Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 4 | Auribus Teneo Lupum (FR)

ROOTS - 3: In the trees he was free, in the trees he could breathe.

ROOTS - 4

Follin was never a fan of heights, but nonetheless, he found himself surrounded on all sides by bark and branches, concealing every bit of the sky from him, but leaving the ground all too open to his sights. He refused to look down. Climbing the tree in the first place had been a dumb idea, but in his panic from hearing voices and twigs snapping underfoot, it'd been his first plan and he'd ascended until he was positive the group below had passed.

He was afraid of heights, yes, but he was more afraid of getting a sword to the eyeball, so he figured his actions hadn't been too irrational. The rushing blood in his veins told him otherwise, but he barely listened to what his body told him. His mind had much better ideas - like continuing to run from carnivorous man-eating squirrels instead of taking a break because his legs hurt. Poor him, he'd have to get over it. Stupid self. It always complains. At that moment a stinging sensation arose in his palms, scratches of all kinds throwing pain against his skin. He flinched and offered more scornful thoughts, all too annoyed with what his body chose to tell him. Like I don't already know my hands are all cut up.

And so he worked his way down, placing down one burning hand after the other, cringing and wincing the whole way. The bark scraped his cuts, and fresh blood was left behind on the rough wood, not much, but enough to be visible. Every time he placed his foot down his breath would hitch in his throat and he'd start kicking around for footing with a desperate sort of eagerness. His panic would settle whenever he found a steady branch, but the beating of his heart only picked up, his chest only ached with relief.

He was wondering how he'd managed to climb up the whole way without falling when he heard a faint humming, like the hum of malfunctioning machinery. It hitched and faded, ebbed and flowed, but the sound always came back. As he continued to journey down the tree, the noises only got louder, and soon he was forced to break his own rule of looking down. Just as his vision was focusing in on a large lump below, he caught a flash of bright yellow and deep black. He thought he saw a golden figure eight, but he wasn't certain. Still, he wasn't dumb. He could put two and two together - those things below were Tracker Jackers, and there was no way in hell that he'd get any closer to those than he already was.

Nope, nope, not doing it, not doing it, no siree. I'll take the long way, forget this. He flicked his gaze to the side, searching for a nearby branch to hop onto so he could make his descent on the opposing side of the tree. And it was a thick tree, so he didn't have to fear one of those wasp-things coming and stabbing him unless they were getting a little too comfortable drifting away from their hives. If Follin had been born a wasp, he was sure he'd never leave the nest till he had to. Or is that birds? Nests...does that work for bugs too?

In the midst of his thoughts, he failed to make sure his foot was secured on a branch. The edge of his boot teetered just the smallest bit off target, and once he lowered the rest of his body he heard the scraping of his shoe against bark and then the sensation of falling filled his gut, weighed him down further. He became an anchor shooting between branches and tufts of green. His arms thwacked the twisted fingers reaching for him and their nails pinched into him as he slipped through their palms. Immediately, he sucked in a deep breath of air only to have it stolen by his own panicked state of vertigo. Where was up and where was down? Left, right? He wouldn't know until he hit the ground, and even then he wouldn't know because he'd be, y'know, dead.

"No," he breathed. It was a single word, but it conveyed everything that swirled around his brain.

He still wanted to show the others his walk on the bridge.