10-11-2025, 12:47 AM
harrowed
(Warning: ants. Because why not write about something that scares me before bed)
The intoxicating presence of everyone else’s fear doesn’t erase that Harrowed is experiencing it too — just distracts him from it; dangling the idea that if only he could feed on their fear he would be strong enough to escape whatever is happening to him. A belief forged by a life in an easy Beqanna, one where he’s only glimpsed magic that doesn’t belong to his family and has no true concept of the powerful things that exist in the pockets of this universe and others.
There is no existing metric in Harrowed’s experience to prepare him for what he has become ensnared within.
The hunger continues to dominate his mind and though he is so incredibly focused on the presence of every one else up here he doesn’t absorb much in the way of details about them. Even the portal that appears before them is almost missed. Only a glimmer of curiosity existed for it, not one strong enough to encourage him to enter if it was up to him.
Ignorant or uncaring of his wishes, his body moves once again — straight into the portal. His mind is such a slurry of thoughts (fear and intrigue and hunger and anger and confusion).
Until he steps through the portal and is on his own and one of those thoughts is dropped and the others amplify their voices.
The force commanding his movements leaves and Harrowed looks behind him, eager to return home, and it is just more of this strange forest. The air is so thick and humid, the colour so bright and vibrant, it is unlike anything he has ever seen. A dream world?
It’s a naive thought he can’t help but hold onto. The hope is not nearly loud enough to drown out all those other thoughts, it’s just nice to have there.
After a few moments, standing still feels worse than moving so Harrowed steps forward. (and then stops, just to make sure he can, before continuing on.) His senses are bewitched by this forest — there is so much to see, to smell, and to hear. There are rarely any truly silent moments in the forests he’s been in and yet all of Beqanna feels muted compared to this place.
He doesn’t see any of the others, or any animals at all except the brieftest of glimpses of wings through the leaves. Even the ground and shadows are different than what he is used to and the faint white glow he emits looks wrong when it catches on the vibrant foliage.
Golden pollen rains down upon him as he passes beneath some low-reaching branches, the flecks catching in the filtered sunlight and glittering as they fall all across his body. It’s a beautiful moment and then forgotten.
Until he starts to itch.
When the twitching of his muscles becomes so intense that he can no longer ignore it, Harrowed looks back with the intention of scowling at the offending gold dust only to find that his body is now covered in ants. They are larger than any he has seen before and their exoskeleton bodies are an iridescent gold that matches the pollen they were attracted by. Their legs tickle and bother him as they swarm up his legs and across his body, a few adventurous ones so close to his crimson eyes they are just golden blurs. Annoyance grows into fear as he watches them and the itching shifts to pain. These ants may have been summoned by the pollen but that is not what they are here for. Hundreds of tiny little mouths bite into Harrowed’s flesh, a gnawing that is so constant and intense he releases a loud shriek that startles some nearby birds and gives him his first glimpse of other wildlife.
Now he’s afraid. Truly and deeply.
He shifts, becoming a shadowy canine, but somehow the ants won’t be shaken. They are inside of him, not just on the surface, chewing and burrowing and Harrowed screams again as he leaps into a run — desperate to escape this agony. He runs and howls, heart thundering with his paws as he dodges trees and plants just in the hope he can escape this if he just runs fast enough. It’s not until the river is directly in front of him that he realizes that he should have been looking for water this entire time to wash both ants and pollen off.
Only as he thunders to a stop on the banks he realizes the pain is gone.
And he is only bones.
He shifts back into his equine form, expecting to see the white of his skin and hair, but it is still only bones. Changing forms has not helped him once since this began and still he tries.
The fear still has a firm enough grip on his now-metaphorical heart that he doesn’t find this fascinating or even mourn his body.
Harrowed feels lost and has no idea how to puzzle his way out of that emotion. Lost had never been a problem before. And it is certainly one now as he stands in an unknown land before a river he cannot cross, with a carnivorous forest behind him.