The Great Forest

This One November Night

The weeks that followed since William was captured (as he phrases it) rolled by in a daze. The days grew shorter, the nights colder, and the trees lost their brightly colored leaves. Deep melodious howls could be heard from the Forest at night, coming from creatures unidentified to the people of Dolorville. The harvest had been less than plentiful, with great portions of farmland destroyed from Summer's frequent attacks. The winter to come was going to be difficult; many would be hungry, many remained homeless, and there was little assistance coming from the better parts of the country. Death, William knew, would have a greater presence this winter than any winter Dolorville had seen in many years.

Day by day, night by night, chore by chore William felt Timor's presence. He felt the dragon probe his senses with curiosity. Everyone William spoke to, everyone he saw, everyone he felt Timor heard, saw, and felt also. There never was a time William could truly be alone. As the season advanced, William slowly retracted from those close to him, much to everyone's displeasure. He didn't want Timor knowing more than needed. Even at work helping his father, he did his best to avoid any contact. His mother grew worried, but chalked it up to the same stress everyone else was feeling. Mikail seemed not to notice, since he spent all his free time in the Chapel, and Sabrin was busy swooning over the shoemaker's son. Adeline and Arthur, however, took notice. They would often surprise William as he walked through town, jumping from behind corners. He loved them dearly and with hugs sent them home, telling them not to worry mother so much. What pained him more, what he despised himself for lacking the courage to do, was part from Jenny Anne. The more he tried to distance himself from her, the more he found himself missing her. Every time he saw her in the street he would look down, hoping she wouldn't notice him. When she passed he would look back, noticing the sun in her hair, the way her dress flows as she walks, how her shoulders were perfectly aligned. He would get an impulse telling him to run and grab her hand, just so she would turn and he could see her eyes. Perhaps what hurt the most was how little she seemed to notice he was distanced. Timor, in these moments, would speak to William. 

These emotions you feel are very foreign to me. I cannot comprehend them, and it unsettles me. Humans are queer creatures.

Oh, save your comments. You're the reason it has to be this way.

Am I? 

Yes! I hate you, I hate the fact I can no longer have myself to myself. I've become a slave!

A slave? It seems humans are over dramatic, too.

I don't trust you. I'm doing what I can to keep you as far away from those I love as I can.

You go to unnecessary ends to keep your love safe. I will tell you, I will not do to them what I do to you. You have my word.

... I do?

Yes.

William felt conflicted. Could he trust Timor?

You do trust me, otherwise you would not have told me your concerns. This bond we share, though forced, creates trust. You hate me, I know, but I have grown fond of you. The life of a human is quite entertaining to an old dragon like me.

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One night in early November, William awoke to a peculiar feeling. He lay still, eyes wide in the full moon twilight. He immediately knew what was wrong; Timor's presence was nowhere to be found. He couldn't feel the dragon's presence at all. Instead of feeling relief, he felt alarm. Why had the dragon chosen to leave William's mind? Did he see everything he wanted? Was he coming back, or was he gone for good? Could he be in someone else's mind? Was he planning something?

William's thoughts continued to race, thinking of every possibility as to why Timor had left. The situation was too suspicious. He got out of bed and began pacing his bedroom. He tried to focus on the empty whole left in his consciousness left by Timor, hoping to find answers. He put his palms to his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. A headache began to form, but he ignored it. As he extended his mind, to no avail, he felt something warm touch his elbow. He jumped as a small gasp escaped him. He looked down to see little Adeline, eyes surprised by William's reaction, her wool blanket wrapped around her, looking up at William with an expression that, for a moment, looked foreign. Her eyes revealed the mind of a child whose focus was only play, play to keep the fear away. A smile crept to William's faces as he saw her eyes, for they comforted him, and as he sat down on the bed, began to cry. He didn't know why he was crying, only that it wouldn't stop. Adeline rushed to hug him, and for a while they sat there in silence as he cried. After William had settled down, she asked, "Why do you cry?" He answered, "If I knew I would say, but I feel there is not one reason but many, too many, to name." Perplexed she asked, "Are you afraid like Mama and Papa? Are you afraid like the townspeople, and the Priest?" William thought about her question, and found it difficult to answer. "Yes, I am afraid, many people are. But I do not fear like Mama or Papa, or like the townspeople and the Priest. I do not fear the Forest. I fear... I guess... I fear Fear itself. Does that make sense?" Adeline nodded her head. 

Some time had passed before William put Adeline to bed. They had sat together, William comforted in his sister's company, Adeline falling asleep on his shoulder. The bright November moon carefully watching the pair kept a blanket of light and comfort over the small house on the hill. Only if for a night, William felt safe. He lay in bed, and for the first time in months, slept restfully. God would grant him this one night, this one November night, a chance to truly dream before the trials of hardship truly began.