot off the side of Forral’s route. The young boy passed, his chest heaving. His head felt fuzzy as he peered over the edge of the path, although he knew that he could usually run further than he already had, so he wasn’t that tired, despite how much his legs felt like stones.
Maybe he should rest a little, just in case. Forral peered across the large gap that had opened up in the mountains. Who knows how many feet down, pale green dots that he knew must be treetops dotted the valley floor. He didn’t know if they were so hard to see because they were miles beneath his feet or because his vision was tunneling.
As he heaved his gaze upwards, pushing through the dizziness, he could see the many switchbacks that would bring him around the valley walls and up the otherside. A thin trail of smoke danced across over the mountain crests on the other side of the gash in the land: Tinmine.
Forral tried to steady his labored breaths, determination filling him again. He could see his destination now. Forral took one step, gearing up to throw himself into another dash, but before he could even start the blood seemed to rush from his brain and his vision closed.
As the rocks skid from beneath his heel and a numbness filled his extremities, Forral suddenly remembered hearing somewhere that you should always climb mountains slowly. The Altitude sickness made sure that Forral wasn’t fully conscious of his peril as he slid and tumbled off the canyon wall.
The smell of cedar. A dull ache. The feeling of tumbling down a hill despite not moving. A soft humming dancing at the very edge of thought and the taste of wet dirt in the mouth. A sharp stabbing pain.
The boy’s eyes shot open. His eyes focused and unfocused, not moving, as the sharp stabbing continued, he could feel the pain radiating from his hand, but he couldn’t see it. He couldn’t move it. He couldn’t move anything. He could hardly even think, but he could still see.
He saw soft grass. A tree trunk. It hurt to breathe. Orange needles littered the ground around the trunk, fending off any young green things. Two legs, gnarled, bloodied, and shattered. His head was tilted downwards, he couldn’t see much. He couldn’t move. A speck! A moving speck. His eyes latched onto it. An ant. Large and red, a green shard of foliage clasped in its mandibles.
His eyes moved now, slowly, tracing behind the ant hauling its load. The small thing was coming closer. A second stabbing pain, joining the first. The ant meandered closer, passing his foot, marching ever onwards. He had to turn his head to follow the small thing. It crawled up his hand. He could see his hand now.
The ant was not alone, two other ants, just as big and just as red, were biting and stinging the back of his fist. The third ant seemed to notice this and dropped its leaf. He felt tears welling in his eye as the betraying ant clamped down on his hand, sending a third shoot of pain.
There was a flutter of wings and the pain was gone. A small sparrow had appeared, gobbling up the three ants and now was perched on his hands. His eyes drifted up to meet the bird’s. They were deep and dark, endless yet cheerful wells of ink.
“Forral,” The voice came from nowhere, “Get up.”
Forral felt like his soul was being punched in the face and he slammed back into his body. He flailed in place for amomet, his heart pounding and a strangled shout escaping his lips, but then whatever had just happened passed. He was merely leaning against a tree like it was another day.
Where was he?
Forral stood up. His feet brushed aside the scattered pine needles which pricked his skin a little. Forral looked down and frowned. His shoes were gone and, despite the fact that he had been lying in the dirt, his feet were incredibly clean. In fact, all of him was oddly clean. He patted himself down, finding that his roughspun clothes were gone, replaced by a simple, woolen robe that hung loosely on his body and nothing else.
Had he been robbed? That wouldn’t explain why he was so clean, or why he didn’t remember how he got here, wherever here was.
“Hello!” He cupped his hands and shouted, “Where the hell am I!”
The only response Forral got was his echo, bouncing countless times back and forth. This was a helpful response, however, as it answered his question. He was in a canyon. But how was he in a canyon?
Forral gazed upwards, he couldn’t see the sun but the sky was not red, so it was either morning or late afternoon. It was hot, so it was probably the afternoon. He looked up and down the canyon. It was about a hundred feet wide and much longer, he couldn’t see an end down either direction. He also couldn't see any path up or down or anything that could tell him how he got down to where he was.
Had he fallen in? The canyon walls were at least eighty feet, probably more. There would be no way to have come out of a fall like that unscathed, let alone washed up and in strange clothing.
‘Well… fuck,” Forral muttered, scratching his head as he looked around.
Forral shrugged, figuring someone must have brought him down here so there had to be a way to get back out. Until he found an exit, he didn’t have anything that was in his control to worry about so he might as well just pick a direction and start walking. He chose left.
As he strolled through the pine trees, trying to ignore the feeling of the needles jabbing the bottom of his feet, Forral couldn’t help but notice how strangely calm he was being about this whole situation. By all measures, he should be panicking, but something was suppressing that urge and Forral was grateful, if a little perturbed.
Regardless, Forral made his way through the canyon. There was a small stream running through the center which fed all the pine trees. He couldn’t see any animals bigger than a bird, but there were definitely a lot of birds. Almost every tree he passed had at least two bird nests in it. For there to be so many birds, there must not be anything big enough down there to eat them.
As he walked, Forral scanned the walls for any crevices or slopes that he may be able to climb to get out, but he found nothing. Eventually, once the sky began to darken and warmth was quickly leaving the canyon, he found something.
The cave looked like it had been carved by some water flow that had long disappeared; it seemed incredibly smoothly cut and out of place among the jagged rocks of the Anchor Mountains. It was dark inside but also dry and would probably be warmer than lying out in the dirt for the night. Forral crept into the cave, suddenly worried that there might be something inside. The tall mouth quickly dipped into a low ceiling but most of the cave was still illuminated by the dim light from the darkening sky. The ground was solid stone and almost completely flat.
The air smelled like animal, not too strongly but it was still there. Forral hopped it wasn’t fresh and slipped himself into a small indent in the cave wall. The stone was cold and he curled his knees to his chest, wrapping the simple robe he was wearing over his legs. Like a wave, exhaustion hit him and he drifted off into a restless sleep.
When Forral opened his eyes not much changed. In the pitch dark of the cave, he couldn’t even see the tip of his nose. It was the dead of night, but something had woken him up. Forral would have stood up to investigate, but some sixth sense kept him rooted in place.
He sat motionless, listening intently and trying in vain to peer through the gloom. His nostrils flared, the smell of animal hitting him harder than when he had entered and, finally, he heard it. What he had first thought to be the wind brushing by the mouth of the cave, was something else. Long, slow breaths dragged themselves across the stone cave. The steady rise and fall was so subtle and so dragged out that it could easily be ignored as background noise.
But still, the breaths of something large and sleeping echoed through the small cavern in the cliffside. Forral was frozen, his mouth drying out. HE had to fight the urge to swallow, as that may make noise. The young boy tried to muffle his breathing and rise to his feet, moving as slow as his jumpy muscles would allow.
He couldn’t see anything so he had no idea what was in the cave with him, but he could still feel its presence, bubbling outwards like a warm balloon, pressing Forral against the cave wall and squeezing the breath in his chest. He was standing now, so now he could begin to make his way out. Forral inched along the wall, arms outstretched to keep his balance. He only moved when whatever it was in the cave drew a breath in, when it was the loudest. As Forral inched his way closer to the exit to the cave, both the light and the noise of the beast grew.
Forral could make out a large shape barely a shade darker than the rest of the cave, rising and falling. It was larger than him, larger than even a Stonebird, although he still could not discern any details of the creature. Its hot breath pooled outwards, steaming against Forral’s toes, as if to remind the boy that its jaws were right there, just waiting to be woken up and snap.
His knees wobbled and his muscles screamed, every fiber of his being was urging him to leap into action or to flee, but Forral had to fight it. The beast kept on sleeping and he kept inching onwards. He could see it now, the outside world. A cloud must have been covering the moon because now the world shone silver, just a few feet away. The mouth of the cave was so near and it was all Forral could do to not make a dash at that instant.
The sound of a bird call split the night. It sounded like a bird being attacked by something and squawking one last, harsh time. The sound rang through the cave and shook Forral, his heart plummeting. He felt no pity for whatever bird had just been killed, because the breathing had hitched.
Forral’s body iced over as he tried to become one with the stone wall. The short, curt inhale of someone waking up was followed by a long, sighing puft of air. Forral screwed his eyes shut as the beast stood up, the sound of claws scraping against stone etching themselves into Forral’s ears. The boy made the mistake of turning to look at the creature.
The tall, dark silhouette filled the cave in its entirety, looming like the specter of death itself. It hadn’t seemed to have noticed him, but still, eight feet off the ground, Forral saw two glinting amber orbs, shining forth from the gloom. The thing yawned, revealing a gaping maw filled with glinting, curved teeth that glistened with saliva, reflecting the moon.
Blood pounded in Forral’s ears and hundreds of chemicals flooded his blood. His eyes darted between the beat’s terrifying amber wells and the jaws that could surely sever an arm in a single snap. He felt his leg twitch, his robe rustling. The beast turned its gaze towards him and then suddenly Forral’s feet were pounding against dirt and the night air rushing by, bounding like a rabbit away from the cave.
A shadow passed over the moon and plunged the world back into darkness as his feet carried him away from the cave. Forral heard the beast get startled by his sudden appearance, but only in the basest part of his mind, where all thought had been shunted. Likewise, as he thundered blindly through the canyon floor, he heard a growling bark that shook the trees. Forral barreled into something hard and shaggy, thudding backwards and falling to the ground. How the hell had it gotten in front of him!
Forral tried to get up but an enormous, clawed paw shot down onto his chest, pinning him to the ground. Forral screamed, tears openly flowing, The thing’s snout descended and hovered above Forral’s face. Boiling breath washed over Forral as the beast opened its jaws. He tried to bat the thing’s face away, but it wasn’t affected, it just hovered there, breathing deeply.
“Why can’t I smell you,” A deep, gravelly voice hissed out, “Why do you not have a scent.”
Forral was momentarily frozen. Had it been the thing that spoke? The clawed paw pressed into his chest.
“Well?! You aren’t Him, you are clearly mortal! Why can’t I smell you,” the creature growled, its jaws still placed directly above Forral’s neck and dripping with spittle.
“Y-you can talk!” Forral gurgled out, his eyes never leaving the terrifying maw.
“I have been able to talk since before your sniveling species learned how to stack two stones together,” The beast sneered as the moon reappeared from behind the inky clouds, illuminating Forral’s attacker.
The beast’s shaggy gray fur was matted and unkempt. Its barrel chest cut a strangely proud shape against the night sky and Forral could see a long tail swishing behind its strong haunches. The creature’s wolf-like face was curled up in a vicious snarl, its orange eyes blazing with rage that seemed ill-suited for the beast. Despite the fear coursing through his veins and the fact that he had never seen the once-regal being before, Forral felt a rush of recognition and even sadness as he gazed upwards at the monstrous visage.
Forral was speechless, a turbulent whirlpool of emotions, some not even his own, spiralling inside him. He felt the claws dig into his chest as the beast leaned down closer to Forral. Soon, all the boy could see was the snarling face of Toog, the First Hound.
“Now tell me, who the hell are you.”