Outside School > British Isles

 forest calling || dash

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Edwin Gates:
The pine marten should have stayed in his tree until he knew it was safe to venture out. Nighttime was his hunting time, but it was not his alone. He should have been more careful—more vigilant—he knew better. He’d made a grave mistake, and he was paying the price. The pine marten had forgotten tonight that he was a small creature and not a wizard. He wasn’t Eddie. He’d forgotten that sometimes he was not the predator, he was the prey.

Every ragged breath heaved his slight torso; every movement sent searing pain through his small body. Lying on his side, in a bed of leaves on the forest floor, the pine marten’s heart thumped with adrenaline. The owl had caught him in razor sharp claws, but he’d remembered himself enough to fight back. There was no serotonin to ease his departure, only adrenaline and the will to live. He’d wrestled himself out of the owl’s grasp, but the claws had slashed through his side. He had fallen to the ground, but now thick crimson liquid oozed from his side, matting in his fur.

The feeling consumed all his focus. He didn’t have his wand. Couldn’t turn back or call for help. He’d escaped a quick death, only to suffer a slow one. The pine marten exhaled painfully, drew in another breath, and his eyes begged to close. The pine marten was exhausted, but Eddie wasn’t done fighting yet.

@Arden Dasher

Arden Dasher:
EARLIER
She sensed the forest; its presence was twofold. It was there in her senses — in her nose — mossy, damp, woodsy — and in her lungs — damp, rich, cold — (no visuals, though, were her eyes closed?) but there was another layer to it all, too. Something deeper and richer than empirical experience, some kind of understanding of the forest that she could feel all the way into her veins. Or, not veins, but roots, old, steadfast…

She was dreaming, she realised suddenly.

The scene came into focus. If opening one’s eyes allowed them to see, she felt as if the limiting factors of every sense opened up at once. Vision, screaming, oversaturated, clarity beyond what her waking eyes could ever hope to register. The taste/smell, all the way through her throat, dragged across her lips. She was small, curled under a leaf in the dark. She was standing tall on the forest floor, in the middle of the night, cold drizzle catching on the corners of leaves, making sounds. She saw everything close up and from a distance at the same time.

And she was hurt, too, she realised, her tiny heart stuttering rapidly. Blood matted her (his, their) fur, she twisted her little body —

— She woke gasping, struggling against her tangled sheets in a sweaty panic, gulping like a fish at lungfuls of air. It took her a moment to stop herself, to understand where she was, when she was, and why she was panicking, scrambling to place her hands on her waist, where the wound was — but wasn’t.

But wasn’t. Right. She stilled, sitting there for a moment, sweating, breathing quick, ragged breaths. Her heart pumped blood all through her (the sensation of roots, water, fur lingered—) veins, and she felt like she could feel it all. She stilled, eventually, her lungs expanding and contracting at a more normal rate. As she came back to reality, as those extra sensations, that hyperreality, faded into the background, Dash raised a shaky hand to her cheeks, wet from stray tears. You’re okay, she thought, dragging the salty water away with her fingertips. You’ve felt this a thousand times.

The cotton material of her blankets felt like hundreds of tiny hooks clawing at her skin; she shoved them off of her, then swung her legs over the side of her small camping cot, placing her socked feet on the tent floor. She wiped her face again with her sleeves. Her skin was crawling, buzzing uncomfortably, but everything else seemed so dull in comparison. The dark tent, the lingering smell of smoke from her fire earlier, the sound of drizzling rain outside. All dull. Dash took a deep, slow breath, then sighed slowly. Time to get dressed, then.


LATER
She couldn’t do magic right after a true dream — last time she’d tried a simple summoning spell after waking up, the jug she’d been trying to summon — along with all of the lights in the room — had shattered, glass skittering off of the floor dramatically. Sparks flying. It was scary to feel out of control, like that. But not scary to be out of control like this, she thought distantly.

Fate wasn’t scary, it just was. In the same way that she knew the muddy forest floor was beneath her feet because of the sensation of crunching twigs, the weight of her body shifting from foot to foot with each step, she understood her place in the confusing stream of time, understood that everything she saw — the eyes shut kind of seeing, that was — was true. Would be true. Now, awake and dressed and out in the light rain, with just a lantern for light, she moved like she was in a dream, not really sure of where she was going. She trusted her instincts to take her the right way — or trusted fate to deliver her to where she was supposed to be.

It took a while. She hadn’t rushed; the vision had been of the future so she had time. She’d dressed slowly, tied her boots tightly, made a tea before heading out, because it was cold outside and she couldn’t use her wand. Now, she pulled the hood of her jacket around her face a little more tightly, squinting against the dark and the rain. She held her lantern close to her as she walked. After a while, she felt a sense of familiarity at her surroundings. She slowed, looking for one particular tree. Eventually, she found it.

“There you are,” she murmured, crouching down and placing her lantern on the ground. She shifted leaves slowly, with bare hands, revealing the small mammal she’d been expecting to see. It all felt eerily familiar to her. Deja vu, times a thousand. Her experience of it all now was so much more dull, so much more simple, though. She had no extra sense of things — the distance between the trees, the way the dim light refracted through individual raindrops — this time. Reality felt less real than her dream had. Less detailed and less abstract at the same time. “It’s okay,” she breathed, her voice low and soothing as she held back some fronds with a hand to get a better look. She always hoped that they understood her intentions. She’d always had a way with animals.

It was not in good shape. The creature’s breathing was uneven, and it was clearly in shock. Dash pushed back her hood then unwound her scarf from her neck, folding it again gently on the ground. She’d have to be careful — this would all be much easier with a wand, she thought. With meticulous patience, the woman shifted the pine marten’s bloodied body onto her scarf with her hands, wrapping one end over it so she could scoop it up in her arms. It did not seem happy with her, but was clearly too injured to resist with much energy. “It’s okay,” she whispered again, balancing the animal in her arms with the lantern dangling from her fingertips.

She hadn’t put her hood back up; by the time she got back to her tent, her head, her neck, all down the top half of her torso was drenched.

looll sorry for the length, got carried away :’)

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