The chronicles of Dusty and Dakota.

°•Chapter Three: Head above the parapet•°

"Dustin." Dakota said, sheer exhaustion in his voice. "I think we ought to get some rest for the night."

It had been hours since they begun their walk to the heart of the forest. Above them, Dakota could see the night sky, ablaze with a blanket of stars that stretched out miles beyond what his eyes could see.

"Zzzz...huh?! What was that?" Dusty snorted himself fully awake, having mastered the art of being zonked out while walking. "We should get a spicy chicken breast? I totally agree." He nodded, his mouth salivating at the thought.

"Case in point." Dakota sighed. "What I said, Dustin, was that we should get some rest - not a spicy chicken breast. And you just proved me correct."

Dusty slid his backpack to the ground, surveying the scene for a comfortable place to sleep. There was none. There was nothing but dried leaves and broken-off, decomposed branches, bark and stems layering the harsh soil. To make matters worse; the temperature had gradually been dropping as nighttime progressed.

Cursing himself for leaving his warm, bedded, home - and cursing Scarlett for flying away with the fairies - he found a large enough log, squeezed his blanket out of his bag and settled against the cold and fallen piece of wood.

He was so utterly tired - his muscles sore with strain - that despite his unfavorable circumstances, he found himself drifting off into sleep quite easily. Until the temperature did a final nosedive. As his teeth chattered against one another, Dusty tried to huddle further into his blanket for warmth, but to no avail, for he was still as cold as an icicle.

He heard some rustling, just then. When he looked up, he saw that Dakota was standing from the spot where he himself had settled for the night, and was trotting over to where Dusty was huddled on the ground. Wordlessly, Dakota sunk onto the ground next to Dusty, shielding him from the cold instantly.

Dusty snuggled into the stallion's side. He felt his heart warming at Dakota's gesture, and briefly thought about teasing him - 'you love me' he smugly wanted to say 'you act like I'm some annoying little crumb-muncher, but you secretly love me' - but he didn't. Instead, because he did not want to ruin the rare and priceless moment, he whispered "Thank you" before he drifted off into sleep.

•°•°•

Dusty, still quite slumberous, felt himself getting dragged by by his legs. His first thought went to his mother - countless times she'd had to drag him out of bed because he didn't want to go to school - so mindlessly, he whined: "Mom, five more minutes, plea-"

He'd stopped midway to choke on something he'd unwittingly collected into his mouth upon opening it; something that tasted suspiciously, and was textured like, dirt. That was funny; Dusty didn't remember putting dirt in his bed the night before.

"Ouch!" He cried out when he was lumped over an impossibly hard object that had harsh edges jutting out from it. His half-opened eyes, in the light of the blasphemously early morning, saw that it had been a large rock.

That woke him up. Enraged, he turned his body around to give whoever that was lugging him like a sack of potatoes a piece of his mind.

"Hey! What's the big idea-" He froze, then squeaked. "Mama."

Ahead of him - bending and twisting in ways that they shouldn't have been able to - were several ashen and dead-looking trees. Each of their branches were lunging out to grab him and pass him along a trail that Dusty couldn't recognize, as if he was some kind of a soccer ball.

"Christ in a taxicab." He whimpered, feeling scratches and welts form on his body as one tree hauled him across the harsh forest floor and into the wreathing branches of another.