Forest

The long vines clung weblike to the tops of the trees, woven among their branches. A few long fringes descended delicately to brush my shoulder, or my hair. I shuddered and flicked away their clammy caresses. The journey to the heart of the forest, where the black river Euphres flows, and widens into first a bog then a cold, flat lake, is a long one, and a hard one, but not impossible. It was the fear that made most turn back, clinging fear perhaps brought by the way the close, tall trees blocked out even the tiniest shaft of sunlight, or perhaps by the myriads of tiny berries that hung from the vines like drops of blood glittering in the silver starlight. Maybe it was the cold yellow eyes that stare from behind seemingly every bush and tree. Or maybe it is the mushrooms- knee-high, cold, damp, and strangely like a human hand when they brush your leg. But most of all, I think it is the black river itself, which cuts the only possible path through the forest. I ran swiftly and silently through the trees, conentrating absolutely on where my feet must go to make no noise at all, for noise was frowned upon in this forest. Stepping swiftly on a bed of moss, I failed to notice the sharp, flat rock underneath, and suddenly i felt heady pain rush to me. But i did not cry out, knowing that crys lasted only seconds in this forest, and brought the crier no good, and much unwanted attention. I knelt and examined my foot. A dark line arched along my skin next to the bone, weeping blood. I bit back a curse and looked stealthily about for a bandage of some sort. Blood in the forest was little better than screams; it brought weres, ghasts, and even (if the old tales were true) sometimes a Sable. I quickly found a peice of dried moss, which could ooze none of its potent or maybe poisonous juices onto my wound, and a length of vine to wrap it with. I stood, testing my weight on the foot. It was no good. I would have to move slower now, and that meant spending the night in the forest. But i began to step forward anyway, just as quietly, if not as quickly. I continued to move forward, for the alternative was unthinkable, and just as dangerous. As I traveled on, a clinging white mist began to envelope me. The first of my trials had begun: I was entering the bog. within a few paces the mist covered everything. I felt dizzy. i could not see more than a few inches. vertigo sets in fast when you cannot tell which way is up. but i had to move forward, and the ground grew ever softer beneth my questing feet. Soon i had to bend low to the ground to find a solid path. there was no sure way through the thick bog that covered the center of the forest. I clutched at a stand of reeds, using them to guide me. I knew that they could not grow in quicksand or truly deep water. The rotting scent of the place rose up and choked me. the dark perfumes filled my lungs and stole my air. i felt faint. spots rose before my eyes, but i shook them away, and began to walk faster. that was the worst of the bog- it panicked you. and if you ran, you were lost. and if you were lost, you never came out. if the klin didnt get you, the lack of air would. i forced myself to slow, pushing the panic down hard. The bandage on my foot was coming undone, unravelling like the water snakes swimming just below the murkey surface. I stopped to retie it, crouching protectively over it with deft fingers flying. it was dangerous to stop for too long. I walked on, knowing i must keep my head or all was lost. I followed the beds of reeds, from one to another, feeling my way like a blind man, for what seemed like hours. I began to wonder if i had gone the wrong way. Suddenly the air turned cold. I froze, heart beating faster til i was sure he could hear my blood pumping...i was standing just a few feet from a ghast. i imagined i could see him through the mist, though his pale form would have been nearly invisable to me anyway. The cold was not going away. i felt as though it was incresing, imagined the ghast slinding toward me on insubstantial air, enveloping me with his clammy arms, ever so softly stealing my breath away, keeping my cold body to carry out his bloody rituals, always stronger when human blood, thinking blood, was used. i felt his presence....his dark thoughts clouding my mind. he must be very near now, i thought in a detached and careless way, he must be very near indeed...in fact, i thought, as the dim light seemed to grow dimmer, perhaps he has me already... it is always said you cant feel their grip until youre almost gone...and then it is too late. my thoughts spirialed off to find a happier world, and i began to sink downwards, slowly, as my oxygen was cut off by two shivery arms...NO! and suddenly NO i knew what was happening NO i knew what had to be done and i remembered the patch of red silk tied to my waist i took it and with my last breath of air blew it out into a tiny sail, whispering the strange words my mother taught me, those words of fire that would light up the night and burn this ghast to bitter grey ashes. The silk caught, and as my eyes darkened with the ghasts final, desperate attempts i saw it spin up and catch on something only slightly thicker than the air, and bright light branded the night. I sank to the ground, covering my eyes a little too late. When i looked up there was nothing but a burnt pile of soft, insubstantial ashes, and a black, charred rag. I walked on, fast as i could. I had broken the first rule of the forest: i had made myself known. nothing but speed could save me now.