He slowly makes his descent from the mountain. His Jack Russel terrier is just a few yards ahead, his scraggly chestnut and cream hair shimmies in the late autumn breeze, but it doesn't bother him. The air grows colder as the night draws nearer and nearer and the Hiker knows he must make it to his car before the sun kisses the edge of the sky.
He didn't put much thought into his hike today. He simply found a map and was on his way. A bag in tow with two bottles of water slung over his shoulders, hiking boots, khaki pants, a simple long sleeve shirt and a brown vest holding a few things; a pocket knife, his phone, and a small ziplock bag filled halfway with peanuts (the only thing he could find in his kitchen cabinet that morning). Other than that it was a simple morning. He kissed his wife and was off.
He reached the summit around lunchtime after starting around ten that morning. He spent an hour or two admiring the view of the lakes painted with clouds of white sails surfing across the still surface in the distance, followed by the mountains of the notch skimming the horizon.
Pudge, his Jack Russel hops like a mountain goat over rocks of granite and mica, and he smiles, happy he has brought him along. Not many days does he ever leave him home. As they descend the mountain now, he realizes it is taking more time to get down than he originally planned. Soon after this realization, he no longer sees the trail markers. Or the trail.
He stops to gather his surroundings, Pudge running in circles, tongue hanging out of his mouth lapping around as he pants with excitement. The Hiker takes a look at his watch for an idea of how much time he has left before the stars take their place in the sky.
"Thirty minutes Pudge," he says to the small hound. He removes the baseball cap he has had since high school, tearing and splitting, and he runs his fingers through his sweat filled shaggy hair. He spins around a few times, configuring the way he came from and where he should try going next. "Come on, think now," he tells himself tapping his foot against a root that cascades down the small steep slope of dirt beside him.
"Do you think he's lost?" Claude asks through his cracked lips, ensuring he is quiet enough only for them to hear. Grover shakes his head no.
"Can't be," he explains. "He's obviously a wanderer," he says curling his toes into the dirt, pointing a long slender rooted finger in the direction of the hiker.
"Of course, of course," Claude replies, shaking his entanglement of branches on his head. "But if he were lost," he says trailing off, regretting he said anything at all. Too curious. Always told by Grover that he is too curious but he can't help it. He is so intrigued by the beings...
"He isn't," Grover snaps. "You watch, he'll find his way down,"
The hiker struggles. The tree men watching as he walks in circles and circles even after the tangerine sunset subsides.
"Oh... Oh, I told you," Claude says with a condescending tone. That of a child speaking to his friend who has broken a rule in a kindergarten class.
"And I told you to watch," the elder tree informs the youth beside him. Claude slips his shoulders and crosses his arms in an entanglement of roots. Eyebrows of plush moss directed downward in frustration. He would love to be able to speak to a being.
The night grows older and the hiker has finally decided to give in. Pudge close to his side as they wander aimlessly through the forest. He will find a place to camp and in the morning will continue on. He just hopes it won't get too cold tonight. His phone hasn't had service since the start of this journey and he doesn't expect it to gain any soon. So instead of hoping for something he'll never have, he finds himself a small den situated beneath a large hundred-year-old pine, woven into a small pocket above the soil. He curls up into a small ball at the back, Pudge close beside him in attempts to keep him warm. His breath like dragon fire seen in the air, body trembling uncontrollably.
