Silver Sight (Completed)

Prologue

Two gunshots echo in the silent night, and the forest stops to listen. Replays the sounds, slower. Deciphering. Deciding.

First gunshot for the dog, mid lunge for the throat.

Second gunshot for the boy, mid swing, trying to save the other half of his heart and soul.

The forest listens.

It counts each stroke of the spade as it cuts into its virgin earth. Winces as the vile darkness is emptied into the hole. Watches with its wide starry eyes as its scars are covered up hiding all trace of the waste hidden beneath. The excess of evil, the by-product. It didn't ask for this grave, for the darkness that seeps out of it. The forest knows it's sorry for tainting the hallowed ground it's been placed in.

The forest watches.

As large tawny forest owl perches on the boy's chest, the breathing ragged and slowing. It is with mercy that the Owl plucks the memories from him. To give him a chance at a peaceful afterlife. One where pain and betrayal won't cut so deep. Taking away the boy's only reason to live.

The forest listens.

To the limping ragged cries of a dog, forcing his way through the forest to find her. His lifeblood seeps out of him but he presses onward. He ignores the scent of his own blood and follows a scent he memorized in his youth, the scent of warm unconditional love, of cinnamon cookies and summer breeze forever trapped in long black hair.

It is a hard trail he'll have to walk and the forest eases some of its harshness for him. The stream, usually cold at this time warms around his sore pads. Moss grows on otherwise slippery rocks as he passes. The dead leaves turn green under him to soften his steps, twigs, and low lying branches bow away from him in this regal procession.

He reaches her, and the forest seems to hold its breath, watching as he painfully uncovers the scars freshly cut into the forest's skin until he finds her. Pale green eyes open wide as if in shock, staring up at the black starry sky. A pale face, devoid of all life, contrasted against the dark red spattering down her chest and neck. With this done he throws his head back to the sky and howls with all the desperate pain he can muster. Regret for not making it in time, regret for failing her, regret for surviving when she didn't. When there was nothing left to cry about he lay himself down to the dirt to die.

And the forest comes alive.

Not with a cacophony of sound or light. But instead in the way wind breaths through the trees. Fireflies light up the air bringing the stars from the heavens down to the world below. With them comes the whole expanse of space above them and their moment stills in time. The fireflies twinkle above the little clearing and to them comes the guardians.

Baron Bear whose hide is littered with arrows. Protector of the mountain border and bringer of spring. Who would sleep all year since the rival forest has long since fallen silent and the need for protection from them ceased to exist if he did not need to bring spring to the remaining tribe under their watchful care.

The Duke of Deer, who made sure that no one under their branches went hungry. Who carried every type of seed upon his antlers, who communed with trees and kept a watchful eye over his herd.

The Earl of Eagles, keeper of the weather. Who kept the winds in check for his fellow avian friends. Who saw to it that the rains were plentiful in times of need and kept the heat contained to the meadow and away from the mountain or the town.

Beautiful Mystic Mountain Lion. Who, if you could catch or convince not to eat you, would give you a prophecy of either great triumph or tragedy with ten seconds to run in case her hungry stomach changed her mind about turning you into the next meal.