absentwizard
05-09-12, 12:24 AM
A crisp autumn wind blew through the Red Forest, tugging at what few colorful leaves remain on the branches. Their fallen siblings piled nine deep on the ground and, at the slightest gust, lifted in whirling cyclones between the barren trunks. The morning sky was a cloudless blue adulterated only by a thin, waning crescent. The rippling surface of the pond at the clearing's center twisted the reflected moon into something like an open accordion, framed by crooked and denuded branches.
A suppressed cough echoed weakly through the clearing. A small woman pressed herself forward a little further along an exemplarily denuded branch, clinging tightly to the dry bark with all fours. Her much-patched, dark green, woolen cloak swayed in the wind as the wood creaked sullenly. When all was still again, she gingerly crawled along a little further.
Iila Cenata did not care for depths one bit. Heights were fine; one had to be accustomed to having lots of things above one's head after a few years living in a forest, if only to avoid going quite mad from worry. Depths, on the other hand, were a shifty-looking lot and never occurred often to elicit familiarity. Nobody lived on top of a forest. Well, except for birds; but they can fly and that is just cheating.
What possessed Iila to climb a tree this fine morning is the extremely discouraging sight of a half-dozen packages of toothy fur on the ground below. These wolves were a scraggy lot and their coat going thin in places. Someone might almost have felt pity for them; winter was coming and these wolves already looked like they were on the way out. Iila was not one of those people and was instead busily contemplating how to prevent herself from becoming a charitable donation.
She looked across at the next branch over. Zanhae was holding her wicker basket and sitting quite still. The doll had reacted even faster than her master did when the first wolf burst into the clearing, scampering up the tree while towing a basket twice her size. The good news was that there was a sackful of acorns and seeds in the basket and therefore rations enough for the indiscriminate eater. The bad news was that the waterskin was currently laying flaccid on the pond's shore, dropped before Iila had finished refilling it. She failed to groan.
The wolves had circled around the base of the tree a few times, glaring up at the annoyingly distant meal. One sat back and started issuing a message on the howl and the others quickly joined in. Iila noted this ringleader - he seemed to have had an unfortunate contact with fire at some point in the past. There was a bald burn on the top of his head that made the whole thing take on the appearance of a tonsure. She thought that he looked like someone named "Tom" from back home.
The message on the howl was simple: this is our temporary territory and all you buggers stay out. She's heard that tone of message before, always obeyed it, and never quite thought that she'd see the day when wolves would lay claims to her and announce it all over the woods. It like being being popular but with all the wrong sorts of people. After repeating the message several times, the wolves sat down to wait.
After the first half hour, Iila realized that it just wouldn't do to keep clinging desperately onto the branch like that. She was already tired and her arms were sore. On the other hand, if she let go, a gust of wind might come along and it was a very long way down to a very nasty sort of place. The wolves were looking up expectantly, as if trying to say, "Come on, we have got all day and you'll fall asleep sooner or later. Then you'll fall and the inevitable will happen. Why make everyone suffer when we can all just go straight to the conclusion? That's a good girl."
Not being a wolf-whisperer, Iila was not in the least way persuaded. She considered her options rather carelessly and decided to make use of all the sewing supplies that she had brought along. There had to be half a mile of thread tucked away in that basket. She turned inwards and followed along intangible strings into Zanhae's mind.
As the doll retrieved several spools and hung the basket onto a sturdy twig, another breeze gently rocked the tree. Iila turned Zanhae's glassy eyes and panicked as she watched herself slide sideways. There was no time. One great bound off of the branches, one desperate leap, and the dollmaster headbutted herself with her doll. The click of pottery on skull echoed back from across the pond.
Iila gained the precious seconds to refocus herself and righted her position on the tree through the haze of pain. A definite bump was growing and there was possibly a mild concussion, too. From outside, she studied her own expression of perpetual wincing before setting down to the important work of not falling off again. Six disappointed wolves sat back down and grumbled.
Several minutes later, Zanhae had finished lashing Iila to the tree trunk and one branch with stringwork as right as can be done by the saltiest topmen. The effect was spoiled a little by the bows tying off each band at the ankles, knees, waist, and chest. Still, it was a bit safer now and Iila finally decided to give in to the pounding headache's demand for rest.
A suppressed cough echoed weakly through the clearing. A small woman pressed herself forward a little further along an exemplarily denuded branch, clinging tightly to the dry bark with all fours. Her much-patched, dark green, woolen cloak swayed in the wind as the wood creaked sullenly. When all was still again, she gingerly crawled along a little further.
Iila Cenata did not care for depths one bit. Heights were fine; one had to be accustomed to having lots of things above one's head after a few years living in a forest, if only to avoid going quite mad from worry. Depths, on the other hand, were a shifty-looking lot and never occurred often to elicit familiarity. Nobody lived on top of a forest. Well, except for birds; but they can fly and that is just cheating.
What possessed Iila to climb a tree this fine morning is the extremely discouraging sight of a half-dozen packages of toothy fur on the ground below. These wolves were a scraggy lot and their coat going thin in places. Someone might almost have felt pity for them; winter was coming and these wolves already looked like they were on the way out. Iila was not one of those people and was instead busily contemplating how to prevent herself from becoming a charitable donation.
She looked across at the next branch over. Zanhae was holding her wicker basket and sitting quite still. The doll had reacted even faster than her master did when the first wolf burst into the clearing, scampering up the tree while towing a basket twice her size. The good news was that there was a sackful of acorns and seeds in the basket and therefore rations enough for the indiscriminate eater. The bad news was that the waterskin was currently laying flaccid on the pond's shore, dropped before Iila had finished refilling it. She failed to groan.
The wolves had circled around the base of the tree a few times, glaring up at the annoyingly distant meal. One sat back and started issuing a message on the howl and the others quickly joined in. Iila noted this ringleader - he seemed to have had an unfortunate contact with fire at some point in the past. There was a bald burn on the top of his head that made the whole thing take on the appearance of a tonsure. She thought that he looked like someone named "Tom" from back home.
The message on the howl was simple: this is our temporary territory and all you buggers stay out. She's heard that tone of message before, always obeyed it, and never quite thought that she'd see the day when wolves would lay claims to her and announce it all over the woods. It like being being popular but with all the wrong sorts of people. After repeating the message several times, the wolves sat down to wait.
After the first half hour, Iila realized that it just wouldn't do to keep clinging desperately onto the branch like that. She was already tired and her arms were sore. On the other hand, if she let go, a gust of wind might come along and it was a very long way down to a very nasty sort of place. The wolves were looking up expectantly, as if trying to say, "Come on, we have got all day and you'll fall asleep sooner or later. Then you'll fall and the inevitable will happen. Why make everyone suffer when we can all just go straight to the conclusion? That's a good girl."
Not being a wolf-whisperer, Iila was not in the least way persuaded. She considered her options rather carelessly and decided to make use of all the sewing supplies that she had brought along. There had to be half a mile of thread tucked away in that basket. She turned inwards and followed along intangible strings into Zanhae's mind.
As the doll retrieved several spools and hung the basket onto a sturdy twig, another breeze gently rocked the tree. Iila turned Zanhae's glassy eyes and panicked as she watched herself slide sideways. There was no time. One great bound off of the branches, one desperate leap, and the dollmaster headbutted herself with her doll. The click of pottery on skull echoed back from across the pond.
Iila gained the precious seconds to refocus herself and righted her position on the tree through the haze of pain. A definite bump was growing and there was possibly a mild concussion, too. From outside, she studied her own expression of perpetual wincing before setting down to the important work of not falling off again. Six disappointed wolves sat back down and grumbled.
Several minutes later, Zanhae had finished lashing Iila to the tree trunk and one branch with stringwork as right as can be done by the saltiest topmen. The effect was spoiled a little by the bows tying off each band at the ankles, knees, waist, and chest. Still, it was a bit safer now and Iila finally decided to give in to the pounding headache's demand for rest.