Peace.
That was the first word that came to his mind, before he had even opened his eyes. He could tell, just by all the feelings and sensations he was experiencing, that this place was full of an impossible and indescribable peace.
Outside. That was the second word that came. He could feel the cool soft breeze streaming across his back as he lay on his stomach. He could feel a bed of soft grass under his body, tickling his chin and filling his nose with the sweet smell of nature. He felt the warmth of a brilliant sun radiating its heat across his face and back. Yes, there was no doubt that he was lying on the ground outdoors.
Pain. This was the third and final word that emerged through the intoxication of the pure bliss he felt. A dull ache, like some sort of heavy object had been set on his abdomen and had sat there for so many hours he had almost gotten used to it…almost. He pushed himself up to sit on his legs and opened his eyes, and immediately forgot the alleviated pain with the new rush of ecstasy his sense of sight allowed him.
This place looked more beautiful than any physical sensation could have possibly helped him predict it would. The first thing he took into account was the horizon; the solid divide that kept the ground below, and the sky above. Stretching from the horizon towards the place where he sat lay flat plains dominated by endless fields of grass, and rolling hills, some painted with the distinctive colors of certain flowering plants: reds, yellows, and even pinks. All of the color and life that populated the terrain seemed to move and sway like the churning waters of an ocean beneath the zephyr that blew across the fields.
Above the horizon the infinite sky served as a blue gateway to the heavens, and seemed to shelter this perfect and wonderful place from anything that could lie beyond. Bloated white clouds drifted lazily across the sky, but all steered clear of the magnificent sun; that giant celestial sphere of fire which hung at the zenith of the cloud-strewn sky. The heat of the sun and the cool of what was likely a midsummer’s breeze created the perfect balance in temperature.
Even the sounds, few as they were, intensified the phenomenal serenity of this paradise, this Garden of Eden. So few and diminutive were the sounds of this place that they could never hope to surpass, or even equal the incredible sensations brought by the sights and pure physical feelings, but all the same, these sounds were able to enhance the already extraordinary peacefulness. The most evident sound was of course the ever so simple yet intricate breeze that moved, unopposed, across the land, creating sound with every slight movement.
There may have been birds also, chirping and singing their songs to each other and the world, but the one sitting was too taken with the abundance of all other tranquility to register the presence of other life anywhere near him. For all he knew there could have been a great monster of a lion standing atop the nearest hill, roaring to the world around. This lion could have been charging at the sitting one with all the speed it could muster and all the strength its legs could find. The lion would bear down on him with teeth sharper than any sword and a stomach emptier than any bottomless pit, with only one thought on its mind: food…and he would have never felt the beast’s teeth around his throat.
But there was no lion. There was no hungry animal or dark violent creature that had crawled forth from the darkest regions of the world. There was no present danger of any sort to disturb the calm and perfection of this place. Certainly whatever force compelled this place to be so beautiful would never have allowed for any such curse to its flawless beauty to tread upon its sacred grounds.
The being that sat at the middle of nowhere in this paradise suddenly felt very unworthy to gaze upon its beauty for as long as he had. Truth be told, he had no idea how long he had been looking. He may not have even been aware that time itself was passing by. After this self-inflicted guilty feeling of unworthiness became too much to bear, a single desire pressed itself to the forefront of his mind: a desire to once again feel the initial pleasure he had experienced when first entering this vision. This may have been a chasing of the wind, but if his eyes were closed again, then perhaps the guilty feeling would subside.
Without a second thought, his eyelids moved slowly and gently across his eyes, eventually blocking out all sight of the haven that remained on the other side. He slowly leaned forward, taking the whole of his body’s weight off of his legs, leaning farther and farther until his torso hung just mere inches above the ground. It had started to put a strain on his muscles, lowering himself at this slow rate, but he continued to take his time stretching his arms out before him, eyes still closed, and let gravity do the rest of the work pulling his body into its original position.
It took him not even a moment to remember why he had sat up in the first place. He had originally pushed himself off the ground to relieve, and discover the source of the dull pain that had bothered his midsection. But the pain had been instantly forgotten as he opened his eyes to the world around. Now, however, the pain returned with a sharp jab that forced its victim to push himself upright again, quicker than the first time, and instinctively open his eyes in search for the cause of his distress.
With his eyes somewhat more immune to the allure of the fields before him, he was able to immediately look down to see what could have been plaguing him every time he tried to lie down. What he saw once again made him forget that he had ever been in pain, and also showed him perfection powerful enough to rival the world around him. Sitting in the grass, right where his stomach was just seconds ago lay a small cyan crystal. It glowed with a faint light the same color as the rock that produced it, and its surface looked almost transparent, as if it were a glass shell that held this light inside. The shape and dimensions of the tiny blue crystal resembled what might be a kite, longer than it was wide just by an inch or two.
The one who believed he must have been protecting this precious thing in his sleep felt a very strong and unknown desire to keep it safe. He reached out with both arms and scooped up the crystal in his—hooves? Why did that seem so unusual? What else had he expected to pick it up with, his mouth? Suddenly that seemed like a very natural and considerable idea. But if he did carry this small thing in his mouth he would not be able to admire its beauty properly, and the mouth just seemed such an unsanitary place to keep such a relic.
He let the crystal roll around on the bottoms of his front hooves, studying the way the light of the sun seemed to have no effect on the reflective surface of the crystal. His heart began to pound with wonder and excitement as the crystal seemed to melt in his hooves. He watched with amazement as the shifting mass of light lost its cyan glow and had it quickly replaced with white. The strange mass reshaped itself into a small sphere of pure white light that did not look solid to the eye at all, but to actually hold it was a different story entirely. Everywhere the sphere touched seemed to stimulate every individual cell in the holder’s hooves. Its texture felt what heated metal must feel like—not hot, but delightfully warm. Its magnificent warmth sent sparks of pure pleasure up his forelegs and directly into his spine. He either had never known, or had by some miraculous fluke forgotten how this thing had come to be in his possession, but surely if he had rested with it in such a seemingly defensive—
All his thoughts about the morphing crystal ceased. There was a sound, quieter than the soft breeze of this land less than inches behind him. This sound did not ring with the same beauty as all other sensations of this place, but instead it installed fear and anxiety into his mind. These negative thoughts and feelings were abolished just as quickly and suddenly as the thoughts of the crystal, only this time with an unfamiliar hoof that curved around from behind and crashed into the left side of his skull just under his ear. The momentum of the hit sent his limp body crumbling off to the right, and the sphere of light, which had returned to its former state as soon as it left his grasp, fell to the ground below.
This poor innocent creature’s attacker knelt down and scooped up the glowing cyan crystal with one hoof. They took no notice to how the crystal refused to change shape as it had for its previous wielder, nor did they pay much attention to how the light blue glow was quickly replaced with a black gleam that could rival the dead of night for pure darkness.
Without a single thought or care for the collapsed being that lay on the ground, the thief gingerly placed the black crystal in an open saddle bag, closed it, and went on their way as if nothing had ever happened.
They never noticed that the wind had stopped blowing.
Four o’clock in the morning. Andrew Thompson did not have to be awake for more than two hours. Yet here he sat on the faded tan sofa his parents had bought him as a housewarming gift just last year, with a half-empty glass of water in one hand and an empty bottle of Tylenol in the other. Andrew would have preferred to have taken two capsules, but there had only been one in the bottle, and after twenty minutes he was yet to feel the effects.
From his place on the couch he gazed through the living room window on the front of the house…well, attempted to gaze would be more accurate. Though the sky seemed clear now, there was obvious evidence that rain had come to town while Andrew had slept. The streets and driveways of the neighborhood were littered with glistening puddles, small and large. The most apparent sign was the cause of Andrew’s difficulty seeing through the windows: tiny droplets of water stuck to the glass that distorted the lights of the street lamps beyond. From the looks of things it had rained hard. Andrew wished he had been woken up by the falling waters or a clap of thunder rather than what had him sitting on the sofa with an empty bottle of painkillers.
Andrew did not usually receive headaches in his sleep, and he was not known for having nightmares. But this night he had woken from a very unusual and very real dream. So real in fact, that when he had awoken it took him a few moments to realize why he was laying in bed in some dark room rather than on the sunlit fields of paradise. His headache and incredible exhaustion brought on by a rough night’s sleep were obscuring some of the finer details of his dream, but he remembered sitting in the most beautiful landscape he had ever seen, and he was pretty sure he had not been human. But the part of the dream that drew his attention even more than his lack of humanity was that at the very end he felt like he had been hit in the head, hard. He blamed this rude awakening as the cause of his current migraine, which centered just behind his left temple; the exact same place where he felt he had been struck in the dream.
But the dream was gone, and what mattered to Andrew now was the here and now, the real world. What mattered here was getting past the pain in his head, which still felt like it had a stampede running the left side of his skull, and figuring out what to do for the next two hours. Of course, he could try to go back to sleep, but he knew that if he did that he would wake up more tired for work than he already was. He could make something to eat, but he was not even close to hungry; his massive headache also causing him bouts of nausea. An idea had come to him once to call in sick for work, but he had tried to convince himself he would be fine and that once he arrived at the warehouse this migraine would be a thing of the past. But deep down the decision to go to work or not had already been made for him.
Some small part of Andrew had selfishly convinced him that he deserved a day off, and that a day where he might be incapable of giving it his all was the perfect day to take. But Andrew refused to let a simple headache defeat him, and promised himself that as soon as his ailment was gone—surely as soon as it had come—he would prepare himself to take on the day and head in to work early, no matter the time.
An hour passed…Andrew did not feel better.
With a growing feeling of guilt he gave in to the little voice in his head, and decided he would not be leaving the house today. He reached for the black telephone that sat on the small square table beside the couch, nearly knocking it to floor in the process. Finally, with the phone secured in his hands he pulled the number for the warehouse from his mental list of contacts, and proceeded to dial. The phone rang once, twice, three times and still no answer; any supervisor would have labeled this unacceptable, but that was not Andrew’s job, nor was answering the phones, so he did not concern himself with it. But someone had to answer eventually. Five in the morning may have been early, but there was always someone at the warehouse. Finally, halfway through the fourth ring Andrew heard the phone be answered.
“Smith and Xavier Furnishing Warehouse, how can I help you?”
“Royce? Is that you?” Andrew asked in an obviously exhausted voice which betrayed the slightest hint of surprise.
“Andrew? What are you doing calling the warehouse at five in the morning?” Royce Macintyre. Andrew’s only remaining friend from school, and probably his best.
“What are you doing working at the warehouse at five in the morning?”
“I took an early shift today, remember? Early to get to work, early to go home.”
“Well, listen…” Andrew hadn’t called to discuss the work hours of his colleagues, but to ensure he wouldn’t have to join them today, “I’ve been up for over an hour feeling like crap. My head feels like someone threw it in to oncoming traffic. You see where I’m going with this?”
“Oh yeah, I see exactly what you’re getting at.” Andrew could practically hear Royce winking; obviously his best friend did not believe him. “Don’t worry Andy, I’ll cover for you. You just stay in bed and don’t stress yourself.” Royce said in a motherly tone.
“Thanks, mom. And don’t call me Andy” Andrew said with a smile. People had made a joke of calling him Andy almost his whole life because they knew he hated being called that. Truth be told, he didn’t hate it, he just preferred his real name against the shortened version of it, and he always played along by saying ‘don’t call me Andy.’
“Yeah, yeah I got you. And don’t call me Roy.” Royce said in a mocking tone.
“I never do.” Andrew hung up and let out a long contented sigh. Most exchanges with Royce ended that way, with the long-standing inside joke between the two friends of ‘don’t call me by my nickname.’ This custom had been a point in their friendship almost since the day they met in eighth grade. It was not the usual scenario with one of them being the new student and they hit it off and become best friends immediately. In fact, they had been going to the same school for several years, but they had never officially met until the day when a different kid—Jared—became the new student.
Andrew had seen Jared the moment he walked through the doors on his first day, and did what every student does when a new kid shows up: observe. Jared’s dirty-blond hair had curled down over his ears, and nearly covered his eyebrows. He was average height, about the same as Andrew was, but looked a little skinnier than most. Andrew had only ever really spoken to Jared once in his life, and that was when he met Royce Macintyre. Royce was African-American, and this had never been a problem for anyone he met in his life. The community he and Andrew had grown up in did not have families with those sorts of issues…except Jared’s.
The moment Jared laid eyes on Royce in the halls during lunch hour, he lit a fire that would form the bonds of friendship between two thirteen year-olds who had never spoken to each other, and ensure that he himself would not experience many of the same bonds at his new school. Jared walked up to Royce and without provocation let out an endless string of unthinkable insults and curses that could have only been influenced by his parents’ behavior. Having never been in this position before, Royce was at first unsure how to react. But as Jared continued Royce became more and more sure he wanted to punch this kid dead in the face. He would have too, if another student hadn’t been walking by and done the job for him.
Jared went home with a bloody nose his first day at his new school, and no one cared what his parents said or did, or felt any sympathy for him as word spread about what had happened.
Sometimes Andrew wondered how his life would be different if he had not punched out the new kid's lights in eighth grade. He wondered if he and Royce would have ever become friends or even acquaintances if it hadn’t been for Jared. There could even be a chance that it would not have been Royce Macintyre and Andrew Thompson that had just spoken on the phone moments ago about the latter’s headache. But now that that call had been made, Andrew Thompson had the rest of the day to himself, and he knew exactly how he wanted to start it.
He leaned over the arm of the couch to grab a maroon colored silk blanket that sat on the floor—also a gift from his parents—and wrap himself up in a cocoon of his own body heat. Facing the window—clearer now than it had been when he arrived here—he let his eyelids close over his eyes to accept nature’s remedy to sickness: sleep.
Hopefully this time he wouldn’t dream of being kicked in the head.
His body twitched slightly as his mind emerged from unconsciousness. He groaned and rolled onto his back, eyes still closed, trying to remove his face from the path of light that attempted to shine through his eyelids. Despite his efforts to return to the comforts of sleep, he was awake, and the growing awareness of his mind told him that was not going to change anytime soon. The visions and sensations of the dream world he had just departed quickly fled and were replaced with those of the world around him. He allowed his eyes to open halfway and propped himself up on one foreleg to view the situation around him.
The sun had sunk significantly down through the sky, threatening to cross the line that separated the heavens and the earth. The immense ball of fire had begun to turn a warm shade of orange, having the same effect on the area of sky around it, while the view of the sky on the other side of the land continued to darken into what would soon be the night sky. All the clouds had disappeared from above, and the bright and diverse colors of the flowers that dotted the hills were becoming obscured by the infinite shadow that would soon blanket the fields.
Finally, he registered the pain. He realized it had been there since he had awoken; a faint dull throbbing near his left temple that grew with his awareness to a substantial ache. His first suspicion was that he had slept on a rock, but this thought was quickly dismissed by two facts: that he had been laying on his right side where his left was the one in distress, and that there was not even a single pebble within sight in any direction. He tried to dig through his mind to locate the memories of how he had come to wake up in this field not one, but two times, and the second time suffering from a nagging headache. But the first memories he found were the ones of his dream.
He pushed himself up into a sitting position and concentrated more on these “memories.” He remembered being awake in some dark house in the earliest hours of the morning feeling ill. He did not recognize the house now, but it had felt oddly familiar in the dream. He remembered the smooth polished texture of a glass he had held in his left hand, and the—
That stopped him. Hand? He brought up his forelegs and looked at the ends to confirm what he expected to be there; just the flat surface of his hooves at the ends, and no fingers. This led him to believe that whatever he had been in the dream was definitely not a pony. Bizarre to be honest, dreaming of being a different species. Yet the dream had felt as real as the world around him right now felt. But dwelling on the events of his silly dreams would get him nowhere, he realized. The events he needed to focus on were the ones that had caused him to be sitting in this field presumably all day and had caused him to gain a headache.
That’s when it hit him…figuratively. He remembered that he had been sitting in this field about midday by himself admiring the beauty when he had heard a sound from behind that did not belong, and had been struck in the head from the same direction. A small part of him seemed to tell him he should be angry, and that he should immediately track down this attacker, but he was more interested in contemplating why anyone would have done this to him in the first place. Not to mention that after this much time whoever had committed the act was surely long gone.
There had to be no answer, though. What could he, some random pony in the middle of an open field, possibly have done that would make him worth being attacked? Surely he could not have done anything wrong or worthy of punishment to the attacker in advance? No, if he was truly the bad guy here he likely would have taken much worse than a—
The crystal. Of course. Now the memories truly came flooding back. He remembered the small light blue crystal, not even bigger than the size of his hoof. He remembered the way it glowed with an interior source of light, and how it had impossibly morphed into a warm ball of white light in his grasp. He remembered how, just before the attack, he had wondered how such a thing had come into his possession, but before he could give the matter anymore thought his mystery attacker was suddenly upon him.
He tried again to recall how the now missing crystal had come to be his, but he could remember nothing prior to his first awakening in this field. He had no doubt now that he had been robbed, and that also gave the motive behind his attacker’s actions…but had the hit caused him amnesia as well? Truth be told, he did not think so. The limitation of his memories had him practically convinced he had already been without his memory the first time he woke up in the field, but he had just been too distracted to realize it.
The realization of his memory loss began to worry him. The more he thought about his current situation the less he realized he actually knew about it. He did not have the slightest clue who he was, and until now he had been too preoccupied to wonder where he was. In a fit of mild panic he stood on all four legs and rapidly began checking his surroundings in the hope of finding any sort of familiarity. That was when he truly began to feel like a fool.
Only a few hundred yards away in the direction that up until now had been behind him there was a forest. He could not tell much about the forest from this distance, but it seemed to stretch for several miles in either direction, and its depth could have been anywhere from the length of a stone’s throw to infinity. It was impossible to tell the height of the trees from here, but as a wild guess he thought some of the tallest ones must have measured over fifty feet. No jungle, but no mere grove either.
With no name, no heading, or any remotely helpful information of any sort, he decided the forest was his best bet, for on this side the peaceful fields drowning in the sunset seemed to never end, but there was no telling what could be hiding on the other side of the forest. Hopefully some form of salvation, but there was only one real way to find out.
The forest had only seemed to become more massive and foreboding with each step closer to it. Now, standing at the edge and even in the vanishing light of the sun he could tell that its depth went far beyond the length of a mere stone’s throw. The sun itself was now completely gone from view, though the edge of the sky remained painted orange with its light. A gibbous moon had become visible above the forest’s canopy, waxing or waning he did not know, but he hoped it would provide enough necessary light to find his way through the cover of trees and the thicket ahead. With a deep breath and a strong determination to come out on the other side he brought one hoof into the realm of the forest…then another…until finally his tail joined the rest of his body under the thousands of leaves and branches that obstructed the light of the moon and that which was left of the sun.
He stood still for a moment, only a few feet into the forest as if he expected some force to spit him back out now that he was trespassing in its world. He took a few more steps forward; the open fields fell a few more feet behind. The forest seemed perfectly calm and still; the only sounds were those of the rustling leaves overhead and the grass under his hooves. But despite what the forest showed, its peace felt false. He could not figure out what it was, but this forest made him feel apprehensive and gave him the desire to retreat and return to the fields. Perhaps the only reason he did not give in to this desire was that he knew what waited for him in the fields: absolutely nothing. He forced himself to swallow his childish fear and resumed walking deeper into the forest, this time telling himself not to stop every few steps and asses his current situation and feelings.
Finally, after passing by dozens of seemingly identical trees he realized how dark it had become. He paused for a moment to find his courage again, and turned to see how far he had come from the fields. But the direction he had come from only seemed to stretch into an infinite blackness full of trees and vines. He did not know if it was the abundance of trees, or the absence of any sunlight that blocked his view of the fields, probably both. He turned up to see what was visible of the night sky through the cover of the leaves; few stars could be seen through the canopy of the forest, and the moon could scarcely be seen, but he was thankful for what little light it cast that was able to penetrate the forest and provide him with some visibility.
He guessed he had been traveling through the forest for at least thirty minutes by now. Hopefully more, because he figured the longer he had been in the forest the farther he had gone through it…and the closer it would be to daytime, even though he knew it was at least long enough away he would very likely make it out of the forest plenty of time before sunrise. He prepared himself to continue on and test this theory, when every muscle in his body froze, leaving one hoof suspended in midair. He tried to piece together what suddenly had him on edge; he had not heard anything terribly out of the ordinary—in fact, the beating of his heart seemed to be the loudest sound at the moment—nor did he even feel like he was even being watched. But he had a very sudden and intense feeling that he was not alone.
He did not have any experience with threatening situations in the wild—at least none that he could remember—but he figured standing still and hoping whatever was out there might go away was one of his more foolish options. With the utmost caution and what would have normally felt like achingly slow movement he crept forward. He could not have made it more than ten feet before the brush ahead off to the right rustled violently and a mass of tan fur leaped out to stand only a few yards ahead. The mass of fur stood on its hind legs and roared with the ferocity of a thousand angry beasts, ready to pounce.
Now he knew that his fear may not have been so childish after all. Before him stood an enormous creature that could only resemble a lion, only it was not quite a lion itself. Its body was covered from head to toe in light brown fur, save for its dark bushy mane that covered its neck and highlighted the beast’s head. The creature’s long face also looked identical to that of any regular lion, and when it roared it showed off its fangs, surely long enough and sharp enough to end him in one bite. The beast raised massive front paws into the air, each bearing claws that looked even deadlier than the fangs. But that was where the similarities between a lion—which may as well have been a kitten in this comparison—and this monster ended.
The pony who stood frozen before this creature could not figure it out in his current situation, but its long pointed ears definitely belonged to a creature that was far from a lion. A bat perhaps. The obvious and most noticeable features that distinguished this animal from any other were the two appendages that protruded from its back. Whether the beast stood on its hind legs or all fours, it clearly boasted two massive wings that could only be described as the wings of a dragon. The wings almost did not look functional when the creature stood on four legs, and its soon-to-be victim hoped that was true. The final and perhaps most bizarre part of this creature’s body—even compared to the wings—was the red segmented tail of a scorpion that hid behind the rest of the beast’s mismatched form.
The creature brought its head down to the ground and looked straight to its victim, leaving its rear up in the air. It was going to attack soon. He could see this, yet he remained still, his front hoof still in the air ready to take a forgotten step. Run, you idiot. He shouted in his own head. You’re smaller than this thing, and can fit through the trees easier. Turn around and run back to the fields! But his logic had no effect on providing him any courage, not even enough which was necessary to flee.
The creature lowered its head even farther and its front paws stretched farther out before it. Its dragon-like wings spread out to their full width, and he could see the muscles of the creature’s back flexing. This was the last thing he saw before he felt his eyelids squeezing shut in utter terror and his vision became black. He waited for what felt like hours for the beast to pounce and smash him to the ground, perhaps it would break his neck and his suffering could end there…Or maybe it would decide to use its teeth first, and he would be forced to bleed to death…Unless the creature’s random body parts also provided it with the instincts these other animals possessed, in which case it may choose to sting him with its scorpion appendage and inject him with some sort of undoubtedly lethal poison…Or perhaps it would just stand there, silent and unmoving, mocking him. It seemed possible that his adrenaline could have made time seem to drag on, but the time this creature was wasting to inflict terror in him was just plain cruel.
He took a chance and let one of his eyelids part slightly to peek at what the creature was waiting for. He was not quite sure if he had expected to see what he saw or not. The creature was still standing in the same place and in the same position, still staring directly at him with those menacing—wait. The beast did not seem to be staring at him so much as through him. Some small voice told him it was a bad idea to make eye contact with such monsters, but it would have been impossible anyway; this beast was definitely looking behind him.
He decided in an instant to take another chance and glace behind him, fully expecting to be maimed by the lion-creature as soon as he did. He swung his head to the right so fast it almost hurt so he could catch a glimpse of what could possibly draw this monster’s attention away from an easy meal. But he barely even had enough time to make out what he saw before it leaped over his head towards the spot he had just been facing…or rather, they leaped. Three wolves, as black as the night sky and the forest that surrounded them, one jumped straight over his head from behind, and the other two came more from the sides. All three wolves landed between him and the monster, with their rears to him. The wolves growled at the beast before them; he would have seen this as foolish on their part on any other day, but each of these wolves was almost as tall as the creature, and they had it outnumbered. The creature seemed to realize this as well and—without looking terribly threatened—it turned and ran, melting back into the forest as quickly as it had appeared from it.
He was tempted to give a heavy sigh of relief and collapse to the ground in frightened exhaustion and gratitude. He probably would have if he had not been so unsure about the three new creatures that stood with him in the forest. Had the wolves come to save his life? Had they intended for him to be spared, or were they just beating the lion out of a meal? He prayed it was the former, and that these wolves did not wish to finish what the lion had failed to start. Perhaps it would be better not to take any risks, and to get a head start on the wolves before they could get a chance to surround him.
Call it curiosity or stupidity—perhaps both—but he did not run away from the wolves. The center wolf, perhaps the leader of the small pack, was the first to turn its head from the lion’s path and face the monster’s former victim. He thought he saw in the wolf’s eyes what was confirmed by those of the other two. All six eyes now stared at him through the black of the night forest, without pupils and glowing an intimidating yellow-green. Surely the disturbing appearance of their eyes was a trick of the forest’s darkness and what little light the moon had to reflect upon them. The three animals slowly approached him, the middle wolf’s snout inches ahead of its followers, and as the beasts approached he began to realize that instead of saving his life, these creatures may have put it in more danger than it was in before.
As the lead wolf came within two meters, head low and back arched just like the lion, he began to believe he may not have wondered into a regular empty forest on the edges of paradise, but rather a refuge for evil and the twisted beasts of hell. The wolves closed in, and he could now clearly see that the appearance of their eyes what not a trick of the moon’s light, but that they really glowed with their own green emission. The beast’s foul breath tortured his nostrils, a strong smell of rotten wood and dead flesh rode on the air from the wolf’s mouth. Now that the wolves were in close enough view, he could see what undoubtedly distinguished these creatures from any normal animal; the bodies of all three monsters were entirely composed of wood and twigs, with some dying leaves still attached to the branches that held the beasts together. Even the claws and fangs of the wolves were made of wood, and somehow the beasts were still able to produce some sort of saliva, which dripped down to the grass below.
Growls that sounded surprisingly like those of normal canines arose from the throats of the wolves, and that was when their new victim became fully convinced of their intent. Run. Now. A tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind. With speed that felt almost unnatural his muscles exploded from their temporary paralysis and his legs carried him to the left. He could feel the foul hot breath of one of the wolves on his hind legs as he took off, his main concern that one of the creatures would catch his tail and tear him back in front of them. He took no chance to look behind him, but he knew the beasts were close; he could still smell their air around him, and he could hear the sound of their wooden limbs on the ground below as all four beings raced in an unknown direction. Unknown to him at least. The wolves likely knew this forest as well as they knew the hunt, and could very well cut him off at any moment from any side, and who was to say there weren’t more of these creatures out there?
He would have said he could not remember running so fast in his life, but the point would be moot anyway with his amnesia. Every time a tree came into view he was granted mere seconds to react and curve around it, silently congratulating himself for a successful display of agility.
But the wolves proved to be just as agile if not more, following him around every tree and through every bush. They were determined not to let their prey escape, which they had dared to steal from the lion-monster from before…perhaps they should have let it kill the pony before they showed the monster off, they would have saved themselves the trouble of a chase. But they were not worried; the runner would tire soon enough.
He continued to dodge through the trees, each time feeling like he was closer to slamming into this one than the last. He realized he had no real plan, just to run until something happened…he only hoped that something would be in his favor. The farther he ran the darker it seemed to get, and the less time he seemed to have to react to the appearance of the trees. He was just shifting his balance from curving past a thin black tree when another one chose to spring from the darkness ahead and smash into his face with a force reminiscent of his mystery robber earlier that day.
All his senses and thoughts came to a halt. The only conscious feeling that remained was the awareness that he had just had his cognitive processes nearly pulverized by a tree. His vision spun, anything that could be seen in the dark was a blur. The first sense to return was his smell, which putridly reminded him of the danger he was in. His mind quickly began piecing his predicament back together, and by the time his eyes had regained the ability to successfully communicate with his brain, the three creatures that had brought him to this state of temporary confusion blocked the path in front of him again.
This time he was surrounded on all sides, with the tree he had plowed into directly behind him, the lead wolf straight ahead, and the two pack wolves circled around to block any possible escape routes to the sides. He was not ready to die yet, not in the middle of this forest after…well, to be blunt, after a really crappy day. He expected the pack leader to be the first to attack, and when it did he hoped its body could be broken as easily as the wood of a stationary tree.
The wolf lowered its body back into attack position, snarling through its wooden teeth, its unnatural slobber oozing past its mouth and falling to the ground. The two other wolves began to behave similarly, and all three took slow intimidating steps forward. Their prey lowered his head also, and prepared his body to go into action. He might try to aim for the sides of the wolf’s face; perhaps he could break its jaw and considerably lower the threat. Of course, there was still the disheartening prospect that he was outnumbered three-to-one, and the other two wolves would easily make a meal of him before he could even get past a single one.
His planning was momentarily interrupted when the wolf before him began to hiss instead of growl. Then all three wolves raised their heads and he realized: it was not the wolf hissing, there was something else at play here. Terrific. He thought. And what is contestant number three? A flying snake with spider legs that shoots fire? The hissing sounded again, seeming very close. It was a terrifying sound to be honest. One of those things you did not want to hear in a thick forest in the middle of the night.
The hissing continued and all three wolves and their prey turned up simultaneously towards the source of the sound. Something was up in the tree, but he couldn’t get a good look at it through the leaves. Almost instantly he became aware of violent movement in the tree, and as he realized something was about to fall out he instinctively leapt out of the way knowing full well he would be jumping into the jaws of a wolf. But instead he landed on all four legs, with no wolf trying to attack him. He turned his neck to see the small pack disappearing into the brush, and when it began to dawn on him that he should probably do the same, he was interrupted by a soft thud and a hiss from below.
He looked to the ground next to the tree for the source of the noise, and was greeted with the sight of what was easily the forest’s most bizarre creature so far. Its elongated body was similar to a snake’s, only it could not have even been two feet in length. It appeared to have two wings growing from its back, only they looked rather small for the creature, and were flattened against its body, not appearing very functional. It had two hind legs near the end of its body, where the rest stretched off into a wide tail. The hind legs seemed bulky, and not built very well for running, but they looked strong all the same. The front legs looked more like arms, bent at the elbow in a similar fashion to the creature from his dream, but these “arms” acted as forelegs anyway, each one ending in claws that protruded from each of the legs’ three digits. Finally, the creature’s body came to its head, which was mostly blank except for the thin line of its mouth and its ugly yellow eyes, neither of which contained a pupil. The top of the head produced smooth spikes that swept back towards the wings of the creature. Overall, the creature was about the size of an average house cat, and its color was difficult to distinguish in the poor lighting, but it seemed dark.
The creature hissed again, opening its mouth wide to reveal clean razor sharp teeth that looked sharper than the claws. The creature brought itself up, spreading its arms in a show of intimidation, its wings slightly spreading from its back, leaving lines of a clear slime stretching between them and the creature’s back.
This time he did not need to tell himself to run. If this creature could send those wolves running with their tails between their legs before even falling from the tree, he wanted nothing to do with it.
His whole body swung around to the right and took off faster than before, ignoring any prior fatigue. After mere seconds of running he felt the cold rush of air sting the bottom of his left hind leg, which was followed by a warm wet sensation; the creature had lashed out as he had started running, and left a gash on his leg that he did not dare to check now. He had not run much farther before a section of his back ignited in pain. He turned his head without slowing down, and saw that the creature had somehow jumped onto his back, and was trying to get a hold on the space above his flank with its jaws. He bucked once while trying to keep as much forward momentum as possible and the creature was knocked back behind, sending a small spray of blood into the air and leaving the trickling sensation of the red liquid running down its victim’s flank.
As he rediscovered his former speed he saw the creature somehow make a quick recovery and return to the chase. That was when he realized: there was more than one of these things, and they were going to try to swarm him. He turned his head back forward and picked up as much speed as he could, desperately trying to ignore the spreading pain in his two rear legs. Then, up ahead he saw what could only make his night infinitely worse; another of the creatures leapt from the leaves of a tree straight ahead with a loud hiss, and descended on him from above. He jumped to the right and kept moving in an attempt to avoid it, but the creature still managed to cut a deep gash in his left foreleg, almost from the top down to the very hoof. He was forced to sacrifice much of his speed, or he felt like his leg would tear in two from the intense pain.
He felt another scratch to his right, several inches ahead of the bite taken out of his flank. He didn’t even give the thought necessary to think about it further, and instead focused on keeping what energy was left in him for getting out of the forest…Just running, and getting out…He had to keep running so—
With only looking straight ahead and not paying much attention to the ground below, he failed to notice a fallen tree in the path ahead. He struck the tree with both forelegs and went tumbling face-first onto the other side. His head smashed into the ground and he continued to roll forward, trying to pick himself up with his legs and not lose too much momentum.
Crack! He wasn’t entirely sure he had heard the sound at first; his mind was a bit preoccupied with the white hot flames rushing up the inside of his right foreleg and crashing into his brain with the intensity of all the pain and fear he had experienced thus far. His body had come to a halt, and he became vaguely aware of a sort of digging sensation near his left flank. Through the incredible pain coursing through his right foreleg, he was able to realize that the only one of his appendages that had so far survived a cut from the savage creatures had been broken by his own stupidity. The digging sensation on his flank continued, and he brought his head up to see what else could possibly be wrong…he wished he hadn’t.
One of the evil creatures sat on his flank, slashing and biting at the flesh with its claws and teeth. Even in the dark of night, the red liquid that was somehow still keeping him alive could be seen all over the creature’s body and slowing coating his own. The pain in his flank finally fought for some measure of control against that of his broken foreleg, and a new rush of adrenaline coursed through him with one single basic instinct that existed in all creatures and could always be fully defined by one word…
Survive.
With a grunt he bucked wildly, sending himself into a standing position, and the creature flying. Two more had climbed over the tree he had tripped over and were readying themselves to leap onto his body; he did not plan to give them the chance.
With as much speed as his three “good” legs could muster he carried on in the same direction. His right foreleg barely brushed the ground with each movement, but every twitch sent the flames up his spine. He had no idea how long he had been running from these creatures, but if he did not get out of this damned forest soon he was sure to die with them.
Another cut on one of his hind legs, he did not care which at this point…
The pain was beginning to fight through his adrenaline and overtake his mind. Just a bit farther…Maybe they would stop following…
Another scratch…he had no idea where this one was…
The trees became harder to see…the sounds became harder to hear…the pain became harder to feel…
He would lose consciousness soon…his mind was playing tricks on him…
The trees were virtually gone from his sight, and he could no longer hear the hissing of the monsters from behind. His failing mind was manifesting yellow lights up ahead in the distance.
Maybe the forest never had an end…did it have to? He guessed it would not matter in a few minutes; it was going to take him now…
Those yellow lights were behaving strangely…as if a shadow was walking through them…how odd…
Give up. As soon as some voice in his head breathed these two words, he knew it was time. He collapsed right where he was. He didn’t even know if he had still been moving or standing still when he finally fell. He rolled onto his back, waiting for the monsters to end his life quickly…
“Goodnight, Angel Bunny…” A very distant and peaceful voice…somewhere near the yellow lights?
Bunnies seemed rather random at the moment, but he didn’t argue with the process of passing from life to death. As for angels, well…he would find out soon enough.
Yes…it was time to say goodnight…
