Alone In The Dark

Hush

I crest a grassy hill and see houses draped in cobwebs; there's mildew interlaced in the cobblestone pathways, rotfolk and rotwood and things that reek of flesh. My eyebrows knit against the setting sun. Night is fast approaching, and my sword is worn from usage. 

--

There's a building ahead with storefront windows. Sunlight glints off the glass on the floor, and I wonder who broke through before me. 

I slip down the basement ladder. I'm better equipped to deal with cave-dwellers than the winged nightmares of the surface. The basement holds cobwebs, chests, and dust. My pack holds torches, food, and weapons. An arrow whistles past my shoulder. I step back, sword in hand, dodging by reflex. My pack slips off. I charge.
.

.

.  My father was amazed at life's careful rebuilding. Old bones, for example, stitched back up in vines. Half-moss bows with an altered aim. The silent reclaiming when humans lost sight. The healing of broken parts.. .

My breath catches at the thought of him. I gather arrows and vine-covered bones, ignoring new cuts and bruises. 

Fresh firelight crackles, consuming the sparks. The bones, I've cast to the side, but the arrowheads are useful already. I peel off vines and sticky moss-roots. They'll make for excellent patches and twine. 

It isn't unlike me to sleep on the ground, but I wouldn't mind a bed. I climb back up the ladder, but night has fallen early. A drowsy drop of my eyelids confirms it. 

My thoughts drift towards the morning, but with all this firelight, I have lots of time. The drag of my feet disagrees with me, as does the weight of my pack. Alright. Just a few hours, I think. But the hours slip by like a silent river, crashing over each other in glee. 

. . . 

Something is different. I notice, though my eyes are still closed, and nearly curse the wasted morning. Things smell sharper, clearer. Perhaps it's the lack of smoke. 

I almost pull myself up; sleep waves under my nose like a sweet. My eyes still haven't opened. My arms are heavy from the fight, but there is a day ahead to prepare for, and I've gotten plenty enough sleep to recover. 

Charred embers sift in the dirt. For now, I use what's left of the light to scout the rest of the room. Two tunnels lead off in different directions, the eastern one barred with fresh-cut wood. Courtesy of the first wanderer. 

Two options. Follow the wanderer, or forge a path of my own; up there. I had a direction before this, I think... Resources line the plains in greater abundance, but perhaps my chances are better underground. Different materials, those I'm unfamiliar with. People I've yet to meet. Other wanderers.

My footsteps soon echo on hard-packed dirt. These paths have been here a good, long while. Perhaps the tunnel will lead somewhere that time has long abandoned. The forest and I can reclaim it together.

Unless the wanderer waits there. 
I trip over a pebble. 

Wishing and wondering are a balancing act. One is far more pleasant.

Stars scale the walls and glow upon the ceiling. Smoke curls into night's brave clouds. Torches become houses' lanterns, a village. I craft stories of the vague, a great cavernous abyss. It separates lands like a river. Villagers question it night after night, but choose to forget in the morning. Echoes of my travel fade into dreams, into nightmares for those I've created. Their fables will be smaller, for those of their tongue. Onward, into oblivion. 

Two dark eyes reflect in the firelight. I've stopped moving, who knows when. Getting lost isn't always the best course of action, but there's only one tunnel.