01-04-2017, 02:13 PM
He skids to a halt, nearly toppling forward end over end.
I can help you, a voice calls, and now as he rests the pain against his chest finds him once more, the adrenaline slowly leaving him. Just once he looks back, eyeing the treeline with murky brown eyes, nostrils flaring to catch scent of what will inevitably catch up with him. So he enters, safer inside than out he assumes and the sound of running water greets him.
Before him stands a man, a two-legger but what is more a two-header. No, that’s not quite right, a two-facer would be more apt. Drink, the man says gesturing to the small river running in front of his feet and Druid does, taking deep gulps of the crystalline waters. This is honey compared to the mud he has just recently ingested, filling his stomach and quenching his thirst with a metallic coolness- like water tossed off the rocks of a waterfall. “Thank you,” Druid manages in panted breaths, still having not fully caught up to the struggle for oxygen in his racing lungs.
As he lifts his mahogany head he finds that the door has sealed, the windows too- they’ve all boarded themselves up and with a jerk of his head he finds the man. His muscles have knotted up because this screams trap, it tells him danger and he must run- surely he must.
I promise, this is help. It is a quicker route. Two shimmering doors accompany his vow, forming into existence from thin air and Druid knows this is only part of the journey, perhaps this is Time itself taken new shape.
The shorter path is never easier- says one head while the other offers choice, you can go back if you choose. At that two creatures begin to shimmer, forming as the doors did, but they are not solid- no, they are something unwhole. He knows one though, he knows it by name, by a familiarity of his childhood in the form of tales told long into the night with the star filled sky overhead peeking through the treetops. Inside each door you will find these creatures in the tunnel, the two-faced man warns but offers not further help on his quest. Choose, they say and then they are gone, disappearing from his sight.
Druid takes the door with the Curupira, he has done no wrong to the forest, this is his path- this will be easy, he’ll save that girl in no time.
He feels rather pleased with himself as he enters the door, stepping into what is a tunnel, dark and earthy. It’s hot, humid even, the Jungle heat obviously not stopped by a little rock, seeping it’s muggy fingers where it pleases. Each step is cautious though, careful as his hooves clack against the shale, echoing into the tunnel- the Curupira will surely hear him coming. It’s long though, this hallway, seeming endless in the pitch black with only his steady footfall and breath to keep him company. A rhythm forms, a pattern, endless and timeless as he traverses the cavern, he calls out “Hello?” but there is never an answer, save for his own echos.
Druid laughs, his voice leaving him in hysterics, this is a trap- the jig is up, he’s been had. What a fool, left to walk in the dark for all eternity, stumbling like a blind newborn cat. He is sightless for what could be hours, days, months. Time feels to have stopped again and so he too stills, coughing as he chuckles.
It is dark, so very dark but then as if by summons there is light, just ahead, flickering against the curved walls. Druid races now, chasing the creature into the bowels of hot earth, building up lather as he goes. “Wait!” he calls and it stops, then it turns, facing him in a fiery splendor. “Druid”, it hisses as it rounds, it’s head a beacon of light, illuminating the path like a torch, spilling into the depths of the shadows and chasing them away. It is just like they say, like he imagined so long ago when he was young, when he was as new to the earth as a sapling, as new even as a sprouting seed in the moist earth. “Curupira I-” the livered stallion begins, “Silence!” it rages cutting him off and then filling his ears with a high pitched whistle.
“Aggghhh,” Druid cries, buckling to the floor, “No, no I never-” he tries to negotiate but the creature will not have his pleas.
“You did nothing, you are right!” it screams at him, the pitch increasing yet somehow the Curupira speaks over his torture. “You are all talk and no action Druid, you hide in the trees with your anger and your distrust and you let her die.”
“No, no I-”
“No? No?!” It says screaching his failure against the tunnel walls. Then it plagues his mind, filling his head with visions. Things he has all seen before and yet somehow, in this perspective it is new, all of it.
The forest burns, the trees crackling as their limbs fall to the earth with a groan. Overhead birds cry, ravens take wing and there are shouts, there is fighting. “No, what was I-” he cries now, anger brimming his insides, frustration and sadness flooding their way out. He had died inside a little the first time these visions had filled his eyes, and now he was nailed to the cross for them, feeling their weight, feeling his responsibility for them piled on his chest until he couldn’t breathe.
The fires burn, licking the forest into ashes as horses rage conflict among the flames. He can feel the heat, he can see the waves of it rising to blur his sight, he is scorched but it is not even the cries or shouts of the other horses or himself that are the loudest- it is the forest’s. “Listen to her Druid, hear her cry like I did, listen to her die,” and he does listen, there on the cold stone floor, incapacitated not by his lack of action but by the power of the Curupira’s wails. He listen’s and he watches, silently weeping as the torment does not stop there. First he burns, then he freezes. The earth frosts, turns to ice and then that which did not burn stops breathing, he can hear the forest animals heart's stop. Each one racing in fear from the flames until they are suddenly stilled, until the trees do not cry any longer but stop speaking at all.
They can speak, he thinks trembling against the ground, his breath leaving him in puffs of steam. One last racking inhale of air into his freezing insides before he himself can not breathe.
The oceans, water floods the earth, soaks into the dry sand of the desert. Everything within succombs to the rise of the tide, the roll of water as it seeps into their very beings. He is drowning, sinking to the bottom of the flood water and he watches, eyes wide, as the animals float by- suspended, weightless in their death. But there is light here, a burning whiteness that blinds him but he swims to it anyways, pushes his body as his lungs fail. Is this the heaven they speak of, those that believed in salvation? They always say ‘go into the light’ and when he does he falls with a solid thunk against a pristine white floor.
I can help you, a voice calls, and now as he rests the pain against his chest finds him once more, the adrenaline slowly leaving him. Just once he looks back, eyeing the treeline with murky brown eyes, nostrils flaring to catch scent of what will inevitably catch up with him. So he enters, safer inside than out he assumes and the sound of running water greets him.
Before him stands a man, a two-legger but what is more a two-header. No, that’s not quite right, a two-facer would be more apt. Drink, the man says gesturing to the small river running in front of his feet and Druid does, taking deep gulps of the crystalline waters. This is honey compared to the mud he has just recently ingested, filling his stomach and quenching his thirst with a metallic coolness- like water tossed off the rocks of a waterfall. “Thank you,” Druid manages in panted breaths, still having not fully caught up to the struggle for oxygen in his racing lungs.
As he lifts his mahogany head he finds that the door has sealed, the windows too- they’ve all boarded themselves up and with a jerk of his head he finds the man. His muscles have knotted up because this screams trap, it tells him danger and he must run- surely he must.
I promise, this is help. It is a quicker route. Two shimmering doors accompany his vow, forming into existence from thin air and Druid knows this is only part of the journey, perhaps this is Time itself taken new shape.
The shorter path is never easier- says one head while the other offers choice, you can go back if you choose. At that two creatures begin to shimmer, forming as the doors did, but they are not solid- no, they are something unwhole. He knows one though, he knows it by name, by a familiarity of his childhood in the form of tales told long into the night with the star filled sky overhead peeking through the treetops. Inside each door you will find these creatures in the tunnel, the two-faced man warns but offers not further help on his quest. Choose, they say and then they are gone, disappearing from his sight.
Druid takes the door with the Curupira, he has done no wrong to the forest, this is his path- this will be easy, he’ll save that girl in no time.
He feels rather pleased with himself as he enters the door, stepping into what is a tunnel, dark and earthy. It’s hot, humid even, the Jungle heat obviously not stopped by a little rock, seeping it’s muggy fingers where it pleases. Each step is cautious though, careful as his hooves clack against the shale, echoing into the tunnel- the Curupira will surely hear him coming. It’s long though, this hallway, seeming endless in the pitch black with only his steady footfall and breath to keep him company. A rhythm forms, a pattern, endless and timeless as he traverses the cavern, he calls out “Hello?” but there is never an answer, save for his own echos.
Druid laughs, his voice leaving him in hysterics, this is a trap- the jig is up, he’s been had. What a fool, left to walk in the dark for all eternity, stumbling like a blind newborn cat. He is sightless for what could be hours, days, months. Time feels to have stopped again and so he too stills, coughing as he chuckles.
It is dark, so very dark but then as if by summons there is light, just ahead, flickering against the curved walls. Druid races now, chasing the creature into the bowels of hot earth, building up lather as he goes. “Wait!” he calls and it stops, then it turns, facing him in a fiery splendor. “Druid”, it hisses as it rounds, it’s head a beacon of light, illuminating the path like a torch, spilling into the depths of the shadows and chasing them away. It is just like they say, like he imagined so long ago when he was young, when he was as new to the earth as a sapling, as new even as a sprouting seed in the moist earth. “Curupira I-” the livered stallion begins, “Silence!” it rages cutting him off and then filling his ears with a high pitched whistle.
“Aggghhh,” Druid cries, buckling to the floor, “No, no I never-” he tries to negotiate but the creature will not have his pleas.
“You did nothing, you are right!” it screams at him, the pitch increasing yet somehow the Curupira speaks over his torture. “You are all talk and no action Druid, you hide in the trees with your anger and your distrust and you let her die.”
“No, no I-”
“No? No?!” It says screaching his failure against the tunnel walls. Then it plagues his mind, filling his head with visions. Things he has all seen before and yet somehow, in this perspective it is new, all of it.
The forest burns, the trees crackling as their limbs fall to the earth with a groan. Overhead birds cry, ravens take wing and there are shouts, there is fighting. “No, what was I-” he cries now, anger brimming his insides, frustration and sadness flooding their way out. He had died inside a little the first time these visions had filled his eyes, and now he was nailed to the cross for them, feeling their weight, feeling his responsibility for them piled on his chest until he couldn’t breathe.
The fires burn, licking the forest into ashes as horses rage conflict among the flames. He can feel the heat, he can see the waves of it rising to blur his sight, he is scorched but it is not even the cries or shouts of the other horses or himself that are the loudest- it is the forest’s. “Listen to her Druid, hear her cry like I did, listen to her die,” and he does listen, there on the cold stone floor, incapacitated not by his lack of action but by the power of the Curupira’s wails. He listen’s and he watches, silently weeping as the torment does not stop there. First he burns, then he freezes. The earth frosts, turns to ice and then that which did not burn stops breathing, he can hear the forest animals heart's stop. Each one racing in fear from the flames until they are suddenly stilled, until the trees do not cry any longer but stop speaking at all.
They can speak, he thinks trembling against the ground, his breath leaving him in puffs of steam. One last racking inhale of air into his freezing insides before he himself can not breathe.
The oceans, water floods the earth, soaks into the dry sand of the desert. Everything within succombs to the rise of the tide, the roll of water as it seeps into their very beings. He is drowning, sinking to the bottom of the flood water and he watches, eyes wide, as the animals float by- suspended, weightless in their death. But there is light here, a burning whiteness that blinds him but he swims to it anyways, pushes his body as his lungs fail. Is this the heaven they speak of, those that believed in salvation? They always say ‘go into the light’ and when he does he falls with a solid thunk against a pristine white floor.
druid
words: 1299 points: HTML by Call