It's Not A Falling Tree

Chapter 1

Beneath the earth, a being sleeps. She has slept for so long that she does not even remember what it feels like to be awake. Yet she now stirs.

She wants to move, to stretch her stiff and aching muscles, but when she tries to pull herself up out of her resting place, she feels the sting of chains cutting into her skin and realizes that she has been rendered immobile.

Through the haze that blankets her mind, she begins to remember why. The exact details are lost to her, but she can still recall the faces of her sisters. The faces of those who failed to see her vision, and who had bound her in this subterranean prison.

Her memories, faint as they are, help her understand why she is here, but it is hardly important now. The why is irrelevant. All that matters is escape.

Though her body cannot move, she still has means of communicating with the outside world. With a thought, she stretches out her consciousness, feeling for something that she can latch onto.

At first, the only creatures she encounters are simple things, bugs and worms that live deep within the ground. They are of no use to her, but the closer her consciousness gets to the surface, the more complex her findings are. Now she can feel deer and mountain lions, squirrels and birds. Through their eyes she catches glimpses of the surface, and while these creatures are closer to what she needs, they are still not right.

Over the ground and up into the trees, her mind flows. She inspects every nook and cranny, looking for something, anything, that can help. Each second that she spends searching, she can feel a familiar sense of drowsiness growing stronger. It is her fear that if she cannot complete this task, then she will once again lose consciousness.

Only when she feels herself drifting back to sleep, when she is becoming the most desperate, does she finally stumble upon what she is looking for. A boy lying at the foot of a rocky ledge. His body is broken and his mind is quickly evaporating. Without her, he will soon die.

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A day ago, Andrew Whitefish was trudging up a steep, snowy, incline. His winter break was nearly over, and he had decided to spend the day hiking in Story, Wyoming, a small village nestled in the mountains some fifteen miles away from his hometown of Sheridan. His girlfriend, who he was certain would break up with him before school started up again, had declined to join him so he decided to go alone.

While Andrew couldn't be described as a serious outdoorsman, he was more than familiar enough with hiking in the mountains to feel confident being by himself. It was this confidence that led him to ignore the signs posted in the area warning of excessive snow and dangerous terrain up ahead. Warnings or not, he didn't feel like turning back. Besides, he figured that those signs were just there to keep dumbass tourists from biting off more than they could chew, and that he would have no trouble with what the remainder of the trail had in store.

As he pressed forward, he became increasingly cocky, increasingly obsessed with going higher and higher up the mountain. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like he needed to reach the top. And so he hiked on, wading and crawling through snow, determined to make it to the peak so that he could get a view of the entire town below him.

Finally, after hours of climbing he reached his destination and stood on top of the world triumphant and elated. Unfortunately, his triumph was short lived, and the bank of hard snow he was standing on came loose and sent him toppling over the edge. The event was so sudden that Andrew didn't have time to feel afraid or even process what was happening until he hit the ground below with a whump.

It was especially unlucky for him that the snow below had partially cushioned his fall. Had he hit the hard, icy ground underneath, he would have certainly died on impact. Instead, he had survived, though most of the bones in his legs and back were smashed. And, as a result, he was forced to lay motionless through the night and into the morning, too broken to move, too isolated for his screams for help to be heard.

Now, as he stares up in the cloudy sky, Andrew can feel himself slipping away. He isn't even upset by it. If anything, he's grateful that his pain will soon be at an end. A little sorry that he can't tell his parents goodbye, a little bitter that his girlfriend declined to come with him and a little miffed that he decided not to turn back before he reached the summit. But, all in all, he is mostly just relieved. Relieved that he'll no longer be cold, or feel the screaming pain in his legs and back.

Just as he closes his eyes for what he is certain would be the final time, he feels something. It's like a chill running down his spine. His eyes open wide and though he can see nothing but snow falling around him, he hears a voice whispering.

"Can you hear me?" she says to him in English, a language she has learned by peering into his mind and sifting through his thoughts.

As she speaks, she senses his confusion, feels his pulse quicken as he tries to determine whether he's really hearing a voice inside his head or if this is all just a dream.

"Don't worry," she coos, "I'm here to help you."

Slowly she begins to mend his broken bones, ignoring his cries of pain as she works. The process is draining, but she no longer fears returning to sleep. She has linked her mind with this boy's, and as long as she has him, her connection to the world cannot be severed.