Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 4 + The Fourth Choice (NEF)

MAYBE, MAYBE NOT - 4

Reality was starting to take shape like the constellations to a boy built from old tales.

It was plain to see whenever he looked up, and he was obligated to do so, to see the brightness that gave light to where he placed his feet. Like strobelights, situated in one place, dimming and brightening when it was most convenient. Dotted belts wavered with a heat far too close, and arrows painted by white splatters trembled as if to fall. They stayed where they were.

The two of them - Nefyn and Mara - went back to the original camp in search of the two allies that'd followed them there, and though Sodi still showed signs of existing, Teara did not, and one without the other seemed pointless, a view the both of them shared. Within less than twenty-four hours, they'd gone from a cluster of five to two, and already, he'd seen the face of Dary light the sky, one of two truces he was willing to put trust in.

If Nefyn was being completely honest with himself, though, he preferred couplets to crowds.

For the moment, he was content to keep his mouth shut as the two of them shuffled through blankets of flittering green leaves, uplifted by a steady breeze as they made their way downhill. Thankfully, it wasn't steep, but more of a slow slope, one he could easily keep his bearings on. Anything else, and he feared he'd get hit with another dizzy spell - hitting your head in a tussle with Mother Nature did that sort of thing.

Only when Mara stopped in her tracks did Nefyn think to open his mouth, now dry from lack of action (in more ways than one). The tip of his trident, having been used as a walking stick, served as a beacon to his sass when it tapped the ground. "Why'd you stop, Chicken Gal?"

"I may, possibly, need to take a-"

Nefyn stopped her there. "Go do your deed, my friend. And please, spare me the details." A cough settled in his throat. "Humanly things, humanly things."

She scurried off into the vegetation, hopefully far, and Nefyn stared at his surroundings for a little while, doing nothing more than tsking to himself. This better not've been some trick to leave me. I can't do this solo, also, that's a cruel way to go about it.

A scowl almost scrunched at his nose, but something else appealed to his ears to make his expression settle almost instantly. It was wispy, and slightly shaky; a sing-song voice, clearly masculine and clearly far off. An old story came to mind then, something some confident beggar of Four once pulled him aside to tell. He'd been singing along, strumming at a ukelele while captivating every shred of Nef's attention with the bouncy warmth of his voice, one that, for some reason, let him know that every little thing was gonna be alright.

"You seem like you appreciate music," he'd said, and Nefyn, from then on, had listened to every word of his tale as though he were relaying specific facts. Though it was all fuzzy now, he remembered hearing of a piper, pied, who used his song to lure the village children away in retaliation for being cheated out on his services.

The version he was told ended two ways: they went to a wickedly beautiful paradise, where they were promised safety and happiness forever. They were told that every little thing was gonna be alright.

They were then drowned, and the story ends there.

Nefyn felt himself drawn by such a tune, and though he knew full well that it was dangerous to give into temptation, especially in an arena where the sun never shone, his feet shuffled this way and that until he found the path of the humming voice. Words were sung, never decipherable, but he continued on.

By the time he stopped, he had no conception of how many minutes had passed, only that he stood before another one of those hollowed trees that served as homes for invisible citizens of that eternal night, as Mara had come to call it.