Chapter 1: There’s A Man in the Woods…
“Spiiiiike~?” Twilight Sparkle called nose deep in a book. She waited a couple of seconds before calling out again. “Spiiiiiike~?”
When her call went unanswered a second time, she sighed. She shut her book and peered over to Owlicious, who sat patiently on his perch. Twilight gave him a firm nod. Owlicious took flight, only needing to fly a singular floor up.
There he found Spike, laid in an awkward position in his small bed. Owlicious hovered over the sleeping baby dragon and prodded him with a claw. No change. Owlicious hooted loudly. Spike answered back with a snore. Having given up, Owlicous picked Spike up by the tail and airlifted the drake down to Twilight’s face.
“Spike ‘the Dragon’ Sparkle,” Twilight commanded. Perhaps because of the use of his full name, Spike woke up with a sudden start. It was only then he realized he was dangling a couple of feet in the air.
“Hehe, I overslept, huh?” He asked sheepishly.
“Hoot.” Owlcious replied in Twilight’s stead before he unceremoniously dropped Spike to the ground. Spike landed on his head, his tail draped over his portly body.
“Spike, I need you to deliver a letter,” Twilight ordered. She levitated a scroll over to the drake. She then pulled it away when Spike was about to blow fire on it. “Not to Celestia this time, Spike. I need you to deliver this to Zecora.”
Spike sat himself up. “Zecora? You mean the zebra you thought gave you the floppy horn?” He struggled not to smile at the mere thought of the event. Twilight sighed.
“Yes, that Zecora. Not my proudest moment.” She muttered. She flew the letter into Spike’s claws. “I had Princess Celestia secure another ticket for her, partly as an apology, but also as a chance for cultural exchange.”
“And Owlicious can’t deliver this because…?” Spike asked.
“Well, for one, Owlicious has been up with me all night.” Owlicious perched himself on Twilight’s flank. He gave an exaggerated yawn. “He deserves a little rest. And you’re supposed to help me during the day, remember?” Twilight cocked her brow.
“Yeah, yeah.” Spike stood up, dusting himself off. “You do remember that the Everfree is a dangerous forest, right?”
“Correct.” Twilight agreed and levitated another piece of parchment to Spike. Spike unfurled it to find a messy map of the Everfree’s interior. “This route is the safest path to Zecora’s home, by her instruction. Do not wander off that path.”
“Uh-huh,” Spike responded, tucking the scrolls under his arm. When he looked back, Twilight was almost nose to nose with him.
“Do not wander off the path, Spike. I’m serious.” She backed away after her point was made. “Owlicious won’t be around to find you again.”
“Come on, Twilight!” Spike begged. “That was only one time. I’m not a complete baby. I can take care of myself.”
“Well actually, according to my research, you are still a baby dragon, Spike.” Twilight corrected, trotting over to Spike. She bent down to nuzzle his cheek. “And even if you weren’t you’re still my baby dragon.”
“Ugh, gross,” Spike said with a faint blush. “I’m gonna leave now before you say other mushy stuff.” Spike headed for the door.
Twilight giggled. “Alright then. But remember, do not-”
“-wander off the path. I get it.” Spike closed the door behind him. He let out an exhausted sigh.
“I’m not a baby…” He muttered.
No matter what time of day you entered the Everfree, the forest’s canopy blocked nearly all light that entered it. The forest, defiant of the will of the ponies around it and perhaps even the land itself, remained in a near-constant state of darkness.
Spike stuck to the depicted path in the map, the only path where the sunlight passed through an opening in the trees unobstructed. In truth, it was a better guide than even the map itself, what with its lack of clarity and insistence on every line being a rhyme.
“Follow the golden path, where the light chose to flow. Take a left at the gnarled fern, where the flowers refuse to grow.” Spike read aloud. “I think Zecora has a problem. What does a gnarled fern even look like-”
Spike tripped and landed flat on his belly. With a groan, he stood up. “Stupid forest. Would it kill you to pick up after yourself?”
As Spike dusted himself off, he glanced back at the thing he tripped over. The nature of the object in question quickly took his interest.
“An arrow?” He questioned as he bent down to pick it up. It was a crude thing. The arrowhead was misshapen and asymmetrical. Half of the shaft was broken off.
“Who would make something like this?” Spike whispered in disbelief. As if to answer his question, the cry of an animal echoed through the forest, its origin not too far from where Spike was. “Come on, Spike. Nothing good can come from investigating a crying animal in a dense, dark forest.”
As much as Spike wanted to run away, ditching the letter for Zecora to find herself among the grass, a morbid curiosity overtook Spike. Perhaps it was the curse of a quizzical mind he undoubtedly inherited from Twilight. Something about the arrow was uncanny, even for the Everfree. This means that in a forest as otherworldly as this one, something even more eldritch dwelled in its shadows. Who could resist such an ominous call to adventure?
Spike carefully stepped off the path of sunlight into the bushes of the dark.
It did not take long since stepping away from the path for the light to vanish almost entirely. Spike was fortunate to possess some level of sight thanks to his dragon heritage, but the thought still unnerved him. Before, the forest was relatively quiet, the occasional chittering insect or the call of a bird. Now, the forest was alive with sounds. The barks of distant dogs, the snapping of leaves and timber under Spike’s feet, and…the crackling of a fire?
Spike focused on that noise, as fires don’t usually start on their own. Someone-or something- was nearby. Spike crawled on all fours, giving himself the maximum amount of stealth he could muster. He followed the crackling until he could see a faint orange hue emanating behind a bush. Slowly, Spike parted the bush and peered through it.
A figure sat in what looked like a makeshift campsite, complete with a campfire, a worn grass tent, and a small stream flowing next to it. The figure, with its back, turned to Spike, was hulking even as it sat. Draped in a large cloak, with tears and holes, it was impossible to discern what it was doing. That was if Spike’s eyes hadn’t wandered around. Next to the figure, by the log, it sat upon, amassed a pile of bones and the pelt of a small mammal. Over the fire was likely the source of the crying animal, a dead hare roasted over the open fire.
Spike’s breath grew ragged. He didn’t mean for it to, but the overwhelming sight before him sent him into a state of panic. There was a genuine monster, one the likes of which he never read in any storybook. Spike, with intense regret of seeking the creature, backed away from the bush.
The rustling of the foliage caught the creature’s attention. Its head swiveled, staring directly in Spike’s direction.
Spike stopped. The creature slowly reached behind the log it sat on. It pulled a long, crude spear made from the same materials as the arrow. The shaft was thick, the stone tip jagged. Its purpose was clear: to kill whatever the creature wished.
Spike turned and broke into a full sprint. He screamed, the sense of keeping quiet having left him. His stubby legs carried him as far as he could, as fast as they could. Spike raised his arms in front of him to push away the foliage that stood to oppose his escape.
The sounds of footsteps could be heard behind him. It sounded like a whole pack of the creature were chasing him.
That couldn’t be right, could it? Spike thought to himself. How could there be more of that…thing!?
Spike hazarded a glance behind himself, only to immediately run into the face of a cliff at full speed.
Dazed and concussed, Spike’s world became off-kilter. Like a table with two short legs on opposite ends, it rocked back and forth as Spike stood. Spike turned and rested his back against the side of the cliff, briefly having forgotten the danger he was in. He was reminded when the sounds of growling came from the glowing eyes surrounding him.
Three large beasts stalked out of the shadows before Spike. They had no flesh but were made from stone and timber. Their glowing emerald eyes illuminated their sharpened teeth. They were of a different horror than the bipedal monster, but no less dangerous.
Spike turned back to the cliff face, hoping that maybe, just maybe he could climb his way out. He had the claws for it. Unfortunately, the cliff was concave in such a way that towards the peak, it hung over him, leaving his feet without places to take hold. Spike, alone and in danger, did the only thing he could think of.
“Twilight!” Spike cried out loudly, a desperate plea for a savior.
This must’ve angered the timberwolves, as one leaped forward, its jaw unhinged. Spike closed his eyes and braced for the unknown.
THUNK!
“Thunk” wasn’t the sound Spike thought would be the sound of being eaten alive. Then he realized he was still alive enough to have the thought. He cautiously opened his eyes, only to find he’s very much standing where he was a minute ago. The wolf that nearly killed him laid a few feet away from him, pinned by the torso by a huge spear.
Spike took notice of the other timberwolves, who seemed more interested in the larger foe behind them: The monster from before.
The monster bellowed in a language at the timberwolves, clapping what looked to be claw-like appendages of flesh together. The sounds annoyed the wolves and they sprinted toward the monster.
The monster kicked one directly in the face, causing the face to splinter and the wolf to fall backward. The other leaped over the wounded and tackled the monster to the ground. The monster held the wolf back with its arm caught in the wolf’s jaw. With his free arm, it grabbed a rock and dashed it against the wolf’s head. The monster then pinned the wolf itself and repeatedly bashed the wolf’s head, grunting with a low, deep voice.
Eventually, smoke began emanating from the wolves, steadily blocking Spike’s vision. He remained stunned, unsure of what just happened. However, through the smog, Spike could see the monster approaching him. Spike caught a singular glance at the creature’s face. All Spike could see was a solid green color and an odd symbol where the facial features would be.
Spike turned and ran. He ran and ran and ran. He ran until he soundly run anymore. He collapsed in a field of green, bathed in sunlight. A meadow. Spike laid there for a while, to catch his breath.
After a while, when he’s sure the wolves nor the monster followed him. He sat back up and stared into the Everfree Forest. Questions echoed and bounced inside the drake’s head, but one question echoed the loudest. Spike finally spoke it.
“What just happened?”
Author's Note
Each chapter will have a little monochromatic sketch to go along with it because I can and it’s cool. This one is inspired by the short “There’s a Man in the Woods” , which is a very awesome short but it’s only relation is title deep. These first few chapters will capture the “First Contact” portion of the story I briefly glimpsed in the original fic.
Anyways, I hope you enjoy this new take and if you don’t, frankly I don’t give a damn. This is a story where I plan to be as cringe and true to myself as I want, no doubts attached.
Chapter 2: Forgive us for being lost…
“My name is Travon Smith.” Travon read the ID aloud to himself. “I’m at least 21 years old and I live in Maryland, USA.” Travon took a look around. “Well, I guess lived in Maryland, USA.”
Travon sighed and leaned back against the tree towering above him. He looked up past what little of the canopy he could at the slivers of a bright blue sky.
Travon was lost. Very lost. So lost, he couldn’t even remember how he got lost. Or who he was before he was lost. The only memory he could recall was the memory of him waking up under the very tree he sat under.
The only possessions he had were the clothes on his back (which included a pullover hoodie, thermal underwear, jeans, and a pair of sneakers), a phone with no battery, and a lanyard with several keys on it. He examined the keys.
“This one is my house key.” Travon declared. He pinched another key. “This is the key to my mailbox. And this is the key to my job.” The final key wasn’t a traditional metal key, but a key fob made of plastic.
Avon continued to talk to himself under the tree, testing his memory to make sure that he didn’t have amnesia. To his knowledge, he was pretty sure he didn’t but it was odd that the details of his arrival alluded him. He could remember family, a mother, absentee father, little brother. He could remember his work, as a student worker at his college’s library. He could even remember the hometown he lived in, from the street corners he frequented to the people who he knew there.
Yet, memories of specific events, particularly within the current year, alluded him. Including and most definitely the how and why he was in a deep, dank forest. Any other memory of events was cloudy and foggy, but those were usually par for the course.
“Alright, Avon. Think.” He commanded himself. “You’re stuck in an unknown forest. There is likely no help for miles. What do you do?”
The first thought that came to him was finding a water source. He won’t last long without water. Travon stood, picked a direction, and walked.
After a few minutes of walking, he heard the sound of running water. He was lead to a stream, no wider than two feet in width.
“Please be freshwater…” Travon hoped. He bent down and cupped some water in his hand. He brought his hand to his lips and took a sip. His eyes widened.
“Damn. That shit good!” Travon proclaimed. The water was truly divine, with a sweet taste for being utterly plain. It was a magical experience. “Okay, so, I want to be next to this. Now, I need a source of food.”
Travon looked around the forest. His eyes adjusted to the low light in time to spot a bush of blue-colored berries. “Blueberries, perfect!”
Travon junked before the bush and cautiously picked one. He popped the small berry into his mouth. And then another. And another.
“Why is everything here so good?” Travon questioned. It’s not often one is rewarded for putting random water or random berries in their mouth. Yet, Travon wasn’t complaining.
“Okay, got food, got water, and with as thick as this canopy is, I’m probably good on shelter. Now, I need to make some tools.” Travon picked up random branches and stones off the floor. “I read a few history books in the library, so at least I got a head start.”
As he picked up the wood before him, he failed to notice the wood gathering behind him. A sudden stench caught his attention and nearly made him wretch.
“Holy shit, the fuck’s that smell?” Travon asked and covered his mouth and nose with his hand. He turned to see a timberwolf in mid-formation. The sight caused him to fall flat on his ass in surprise. “What the shit is that?!”
Travon backed away as the wolf stalked toward him. The stick in his hand slightly pulled toward the wolf, before it flew completely to be a part of it. Travon scurried to his feet and fled. The timberwolf gave chase.
Travon got a significant lead before he spotted a tall tree with many footholds and branches. He stopped and scrambled up the side of the tree. The timberwolf finally caught up, failed to scale the tree as Travon had.
Travon laughed down at the wolf. “Ha, bitch ain’t got no hands. Stupid…magic…tree…dog.”
It slowly dawned on Travon just what he was looking out for. This was no ordinary wolf. It spawned from nowhere and there was no telling if it was beholden to things such as stamina or sleep. He could be sitting in this tree for days, if not hours.
“What the hell are you?” Travon muttered. Travon reached for a branch and worked to break it off the tree. Once he did, he held it as a club. “Whatever you are, I hope you can die!”
Travon dropped from the top of the tree, the club held over his head. He smashed the club down hard enough to break it with one swing over the wolf’s back. It crumpled to pieces. Travon stumbled back.
“Huh, guess you do,” Travon said. He spoke too soon, as the wolf began to reform itself. “Or I guess you don’t, that’s fine. Totally fine.”
Enraged, the wolf wasted no time and lunged towards Travon. Travon narrowly dodged the wolf but gained a slash across his chest for his caution. Travon scurried to find another weapon. He instead found a heavily rotted tree. This gave him an idea.
He ran for the tree, the timberwolf pursuing. Travon got behind the rotted tree and tackled its trunk with all of his might and adrenaline. With significant force, the tree gave way and fell forward. It pinned the wolf under its weight. Travon walked to where the front of the wolf and stomped on the head repeatedly.
“Stay! The fuck! Down!” He yelled, each stomp reduced the wolf to chips. After a good minute of stomping, Travon noticed that the wolf dissolved into a noxious fog that hit him all at once. He doubled over and puked up his easily earned water and berries. He wiped his mouth of the bile and groaned.
“Magic fucking dogs…” Travon said under his breath. He looked down to where the wolf had disappeared and found his sick before him. Travon, sure that it couldn’t have been the trick of the light, saw the vomit sparkle before him. He stared at it, perplexed. “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
The hare let out a cry as the arrow pierced through its abdomen. Travon threw his hands up in elation.
“It worked! I made a fucking bow and arrow!” Travon shouted. He could barely contain his childish glee as he ran over to the fresh kill. “Finally, my first taste of meat since I got her in this crazy place. Take that you fuckin’-“
The glee left him as quickly it came when he saw what he had done. The hare had a light brown coat, now heavily stained in blood. But what was the most striking to Travon was the eyes. They were beady little things, but they looked up at Travon with such sadness.
“Oh my God, you’re fucking adorable,” Travon said in disbelief. He bent down to try and comfort the hare. The hare attempted to scurry away, but the massive arrow in its torso was too heavy a weight for its little body to carry.
“No, no, no!” Travon pleaded. Reaching a hand out, he lightly petted the harr. The hare attempted to fight it, but it grew too weak to keep resisting. Travon slowly picked up the hare, despite its cries of pain, to hold it in his arms. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would be this traumatizing! It seemed so easy in movies and tv and shit!”
Travon tried to fight back the tears. “Damn it. Goddamn it! I’ve been stuck here for months now, starving and the first real meal I get, I’m fucking crying over it!”
Travon stifled his cries, holding the hare against him as if it were a child. In his chest, Travon could swear he felt the hare nuzzle against him. But when he looked again, the light was gone from the hare’s eyes. It was dead.
Travon spent a moment collecting himself. He shakily inhaled and exhaled calming his nerves. A little part of him wanted to bury the little thing right then and there. The lower part of him growled with anticipation.
“How the hell did people do this?” He asked the hare. It did not answer.
It was a long walk back to the camp. The hare felt a lot heavier than its little frame would suggest. Travon’s leg shook with each step he took. He passed the tree line that lead to the little sanctuary he made for himself. A tent made of stick and straw, the log he kept from when he killed his first timberwolf, and a small bundle of wood, flanked by a rock on all sides to make a campfire.
Travon sat upon the log, the hare in his lap. He looked down at it, his eyes still wet from tears. The hare looked almost peaceful in death, with its eyes closed and mostly slightly agape. Yet, the bloodied stump embedded in its side painted a more vivid, real picture.
“I’m not cut out for this shit…” Travon admitted to the hare. There was no one else to talk to. “I’m not a survivalist. I’m just someone who’s way outta his depth. I’ve been here for at least months now. I don’t even know anymore…”
Travon looked over at a place near the edge of the stream where he had attempted to keep a record of how many days have passed. It shows 30, but further up the stream, evidence of floods was present and muddied marks beneath them.
Travon sighed and steeled himself. The worst was yet to come. He reached for a stone knife and pressed it against the hare’s chest. He briefly touched his own chest, the story of the first timberwolf attack embedded in his dark skin, creating a light discoloration. He closed his eyes and dragged the knife against the hare’s chest.
It took a couple of tries before he mages to cut through deep enough. He proceeded with the gruesome process of skinning the hare alive. Numerous times did Travon struggle to do the deed, but it was done. He placed the remains by the edge of the log and continued the cooking of the hare.
It was a silent process. As silent as the forest would allow anyway. Travon tried his damnedest to not think about the events. He wanted to take a moment to celebrate that he did make a functioning hunter’s tool. But, now he isn’t sure if he can hunt again.
In the process of sniffling, Travon caught a whiff of the air. It was a foul, yet familiar stench. One that signaled nearby danger. He pulled out a spandex mask, one he fashioned from the thermal underwear he had worn upon his arrival. It had turned green due to Travon finding a herbal substance that countered the horrid smell of the timberwolves’ breath.
As he picked up his makeshift spear, he heard something scatter in the bushes, followed by a scream. It sounded almost human-like.
“No, it can’t be…” Travon spoke softly. He rushed towards the bush, only to find whatever had made the noise had fled. He could also track the smells from earlier grow fainter.
Travon followed the smell of wolves and the screaming, making sure to avoid the forest’s hazards he’s grown accustomed to. The death of the hare had all but left his mind now, as instinct took over. If there was someone, anyone else in this forest, Travon had to get to them first before the wolves.
Unfortunately, that didn’t seem the case. Travon pushed through thick foliage and stepped into a clearing in front of a cliff face. Before him were three timberwolves and…a small, purple lizard?
Travon has never seen a lizard so portly and with such big eyes, but then again he never saw beasts made entirely of wood either. Chalk it up to the magic forest.
Travon focused up as one of the timberwolves leaped toward the reptile. Travon cocked his arm back and snapped it forward, letting the large spear fly through the air. With a thunk, the spear successfully pierced the wolf in its abdomen and pinned it to the floor.
“Hey, uglies!” Travon shouted in an attempt to get the pack’s attention. It worked, as the wolves turned almost mechanically to face him. Travon clapped his hands, keeping their attention. “Leave the lizard alone. I’m the one that can put up a fight!”
Travon’s bravado was answered with ferocity, as the timberwolves charged him at full sprint. Travon reared back and kicked one of the wolves in the face, shattering it to splinters.
“Headshot, baby-ohshit!” Was all Travon could get out before the other wolf tackled him down to the ground. Travon screamed as the wolf bit down on his forearm, hard enough for it to bleed. With gritted teeth, Travon used his other arm to feel around for something, anything. When he gripped a sizable stone, he smashed it against the wolf’s wooden skull. It cracked, the lower jaw severed from the head. Travon rolled over and, repeatedly, bashed the timberwolf to chips.
After a while, the timberwolf vanished into smoke. Travon learned it was a sign that the threat was truly over. He coughed, as the smoke burrowed into his lungs and the stench brought his eyes to tears. As he stood, he glanced back at the lizard creature he just saved. Getting a much closer look, Travon questioned if it was actually a lizard. It stood upright and had a distinct look of fear in its eyes.
“Huh.” Travon took a step closer. When he did, the reptilian person…thing ran off into the forest. Travon took a step to follow it. The sharp pain in his arm objected. “Damn, maybe next time. I gotta get this under control.”
This wasn’t the first time he had been wounded by the timberwolves. He had enough shirt left for bandages and a stream to wash his wound. But, as he trekked back through the forest to his camp, the image of the reptile he saved occupied the back of his mind.
“Something to think about,” Travon muttered to himself, as his footsteps faded deep in the forest.
Author's Note
This is a prelude of things to come. I plan to make this story more action pack, almost like a battle manga without the manga. You’ll understand what I mean later on.
