Open Quest A Beqanna Fairytale- Chapter Two

The notion of leaving his semi-shelter beneath the over-tall underbrush of the strange forest is not an entirely comfortable one to grasp. It is an odd sensation for a man who is used to being exposed, often left fully visible in the vast sands of his former home save for the mild camouflage his tanned coat afforded him. The wholly foreign setting of this world has stilled him just slightly, stirring up a mild and trepid hesitation in his breast.

The sight of the spiky cage embracing the giant hares gives him further cause to be skeptical of his own safety. How had they met such a fate? Were traps like this a natural occurrence in this oddity of a wood, where everything seemed ominous just for its sheer size?

Even the hares were a bit daunting thanks to their height and their unnerving gemstone eyes.

After a moment or two of consideration though, the silence filled only with the gentle breaths of the forest and the slight buzz of the fireflies with their glassy wings, Sapere steels himself against his doubts. Slipping one darkened limb forward, he pulls himself at last from the cover of the trees. Head low, ears forward, he moves cautiously across the clearing with its plush carpet of strange grass and soft moss, following the continuous trail of the fireflies as if they were a guideline through treacherous waters and he were a wayward swimmer.

Being in the open here does not feel as safe as it had on the beach or in the flatlands of Beqanna. It nearly feels as if something is hulking in the shadows overhead, nestled somewhere deep in the darkened boughs of the great tree he now approaches. The unnerving sensation of eyes on his back, that light-pressured tingle at the base of his skull as if something might reach out and snag him by the nape – these perceptions both slow his movements but hurry the rate of his heart.

If only I could hide myself, he thinks silently as he nears a midway point between the trail and the cavernous trunk of the tree. This need for secrecy, to mask his presence from any peering eyes, has grown stronger with every step he takes. No sooner has his own voice faded from his mind than there appears a gradual accumulation of clouds around his body, small but dense enough to block him from view. The moisture within them is palpable, dampening his coat somewhat so that his silvered mane and tail become stringy and a dewy condensation collects along his fur and the tips of his eyelashes.

Sapere pauses for just a moment, puzzled by the sudden appearance of this minute, dry-rain cell, and he puffs a small breath of awe at it. First the enhanced night vision, and now this psychic conjuring of weather patterns?

He cannot marvel for long, however, as the clouds begin moving of their own accord as if ushered by a gentle breeze that moves toward the opening of the massive tree. Despite his attempt to will the clouds back around his body so that they will continue to smother him from view, they will not respond to him. Drawing a sharp gasp, he hurries to follow them as they go, somewhat dismayed at their quickened pace. Thankfully though, the footing below continues to muffle his movements.

Soon enough, he has reached the cover of the looming wooden cave. In spite of the darkness pervading through the rest of the forest, this cavern is lighted with a mild glow from the combination of the lantern-bearing insects as well as the rabbits’ bodies, their markings strobing vaguely on their own tempo. Now that he is closer to their company, Sapere can fully grasp how massive they are in comparison to similar animals he knows from his home. They are slightly larger than him and certainly more robust, muscular despite how sleek they appear. Their ears must be at least the length of his body, their torses at least twice as thick as his own.

They huddle together in their prison, remarkably calm for captive prey animals, and continue their unblinking stares as they turn just slightly to watch him now. Their twitching noses and sparkling gaze seem to implore him for their freedom, humbly but fervently asking that he help them out of their curious predicament. Sapere peers back at them as he slowly circles the rounded cell of thorns and vines, fixated by the spectacle before him. Surely, if they had truly wanted, they could break free with ease? Though, he supposes after another pause of consideration, the innate sense of self-preservation must exist even in creatures as large as these. It would not make sense to risk serious injury in a potentially insecure bid for freedom.

Each thorn is at least the size of Sapere’s own shoulder, every one tipped with a perilously fine point, and the stallion shakes his head at the realization of their plight. These vines look no different than the bushes he has seen before in the greener parts of his home but those are obviously much smaller, easily dispatched with some careful stamping and trodding. These, large and lush with life, would not be so easily dealt with.

Then it occurs to him: during the bitterly cold nights of winter, even in the desert, plants often grow brittle. Their internal moisture, either evaporated or frozen, snapped far too easily under pressure. Would these terrible counterparts suffer the same fate? He focuses his thoughts on this idea, imagining the few winter storms he’s witnessed before during his rare ventures from the desert. Snow, ice, frozen lakes… he repeats in his mind, picturing each feature as vividly as he can. He does not even know if this will work, but his former wish had been granted after that surge of discomfort of being left exposed. Perhaps this would work too.

He doesn’t have to wonder very long, for soon enough more clouds begin to gather above him. These are larger, darker, and hasty in their production of a sheer and stinging fall of frozen rain. More severe than sleet but not quite as well-formed as hailstones, this rain pelts the prickled tendrils with a near-intelligent vehemence. The clouds swirl and stir slowly, captured now by the hulking cavern’s roof, and do not show any mercy to either the captured hares or to their apparent creator. Sapere once again tries to control them, crying out in his mind that it’s only the vines he wishes to be struck, but there is no obvious change or reaction. The clouds are not his to control.

The rabbits stir almost uncomfortably, coiling around one another like wringing hands, but this perhaps saves them from accumulating too much frost upon their coats. Their fur is already thick enough that they would be protected regardless and Sapere notes with some envy that they do not seem very affected at all by the bitter precipitation. The fireflies barely seem bothered either and simply redirect their lazy pattern to linger at the far edges of the cavity’s doorway. They continue their nearly-silent vigil, still flickering slowly and facing toward the trail leading to freedom.

He, on the other hand, must scamper to the furthest wall of the hollow in an attempt to avoid the icy downpour. Shuddering away the moisture and flecks of ice that had initially managed to find purchase upon his hide, Sapere watches as the thorns grow quickly glazed, eventually covered with a thin layer of ice. The steady fall of freezing rain does not seem to relent, however, and Sapere draws a deep, chilled breath.

If he were going to act, now would be the time before the ice grew too thick.

Urging himself forward into a slight jog, he returns to the nearest gap large enough for his own slender body to fit through. He does not, however, enter the cage with the beasts. Instead, he positions himself so that he may rise in a rear and strike out at the vines where they emerge from the earth below.

A satisfying crack rolls around the cave as the vine fractures and snaps cleanly from its root and Sapere flinches in slight surprise. He had not expected such a notable resound, but this is no cause for him to stop now. He has fully seized upon the idea of freeing the poor creatures who even now beseech him with quiet chitters to set them free. Focused on his task, Sapere continues to lash out and stomp at the vines, each one at least as large as one of his own legs and yet still breaking with some ease now. The ice continues to bear down upon his back and gradually his muscles grow tense as they struggle to flex and shiver simultaneously, but he continues all the same. Care must be taken to avoid being pierced or scathed by the thorns himself, but eventually he manages to widen the gap large enough for the rabbits to pass through.

Breathless, Sapere withdraws a bit. The rain has lightened by now as some of the clouds find their way through the lofty doors, but it still pervades on the far side of the cavern. The temperature has dropped and the stallion’s breath fogs vaguely around his muzzle as he moves aside, trembling. One of the hares tentatively slips through the gap in the thorns, hugging low to the ground to avoid the remaining spines which Sapere could not bring down. Once free, it turns in a tight circle and regards its emancipator. Sapere nods stiffly, bracing himself on spaced-apart legs to avoid stumbling now. Luckily, when the second hare has freed itself, the first approaches the tawny horse and settles itself close at his side. Its warmth feels more radiant than the sun itself, especially when it drapes one lengthy ear across his back, and Sapere snorts softly in thanks.

Meanwhile, the clouds continue to disperse at last as if sensing that their need had expired.

Sapere

the good and the wise
lead quiet lives

As the vague misty clouds part, stirred away by the gentle beat of the bird’s expansive wings when it soars over, the bridge comes into clearer view. Now flanked by temporary swirls of visible condensation, the ‘natural’ (for what truly is natural in this floating landscape?) crossing is just as mystical as the rest of this place. From the ground at one edge of Sophist’s small island emerge a medley of silvery-lavender tendrils. Each one is wide and round and appears supple, almost alive beyond a sense of plant life. They twist and twine within and around one another to create a broad and sturdy link between the two islands, though this bridge they form is clearly flexible to account for any shift between the hovering landmasses.

Sophist steps nearer, his pace still slow and cautious, and he can feel a nearly tangible pulse of magic radiating gently from the peculiar structure. The vines themselves seem almost to glow with a gentle purplish light, gleaming with faint dashes of gilded silver threads in the setting sun’s light. As he draws closer, small buds begin to emerge as if to greet him. Beginning around the grassy bases of the vines, they bloom rapidly with faces of iridescent hues – white, pink, violet, blue – and add to the overall shimmer of the bridge.

Pausing to admire it all, some of the indigo colt’s anxiety fades away. The heady aroma of the flowers could be to thank for this soothing effect, as they emit a wonderful perfume that fills the air around him. As he continues onward, hesitantly placing one pale hoof and then another upon the surface of the crossing, he can feel the vines shift ever so slightly beneath him. They move almost like a mass of tethered tentacles, adjusting as if to provide him with level ground to walk upon. Around each hoof blossom more of the flowers, almost pearlescent as they sparkle up at him.

A vague smile has found its way to the purple boy’s mouth now and he wonders why he had been nervous at all.

The strange tendrils with their gentle shifting and charming floral trinkets provide such a reassuring path for him that he continues his walk at a more assured, leisurely pace. He can almost feel the bridge connecting him not just to the island on the other side, but to the very heart of the magic in this place. His limbs feel warmed, his heart feels light, and for those few moments, he feels entirely at ease.

Until there is a shift in the serenity of it all.

In his periphery, there is movement. The clouds of the ‘river’ below seem to grow darker and swirl a little stronger, shifting as a silhouetted figure moves within them. Something long and slim ‘swims’ within the now stormy cumulus stream, its length immeasurable at this time as it weaves its way closer to him. Sophist turns to study this new arrival, stopping almost halfway along the bridge’s ample span and affixing the unknown creature with his silvery eyes.

Drawn either by the subtle movements of the bridge’s twining or by the scent of the flowers it bears, the long, sharp head of a serpent-like creature emerges near the opposite bank of the cloud-stream. Wasting no time, it coils its almost draconic body around the end of the bridge, wrapping itself several times around the vines to construct a barrier with its wingless form.

Its scales glimmer with a similar pearly sheen as the blooms at Sophist’s feet; its eyes, large and without pupils, glow fiercely with a white sheen like moonlight as they pierce through the mist with an unyielding gaze. Long, wispy tendrils extend from its sinuous body, each one a different sky-shade of color to mimic the sunset all around it. Some of these whisker-like extensions weave into the soft branches of the bridge as if to anchor the creature, the Cloud Serpent, even further to its treasure and Sophist can feel a slight shift in the magic beneath his hooves as it is altered somewhat. It now feels as though a cold sort of wind emanates from the bridge as the guardian’s magic reaches out, seeking the intruder.

The colt studies the rather massive form which now blocks his way and feels a minor leap in his heartbeat, a new surfacing of unease rising slowly in his chest.

How would he cross this new obstacle?

Yet, just as steadily as that nervousness builds, so too does a sense of understanding, as if he just knows this mythical creature. It breathes at the foot of the bridge with a reptilian hiss, resting its jaw upon the lush vines and stirring a new patch of flowers into life.

It waits.

And Sophist can feel what it feels: the hidden sadness in its briny heart, the offense at any disturbance in this otherwise quiet place, the lonely desire for companionship and trust, for a partner to guard the skybound home it holds most dear.

The young horse breathes a heavy exhale which mimics the sound of the Serpent, a low hiss emitting from his nostrils with the same resonance as if he possessed an ophidian glottis himself. It is a comforting sound even to himself and one which the Cloud Serpent immediately seems to recognize. Two tendrils near the back of its large head seem to perk up like an animal’s ears would do, piqued by the unexpected return. There is another swell of emotion which sprouts and spreads in the pool of Sophist’s mind, one which does not come from himself. It is a surge of hope, of that yearning for familiarity that he had sensed only moments ago.

Were these the guardian’s desires? This rosy feeling of kinship, of belonging, of no longer being alone – these things could not come from Sophist, a boy who has always been content in his solitude.

Seizing upon these feelings, the colt steps carefully forward again and studies the creature carefully. Observing each of its features, the way its tongue tests the air and how it sways so carefully as if caught in the wind despite being wrapped securely around the bridge, he understands at last that it must be alone up here, somehow forgotten among the clouds. Its heart aches to love and be loved and Sophist nods, admitting to himself that perhaps he and the creature are alike after all.

And when he looks down as he nods, he notices that his limbs have vanished even to his own eyes. A slightly panicked glance over his shoulder reveals that the rest of his body has changed as well: no longer is he the deep purple equine he recognizes, but instead a soft, periwinkle-colored version of the very same species as the Cloud Serpent. He can still feel his actual body, his long knobby legs and his still-growing tail, the tickle of his short mane upon the crest of his neck, but his observable form is now just as mighty and draconic as the bridge’s keeper.

At the end of the tendriled crossing, the true Serpent lifts its head and issues an oddly comforting growl that rumbles deeply like the thunder of an impending storm. It awaits a response, coiling some of its body upward as it studies him from afar.

Sophist
if you take my nights will you leave me my days?