Hundred and Eighty-Four

Chapter II: Discovery

The snapping of many healthy twigs weren't far fallen from their beginnings, their home-sake— the woodland's proud trees.

Opening his eyes, he's quickly met with a face full of leaves. Hugh pushes his way through these flourishing tree branches, attracting all sorts of messiness and small guests. Out on the other side of this rough patch of trees, he still isn't out of all the foliage.

He doesn't waste anytime clearing himself of said guests that may have followed on along. He shakes his head: for one, to clear his mind &, for two, to shake out the tree leaves that kept getting caught within his frizzy, unkempt hair. Although, this comes with a tradeoff. Due to him being on the lighter side—physically—the head shaking throws off his balance. Thus, Hugh stumbles his way through some occupied, closeby shrubs. Scaring off some of the local wildlife—squirrels, butterflies, beetles—through his clumsy display, incurring the wrath of others.

"khraaaah-khraaaah"

It was odd. Unlike the possible bird-like squabbles from before, this was different. It sounded... natural.

The source suddenly flutters on by— to the surprise of Hugh. Taken off-guard, he cannot resist but to take notice. Caws of this woodpecker are equally as painful as their bills. He covers his ears, yet much to his disadvantage. The woodpecker had other plans. Peck, peck, peck; it's beak gnaws at bits of fluff from the hiker's puffy coat in-between each caw. Hugh dashes towards the quickest route out of the busy foliage, swiping wildly to shoo away his incurred attackers— from sky and land.

      Through mountainous muck and blinding greens, the hiker endures into a sight thought unseen. Managing to make it out of the deeper webbing of the woodland's foliage, Hugh finds himself having stumbled into a clearing. He rubs his eyes, and rubs them again. Hugh doesn't believe it. There, sat at the precipice of his feet, lies a dirt path once again. Was this what good luck looks like? Had it finally turned around for him after all this time? He, befuddled by the coincidence called luck, brushes it off as to not waste this good fortune.

Inching the trail gear back up higher onto his scrawny shoulders, Hugh begins to follow the sole path in front of him. The timid breeze, enticing for the inexperienced hiker, welcomes Hugh deeper into a tour of it's natural beauty. The ground is soft. Soft, as if it was freshly dug up or spread around. Fluffy, by the lack of resistance to his every step. Was this man-made? Is it a new trail?

Regardless, it is a nice change from the rough, uneven ground that mountainous terrain is known for. This gave Hugh a pleasant reprieve for his sore feet. Days spent hiking and sweating away frets long clung on. Now, mellowing into the comfortable soil below. The surrounding agriculture, spread out from the path, couldn't be any more picturesque than these freshly, sun-soaked sequoia trees lining the way. And, best of all, the local wildlife stopped nagging at his ears and nudging his sore body. Truly, it was good day to have woken up early.

Deeper into the trail he goes. Deeper and deeper; the soft comforts grow to blanket out the light. More and more; the pleasantries contort inside the hiker's mind. None of the new kindnesses have changed, and, yet, the attitude behind them morphs. The sun-soaked sequoia trees remain warmly lit, but the light's source begins to make less and less sense. The soft dirt kicks like sand native to the beaches of the pacific from his childhood. Something should be alarming within his brain right about now. Yet, the 'Itch' is nowhere to be found.

The 'Itch'. An old, familiar haunt to poor, weathered Hugh. The symptom that has gnawed on his mind from time to time since adolescence. What started out as the occasional ticker of danger and uncomfortable moments eventually became the navigator for such nasties. An acquired urge that had developed from decisions of his darker days. And, yet, it lies dormant now.

     The depths of the mysterious trail tread further into the forest's dim denizens. Shrouds of mountainous mist swirl between the chilly, dimming trees as the soft trail ground tappers off into grassier soil before it's sudden end. Hugh's lifeline expires, not at the park's official route down the mountain but, at the embrace of the forest's maw. Painted by shades of midnight blue and nefarious black, the spaced forest seemed to be stuck at a time of never-ending night. The whistles of the wild having ceased, the wind plugged at it's source; even nature seems to have abandoned this part of the national park's forest.

     He looks back and forth. Frantic, the confusion battles his logic. There has to be a reason behind this change.

Behind him is dark. In front of him is midnight blue. The artificial night has come to surround him. The quiet is louder than ever. Nature's silence is as deafening as it is illogical.

"Wait, I just watched the sun rise. Where did the sun go?"

Hugh vocalizes it into the deaf denizen— if only to calm himself from it. He expected nothing back. He need nothing back but an exit from it. He was trembling. Although—in the back of his mind—he knew this felt better than that 'Itch'. It was then he learned; he was not alone.

*Khraaah-Khraaah*

There he heard a familiar caw. Behind him, past the bushes, the sound emitted. The sound of nature had returned, but this sole sound did not bring comfort. It wasn't soothing as the one that pecked him before. It was familiar to the first caw. Something bassier. Something—

*Khraaah-Khraaag*

Hugh slips on through the bush's blue-tinted leaves, tip-toeing slowly with each passing step. The caws slurred. The closer he got, the less bird-like they felt. Still, they were unmistakably caws all the same.