theoreticalsmatt

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn 14

The dwarves whooped and hollered as they crashed through the forest. Each footfall trampled flowers and grasses into the ground, disturbing the stillness of the soil and the quiet of the woods.

“Get’em, boys!” cried a dwarf near the back. “He can’t keep runnin’ all day!”

A few of them grunted in agreement as they ran. An approaching bramble caused the posse to take a sharp turn to the right, and the lead dwarf promptly ran into a fallen log. The following two tumbled into him, and the final three slid on the leaves behind them. The grumbling pile was short-lived, however, and they soon were back on their feet, ignoring the log and feeling just as energetic as before. It was as if a silent, collective agreement had been made in the collision to leave the incident out of any campfire stories when they returned home.

The lead dwarf ran faster than the pack, as he was just a bit taller. He proudly hopped over branches and bushes, slashing the bark of the trees as he went, both to mark a trail and just out of overexcitement. This day, this hunt, would be momentous for their people. It was the first step to peace and stability in their land. Generations had fallen short, but there would be victory this time around.

The victory in question took the form of a small Ent child running for his life. His roots were not deep for his age, and he had taken the opportunity that morning to explore the forest south of his home. Many adventures were had that morning, including some flowers he had never seen before, a remarkably clear brook, and a rather obstinate boar that had refused to give him any directions.

But these men were much scarier than the boar. He didn’t know why they were chasing him, but it was clear that whatever game they were playing was not for him to win. The child kept maneuvering around bends, back-and-forth across the brook, trying desperately to outwit the stubby legs of the dwarves. It wasn’t enough. Quickly doubling back around a large boulder, the Ent ran straight into the iron buckle on the leader’s waist. Before he could get up, and two others with a sack jumped from the top of the boulder, enveloping him in darkness as they pulled the drawstring tight.

Cheers and huzzahs erupted from the pack as they clasped forearms and bumped bellies. Their hunt was complete. “Let’s make camp,” said the leader, settling down their boisterous celebration. “Stumps, see if you can get that boar you saw. Tonight, we feast!!” Another roar exploded through the forest as a particularly short dwarf grabbed two spears off his back, let out a squeal, and bounded off into the forest.

The next hour or so was spent hacking away at branches for firewood, setting tent stakes into the ground and trees, and arguing over who was supposed to bring certain cooking supplies. A couple brawls and a few swigs of ale later, the camp was set. The fire crackled and hissed as the green in the wood sent smoke spiraling into the sky. The site was quiet with sounds of chomping, grunting, and the occasional belch as the dwarves tore into the pig’s flesh.

No sound or movement came from the sack as the child sat in darkness. A few missed stitches in the bag allowed hardly any vision of the dwarves—just their shadows silently dancing on the face of a nearby boulder. He slowly laid down, careful not to show any obvious rustling of his leaves against the bag. Why had he wandered so far? Shallow roots were something he was proud of yesterday as he darted around the woods of his home, much faster than the trees that had sat in the same patch of dirt for decades. But his speed was no match for true legs. If only he could be as immovable as his elders…

A twig snapped. The child froze, hoping the dwarves didn’t think it was him. He listened for their reaction as they stopped chewing and burping. A few moments passed without another sound. Not even the crickets were playing their songs, adding to the thick silence. Finally, the leader grumbled through a mouthful, “Filligan, go make sure that’s nothing.” An audible swallow came from Filligan, either due to his nerves or his food as he picked up his bow. The wooden frame gently scraped across the log he was sitting on, echoing through the darkness.

The child strained to listen to the footsteps as the dwarf ventured further and further into the forest, until he could no longer hear the leaves crunch underneath him. A distant scream suddenly punctured the silence, but was cut off with what sounded like a large whip cracking only once, bringing back the now-eerie quiet.

All the dwarves scrambled to their feet, grabbing various weapons and circling up with their backs to the fire. One dwarf lifted the bag and threw it on his back in one fell swoop. No one dared move, much less breathe, until they knew what terror they faced.

A low, muffled rumbling began to rise around them. The dirt appeared to shift under their feet, pulsating with unnatural life. One dwarf began to whimper, and another gasped. Snakes seemed to swim under the soil, swirling around them as a predator does around its prey. Stumps let out half a shriek as one of the snakes slid over his big toe. The dwarf beside him reacted, promptly stabbing his spear into Stumps’ foot, allowing him to complete the final half of his shriek.

This kicked off all the mayhem the pack had been so bravely holding in. Their formation broke as they began hopping, dancing, and poking at the dirt-snakes. All manner of curses and screams left their mouths, pure terror taking hold of every dwarf.

The child bounced around in his bag as his captor tried jumping atop various camping gear in an effort to escape. Through the stitches, the child pressed his eyes as far as he could, trying to make out the situation. As the dirt slithered directly underneath, a flash of hope swelled within him… roots. He had been found!

The Ents, though slowly, had tracked down the dwarves through the forest and were now their source of fear, wriggling their roots through the ground in a show of incredible horror. But this bullying was purely a distraction from the real threat—a mass of roots forming under the boulder next to the camp, preparing to roll the dwarves flat. As a sapling, the child would easily survive, so there was no need to get him beforehand. The roots slowly, carefully pushed as the dwarves continued hopping and climbing, each one wholly focused on the ground beneath them.

…Except for one. The lead dwarf, in a moment of complete coincidence, noticed his own shadow from the corner of his eye. For the tiniest second, the shadow seemed to grow smaller, moving in a way that did not mirror exactly his own body. Every instinct within him raced for his mouth, and he bellowed with every muscle in his throat: “RUN!”

The dwarves scattered, grateful for the direction. The boulder rolled over the site, putting out the fire and smashing every bit of gear, crashing through the forest. Too late, roots began to spring out of the ground to wrap around any dwarf appendage within reach, but the pack outran the wooden tendrils. The child continued to bounce in the bag as his captor ran, losing hope with each step into the darkness.

Painting by Jean-Baptiste Monge

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn 13

Golden rays of morning bathed the great trunks of the forest, not yet reaching the ground. Birds began flitting about, searching for their first berry or worm. One such worm was unconcerned, or unaware, as he softly crunched a fern leaf. Cycles of life and death did not remain in his small mind. The bliss of this fern was far too magnified to leave room for any wary thoughts.

As he continued to crunch, another worm sidled up to him, also partaking in the plant. Territorial instincts began to bubble up. The tweeting of the birds seemed to halt. Of course, the idea that a worm could eat an entire forest fern by themselves was ridiculous, but worms are just as prone to ideas as forest ferns. He turned to face his competitor only to find… a she-worm.

An important crossroads now occupied his brain: eat or mate? Mating season was never long, and was even shorter when surrounded by predators. He looked around; no predator in sight. Still, the chance of meeting another she-worm atop his fern may not be large. Maybe, just maybe… they could both eat the fern.

Splash! A raindrop struck the entire branch and knocked him to the ground. He struggled to turn upright and get his bearings. Pine needles… Dirt… no fern. And no she-worm. Before he could inch away to look for her, another drop hit his bed of pine needles, tossing him in the air. Another, and another smote the ground, relentlessly bouncing him farther from her. A crack of thunder sounded as lightning ripped through the now-sunless sky. The drops were getting bigger, faster, flooding the forest floor. He tried with all his might to hang onto something, anything--a twig, a pebble, a maple leaf--but mud and water swept him away.

He tumbled through the dark river, completely disoriented. Light flashed over and over as he turned. There was nothing to grab except the worm’s own will to survive, yet the current kept a tight grip on him. No amount of instinct had prepared him for such disaster. Friend, foe, and fern were all suffering at the hands of the storm.

Until… everything slowed. The chaos of the cascade now softly babbled. A leaf lazily floated by, and he grabbed hold. The thunder was distant, almost muffled, and the raindrops softly drizzled. The worm looked up. To his surprise, or as much as he was capable of, he did not see the great blue, white, or grey typically above him. Instead was a great shield of green, the branches woven into a living dome, protecting the forest from the storm’s rage. Bright green flashes appeared through the leaves as lightning continued to wail against the barrier.

A soft creaking approached him downriver. Roots suddenly sprang forth from the mud and intertwined themselves, halting the flow of the water. The worm came to a stop at the edge of the makeshift dam, just in time to see the rest of the river draining away across the forest.

Another branch, much smaller than most, reached out towards him from above. He held fast to his leaf, waiting for the worst… but it never came. The branch slowly plucked him and his leaf from the water and lifted them high, higher than the worm had ever climbed. The river that had taken him continued to drain below, as curving and stretching in shapes as gnarled as the trees around him.

The branch began descending, laying him gently upon his fern. Another creak approached from behind… the she-worm! A different branch set her beside him, and slowly bent away. A much louder creak alerted the worms as the tree behind them straightened up, as though it had stiffly bent over for years. When every branch returned to its place, it became still again, posing no threat.

The same crossroads grew in his mind as the rain quietly misted the forest. Birds in the distance resumed their tweeting, and rose sunlight began to peek through the trees. Yes, their fern would make a good home.

Tranquility by Wouter Florusse

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn 12

No one in the Undus’ village knew why the spirits had chosen their people. But no one was complaining either. The spirits of the rivers, creeks, oceans, and the like were mysterious. Unique. Their origin was unknown, as was their motive for choosing to dwell and care for their tribe.

Every day, without fail, fresh fish and kelp would wash ashore. There was always just enough for every villager. A few times, someone had tried to take more than their share, but the crime was typically exposed the next morning with a gentle flood invading the greedy home.

It was such a morning when Kyra awoke, the sounds of a babbling brook suspiciously getting closer to her bedside. She rubbed her eyes open to look over the edge of her bed and was met with small, seafoam bubbles swirling lazily on her floor. She huffed, pulling her feet out of bed and into the shallow water below. “Kip!” she shouted. Her littlest brother was very much still learning the synergy of the spirits, and had stolen food for a few days now. Mother called it a phase, Father called it a lesson, but Kyra called it a lack of discipline.

“Oh, come on!” a voice from another room called out in frustration. “Again?” Kleman tiptoed out into the main room, his pants soaked. He looked up at Kyra, defeated. “I left my leatherwork out on the floor last night.”

Kyra shrugged. “Should’ve put it away like Mother asked.”

“I know, I know,” he protested, slumping back into his room.

Father stretched as he entered the room, seemingly oblivious to his flooded home. “Morning, honey! You ready for the--”

“Father, where’s the idiot?” Kyra snipped.

A sigh from Kleman’s room betrayed his self-disappointment. “I’m here,” he muttered.

Kyra rolled her eyes. “Surprisingly enough, I’m not talking about you this time.” She crossed her arms and looked back at Father. “Where’s Kip?”

His big shoulders rolled up and down. “I’m sure he’s off with his friends or something. He likes his trips, you know!” He chuckled at nothing in particular. Kyra often wondered if good-natured kindness took the place of common sense.

“Yeah, I know,” she spat. She turned on her heel to make her exit, and promptly slipped and fell on a piece of kelp.

Father burst out in laughter, reaching to take her hand to help her back up. “Careful, I think the floor’s wet!” His laugh rang out again, cascading through the walls of their home. “Kyra, when you find your brother, do your mother and I a favor and be gracious to him. If the river spirits thought this was more serious than it was, I’m sure they’d let him know.”

Kyra nodded outwardly, but had already made up her mind. She marched out the door, as carefully as she could manage, and began searching for Kip.

She walked down the street, watching the villagers get ready for their respective days. Some were setting up canvases to paint. A couple boys across the way were halfway done carving a canoe. One girl was sitting in front of her house, making dolls out of dried kelp, fish bones, and wood shavings. Because everyone’s food was taken care of each day, the people were often free to explore any interest that fancied them. Kleman’s leatherworking was coming along, and Kyra herself had taken to making her own shoes out of the leather. Kip’s creative interest was apparently stealing food from the village.

She turned a corner on the street to the older part of the village. Elders often sat outside here to talk or observe their growing society, so if Kip had come through, he might’ve been seen by someone. Kyra was looking for her first witness when she spotted Kip at the other end of the street, running full speed around the corner. “Oh no you don’t!” she said to herself, sprinting after him. Her bare feet slapped against the trodden dirt. She should have grabbed her newest shoes before heading out.

As Kyra rounded the corner, what she saw caused her to stop in her tracks. Kip, a few houses down, was knocking on an elder’s door. An old woman answered with open arms, cooing over Kip like he was her own child. He turned over his satchel, and a few wrapped fish fell out of it into the elder’s hands. She appeared to thank him profusely, and Kip responded with a simple, solemn nod. The door closed, Kip turned, and locked eyes with his sister. His jaw dropped as he froze in place. Kyra just shook her head and motioned for him to come with her. His face dropped as he trudged, his shoulders practically dragging the ground from slumping so much.

The duo started walking home together, at first in silence. Kyra finally couldn’t stand it any longer. “So… you’re not stealing.”

Kip nodded. “Her sons are on a hunting trip, and she can’t walk to the river by herself. So I bring her fish, and I try to get extra so I don’t have to do it every day, but…” he trailed off.

“But the spirits didn’t think that was a great idea, did they?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know what they think.”

Kyra paused. It was true, communication with the spirits was sketchy at best. But the justice they implemented in their village was clearly flawed. Were they against helping others? Did they want to be the sole provider for everyone in the village?

She decided to put away the thought for now. The mystery could be solved by someone else today. “How about… instead of flooding our house every day, I come help you get her portion in the morning?”

Kip’s eyes lit up. “It can be our secret mission!”

Kyra laughed. “Yes, it can be--wait, is this why you didn’t tell any of us what you were doing? Because it’s a secret mission?”

He was practically skipping down the road now. “Yep! We can be like spies!”

Kyra shook her head, smiling. Being spies with her brother would be fine.

View of a Village Along a River - Jan Brueghel

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn - 11

Bay awoke with a start. Every muscle jerked at once as if trying to break free from his body. Everything was dark, and his clothes were soaked. Bay shivered as he looked around, searching for just a pinprick of light. Nothing. He waved his hand in front of his face. Still nothing. Bay pulled his knees close to his chest, partly for warmth, and partly for security. He couldn’t remember how he got there or how long it had been since he arrived. He definitely wasn’t sure where “here” was. Rolling over to his side, his face hit the damp, stone floor when he felt something. A blindfold? His fingers grazing the cloth over his eyes confirmed it.

“He’s awake!” A gruff voice yanked Bay from the thrill of his discovery. He desperately started pulling at the blindfold, trying to get any kind of bearing on his situation, when he heard a door swing into the wall. Footsteps shuffled over the stone as rough hands hoisted him by the armpits and dragged him across the floor. A final heave threw Bay into a chair, and the blindfold was ripped from his face.

The torches surrounding Bay nearly re-blinded him as his eyes adjusted. A mob of dwarves filled the cramped, windowless room, each looking down on him with violent disgust. The dancing flames of the torches created dancing shadows that emphasized the angry expressions of everyone in the room. The whole crowd seemed to be pulsing with anger, rising and falling like a single lung, as if their hatred for him was the air they breathed. What did I do?

Finally, one of them spoke up. “You’re under suspicion of treason, y’know!” he spat. “And if it were up to me, there’d be no suspicion at all!” A variety of agreeing grunts rose from the mob.

Another shook his head. “That a boy would go against his king, much less his own uncle, is shameful. They’ll string you up for it! You’ll hang!” The mob roared in concurrence, seemingly excited by the prospect of a public hanging.

Bay was frozen. The sheer anger of his fellow dwarves was frightening, but the accusations being brought against him were terrifying. Dwarves had no tolerance for anything less than blind loyalty to the death.  “What did I do?” he whispered hoarsely. “What did I do?”

A dwarf to his left spit on him. Bay felt the wetness drip down his neck. The culprit got in close, his bulbous nose nearly touching Bay’s. “It’s what you’re not gonna do. Ever. Again,” he seethed. He backed up and stood to his full height, which was only half a head above the others, but felt like miles to Bay. “The future of our kingdom depends on everyone, and ain’t no one gonna compromise that.” The dwarf sneered. “In fact, we’ll hand you over to the elves right now if we feel like you might do somethin’. They know how to cover tracks.” He got in close again, smiling. “It’ll be like you never existed.”

The shadows in the room grew longer, towering over Bay. The mob began to chant together, “Hang! Hang! Hang!” More dwarves appeared, and they began climbing over one another, stretching out their grimy fingers to grab him. Bay scooted back, falling out of the chair into the arms of other dwarves. They started ripping apart his clothes, using the strips to bind him. Bay began to scream, but was quickly cut off by a gag made from his sleeve.

All at once, the door burst open and flooded the room with light. The dwarves shrieked, dropping Bay to the floor. A tall, thin figure swiftly scooped him up and ran out of the room towards the light. The dwarves chanting disappeared, along with the stone walls and ceiling.

“Bay?”

The bindings seemed to dissolve, clothing him again.

“Bay?”

He got out of his rescuer’s arms and began running, eager to be far away from his people.

“Bay!”

Bay awoke with a start. Every muscle jerked… no, he was being shaken. He opened his eyes to see Cedric above him. What? He looked around, seeing the morning forest. Rays of the sunrise caused dewdrops to sparkle. Birds quietly chirped in the distance. Underneath him, the ferns and heather he had gathered last night were scattered about the forest floor. Bay looked back at Cedric, still piecing together his bearings.

Cedric laughed. “You’re a pretty rough sleeper. I’ll have to show you how to make a proper mattress so you don’t have to clean this up every morning.” He got up from Bay’s makeshift bedside, adjusting the knife on his belt. “Come on, we need to check the traps. It’s your turn to make breakfast.”

“Huh? Right, yeah, just a minute.” Bay grabbed his bag and knife, taking one more moment to look around the forest. The open spaces were a breath of fresh air. He didn’t know if the nightmares would ever stop. But he was grateful for his new reality.

Prison Cell - Ferdinand Ladera

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn 10

Fya instantly began coughing and sputtering, along with Benji. The flames were slowly climbing up their tree, but the smoke had already made it far past the top. It began to form a shroud over the woods until the sun was just a red pinprick in the sky. Howls and shrieks from the wolves below implied that their plan had worked, but at an unexpected, terrible cost. Fya grabbed Benji’s wrist. “We have to go,” she wheezed. They flew out of the tree, each violent cough adjusting their course.

The smoke gradually grew thinner as they went, and the roars of the wolves and flames were quiet in the distance. Benji still held fast to Fya’s hand, partly as a guide, and partly as an anchor. All he could do was flit his wings and keep up--the rest of him was still back in that tree. What had happened? Why had the spell gone so wrong? Why did they flee from their disaster? Benji shook his head in disgust, and pulled away from Fya.

Fya turned. “What’s going on?” she asked. “We need to go. She may not have much time left.”

Benji shook his head again. “We did something wrong, Fya. Something bad. We have to fix it.” He hovered in place, locking onto her eyes, awaiting her response.

Fya sighed. Her friend’s passion for nature--rather, her whole tribe’s passion for protecting life--could be really annoying sometimes. “They were trying to kill us!” she protested. “And we can always plant more trees. Don’t you have a spell for that?”

His unwavering gaze suddenly wavered. Benji looked down at his spellbook, still gripping it tightly from the shock of the explosion that had created this mess. “I’m not sure how much I trust it,” he murmured. “Magic… feels different now. As if I’ll do another spell, and it’ll be too strong or too weak. It’s unpredictable.” He looked up from the book. “I know we have to deliver the medicine, just promise me we’ll fix this.” Benji was pleading, his earnest only amplified by his guilt. Fya nodded.

“We’ll fix this,” she promised. “We’ll find a way. But we have to go now.”

Benji nodded in agreement and they flew towards their destination, refocused on the mission at hand. A Mother fairy, Grayn, had fallen severely ill that morning. Benji and Fya had been sent to administer medicine when they were attacked by the wolves. Grayn’s particular symptoms had not been seen in centuries, so it was cause for concern among all fairies. Her aid had exhausted herself flying from Grayn’s house at the very edge of the woods to the clinic to report it--hence, the sending of two brave volunteers.

Brave indeed, scoffed Fya. Could one bravely run from disaster? As Grayn’s house peeked in the distance, Fya tried to push her reflections aside. They had a mission to focus on.

They arrived at the house, or tree, that the Mother fairy lived in. The small meadow her house was in was calm and quiet, briefly slowing Fya’s urgency. Stained glass beads were strung from the branches, refracting dazzling colors to the ground below. Small windows peered out of knolls and knots in the tree’s trunk with black iron cross-frames on each one. The door, rounded at the top, but placed at the bottom, carried the same iron frame and hinges. The simple wood was stained with vines and flowers of many springs and summers.

Benji did not take pause in the beauty and opened the door, his feet barely touching the ground. “Mother Grayn?” he called out. “We have medicine for you!” He zipped around a corner while Fya quietly followed behind. The inside of the house was just as full of the simple beauty found outside. However she had built it, the life of the tree was still intact.

Grayn was sitting in a large chair, the cushions fluffed nearly to the point of bursting. There were sores all over her arms, a few of which had burst. But Grayn was paying no mind to them. She was silently gazing out the window, her brow furrowed with concern. Fya looked out the window and saw the plumes of smoke rising about the forest. She felt heat rising within her in a similar fashion, going from her gut to the tips of her ears and nose. Her wings buzzed, attempting to shake off the guilt momentarily.

“I suppose you’re here to help,” Grayn said softly. She looked at Benji and Fya, her eyes brimming with tears. Benji nodded, kneeling down to administer the medicine. Fya tried swallowing the knot in her throat.

“Arms out, please.” Benji carefully laid out bandages cut from leaves over the sores. Fya couldn’t remember if they were supposed to heal the sores or just offset the symptoms. She had been too excited to get out into the wild parts of the forest to listen. It seemed so long ago.

The Mother cleared her throat. Fya jerked her head up to meet Grayn’s now-squinting look. “What was your name, missy?” she spat.

Her neck and wings stiffened. “Fya,” she retorted. “And that’s Benji.” He didn’t acknowledge his introduction.

Grayn nodded. “I didn’t ask about him. I wanted to know about you.”

Fya’s nose curled up in disgust. “He’s the one helping you right now! Think you could be a little grateful?”

She let out a labored sigh. “I apologize, I just… there’s been some happenings lately. Trust is a rare resource nowadays.”

Fya was still unsatisfied. “You don’t trust us? We almost died trying to get to you!”

Grayn held up an open palm, signaling Benji to stop laying bandages. Confused, he sat back on his feet. The Mother sat up, making careful eye contact with each of them. “Never trust a survivor until you find out what they did to stay alive,” she said gravely. She gestured towards the smoke in the distance. “I don’t know what happened or what decisions you had to make, but if it came down to my life or the forest’s… there is no choice.”

It was like all the air had been pushed out of the room. Fya’s ears grew hot again. “So we should just let you die?” she shouted.

“Fya, no--” Benji started. She continued.

“We risked our lives! Halfling wolves were everywhere, we had nowhere to run, so we had to… we had to…” She couldn’t think of a reason. Did they really have to? Did it matter? Not right now, it didn’t. “We had to for you, hag! We’re here, you’re alive, and if you’re not grateful for that, I see no reason to stay.” Fya’s wings began to buzz, lifting her off the floor.

Benji tried to mend the quickly unraveling situation. “Mother Grayn, she didn’t mean that! Fya, please, I’ll need your help after--” But she was gone. Fya flitted back around the corner and flew outside. Hot tears began to streak her face as she left behind the house, the hag, the forest… and her friend.

“We had to,” she repeated to herself shakily. “We had to.”

Forest Fire - unknown artist

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn 9

Rynn gripped the edge of the wooden bucket and tried to steady her hands. Her knuckles turned white, then slowly pink again as she released. One last time. She quickly splashed the water in her face, attempting to rinse off at least some of the grime and ash. It had been caking on more and more for months, ever since the hunts began.

There was a soft knock at the door. “It’s time to go,” Father rumbled. He was always solemn, but there was a certain bleakness to him now. There was bleakness in everything. Life felt as grey as the ash on her skin.

Rynn shook her head dry and opened the door. Father was right there, and seemed startled when she appeared. A moment of pain flashed across his face as he looked at her, before quickly turning to end it. Inwardly, Rynn sighed. She knew his feelings. She looked just like Mother, a fact that was becoming more true by the day. It probably hurt Father to see any reminder of his dead wife, but also to see the reminder so gaunt and… traumatized… Rynn imagined that hurt too.

A hiss and a grunt broke Rynn out of her dwellings. She looked in the next room to see Boku wincing, thread in hand, botching the attempts at stitches in his arm. Sitting next to him, she took the needle and thread to fix him herself. “I told you I’d do this for you,” she said, on the verge of exasperation.

“I just wanted to try it myself this time,” Boku mumbled. “Do we have to use such thick thread? It doesn’t even fit in the needle.”

“It does when you have two working hands,” Rynn retorted. “The leather thread is flexible for transformations so you don’t pull your stitches every time you change.” She snipped the thread and grabbed a bandage. “Otherwise…” she trailed off. The image was too strong to even speculate.

Boku gave a knowing nod. “Otherwise, I’m just another wolf, bleeding out in the woods.”

Rynn swallowed. “Yeah.”

They sat in silence as Rynn started putting away the medical supplies. Their tribe had seen too many friends slaughtered at the hands of Halflings, including their mother. The increased activity had worried them all in the beginning, but a forest fire a few months ago had served as a catalyst to drive the Halflings to the tribe. That first night was full of screams. Rynn remembered waking up and tasting blood in the air, seeing flames ravage the house next door. The familiar shrieks had confirmed her nightmare--a nightmare that felt like had no chance of ending until today.

Father’s heavy footfalls as he emerged from the washroom only added to the dense atmosphere of the room. “One last time,” he uttered. Rynn and Boku stood to follow him out the door. They had been whittling away at the Halflings since the fire. No one had found a way to change them back, so putting them down before any other tribes did seemed best. No one took joy in it, but Father had made it his obsession. An elusive pack was deep in the now-ashen forest, and if all went well, today would be their end.

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn 8

“It really all started with your run-of-the-mill ‘wrong place, wrong time’ story. As children, all elves learn about the power of rhetoric. It shapes our culture, our relationships, our government… everything. But I saw how it was beginning to shape into a war tactic as well.

“I was in our capital building, waiting to see my father. He always had meetings and things, especially lately because Migration is so soon. I wasn’t really paying attention until I heard shouting behind the closed doors. Of course, I decided to listen. I couldn’t hear every word, but I gathered they were all frustrated with the impending Migration. My father spoke up, saying that he could reach out to the dwarves. A couple other voices threw in that they might get other civilized groups to respond as well.

“They were talking about halting the Migration. No more moving every century, no more tearing down our buildings, no more making room. They wanted to stop it, and they were weaponizing our rhetoric to do it. So many tribes would be brought to their knees without any army attacking them. Just the stubbornness of so-called ‘civilized groups.’

“While I was realizing all of that, the door opened. A Prefect on the council took me by the ear and dragged me to the center of the room, yelling at my father the whole way for raising a sneak. Father didn’t really react. He just looked down at the table in front of him, not saying anything in my defense or his. When the Prefect was finished, he looked at me and said, ‘If you utter a word of this meeting to anyone outside this room, you will be punished for treason.’ Father still didn’t say anything. Never looked up. But everyone else in the room was deadly serious. I felt, suddenly, that being the center of attention here was a very bad place to be. So I just nodded, and the guard escorted me out while the Prefect and other council members started berating my father.

“I wasn’t sure what to do for a while. Staying quiet didn’t seem right, and telling anyone else would put them in danger. Then, for a bit, it all made me angry. Why should our preferences matter more than the needs of others? Who were we to classify other tribes as ‘civilized’ or not? We were all taught as children about balance, and how we could use our words to maintain it, but everyone in that room, including my father, was throwing that lesson away completely.

“That’s when I decided to leave. I knew my father might get in trouble, but my mother and brothers would be fine. I questioned telling anyone about what I knew because I thought it might put them in danger, but I realized that if these plans succeeded, everyone would be in danger anyway.

“So I’ve been on the road ever since, warning everyone I can. Some respond politely, others also see the beginnings of imbalances in our world, and still others would agree with the obstinance of my people.”

Fya solemnly shook her head, her mind spinning. “What do you think will happen… in the end? When Migration is supposed to happen?” she asked timidly.

Cedric looked up at the sky, seeing the first few stars peeking through the thin clouds obscuring them. “If everyone proceeds the way that they’re going,” he reasoned. “Then we’re on our way to war.”

Great Hall by George Rushing

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn 7

There’s another one! Kelian squatted down to pick up the feather. It was large, and a bit heavier than the others, yet still so light that Kelian thought if he let it go, it might float up into the sun. Either way, it would do well as a centerpiece for his experiment. Kelian carefully unrolled a small mat, long but not wide, and filled to the absolute brim with other feathers. He gently placed it with its friends, and methodically rolled it back up.

Behind him, a sudden, exhausted grunt from his twin caused him to jump. Elian did not share quite the same enthusiasm for the project as his brother, but helped him all the same… somewhat. The complaining did not help anyone.

“Are you tired already?” Kelian asked sarcastically. “It’s only been an hour.”

Elian let out a sigh to show his boredom. “I still think this is an enormous waste of time. You really think more feathers is the answer? Wouldn’t you need less weight to fly?”

Kelian stood up defiantly. “More feathers create more lift… I think.”

“You think?”

“I’m still doing research!”

Elian rolled his eyes. “Can’t we just research something more possible? Like the fairy trap we wanted to make.”

Kelian shook his head and turned to walk further into the forest. “Anything can be done with enough research!” he declared. “Besides, fairies are nice. The one Cedric brought was nice, anyway.”

Elian huffed again and followed his brother. Ever since Cedric had stopped by to visit a month ago, Kelian had been obsessed with the stories of other lands--particularly the griffins. For some reason, the idea of a great Beast being able to fly around had struck a chord in him. This chord caused him to read every book on birds, griffins, fairies, and the mechanism which caused them to fly. While the elves had mastered many arts and sciences, they had only harnessed the power of the air, not mastered it. Kelian got it in his head that he would be the elf to accomplish this, no matter the cost.

As Kelian stooped to pick up another feather, Elian noticed a bruise on his leg. The doghouse wasn’t very tall, but it was ample distance for safe experimentation--”safe” being a very widely interpreted term to Kelian. Jumping off of it was considered “safe”, for example. He attempted to deter him again. “Kelian, we should try something else,” he began. “Even if more feathers help, you’re not strong enough to flap the wings. It’s just impossible for us.”

Kelian rolled up his collection mat and faced Elian, a clearly cross look on his face. “‘Impossible’ is just a word,” he threw back, turning on his heel to go find more feathers.

Elian stood, dumbfounded, and started after him. “Well, yeah, but some things are actually impossible, right?” He doubted his brother would give up at the thought of something being too difficult. Maybe utility would change his mind? “What would you even do if it worked?” he yelled after him, Kelian now getting further away. He started to jog after him. “It’s not like you have anywhere to go!”

Kelian started running, as if being farther away from the words would make them less true. A knot started forming deep in his belly. His face grew hot, and he could feel tears starting to spring up. He sniffed hard, trying to push it all down, and kept running. He noticed a small tree root in his path too late, it catching his foot completely. His head ducked straight into the ground and caused him to flop onto his back, knocking the breath out of him. For a brief moment, the irony was not lost on him. Kelian sought power over the wind, and here he was, feeling it run away from his lungs.

He heard his brother’s footsteps quickly approaching, until he saw Elian’s face over his. Two hands grabbed under his arms, pulling him up. “Hands above your head,” Elian said calmly, placing his hands there with him. “Try to breathe slowly.”

As Kelian tried to gasp, he looked around at all his feathers, spilled across the forest floor. The sunlight struck them, bringing out tones of gold in the brown ones, and sparkling silver in the grey. Then, one by one, the breeze began to pick them up, pushing them deeper into the forest, throwing them in places that would take Kelian hours to recollect. The tears began to flow freely as he regained his breath, watching his work literally be scattered to the wind. Elian slowly nodded, agreeing with the pain of a lost project.

Kelian sniffed, and tried to dry his face. “I don’t know where I would... go,” he mumbled, the ball in his throat still hanging on. “I just… I don’t know.”

Elian nodded again and sat down beside Kelian. “Cedric saw a lot of great things around the world, huh?”

Kelian snorted, a smile crossing his face. “Yeah, he did,” he whispered.

High up in the trees, the leaves began rustling as the breeze grew. One leaf detached from its branch, dancing all the way down to the ground. Elian followed the twirls and turns until it finally landed noiselessly near one of Kelian’s feathers. He grinned. “Someday, Kelian,” he said. “We’ll see everything Cedric saw. And more.”

Theros Art by Adam Paquette

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn 6

“Boku!” I shouted. The snow he flung at me stuck to my nose and fur, as if it was beginning to freeze there. I shook it off quickly, and retaliated by turning and kicking up as much snow as I could. He laughed as he dodged the barrage, scampering around, trying to stay in my blind spot. I felt a small pebble under my back paw, carefully aimed from the corner of my eye, and flung it at him. Direct hit! Boku yelped and backed up, grinning. I had my surrender.

“You’re getting better,” he panted. “But we can’t exactly hunt with rocks. Especially since the snow is covering them all up.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “I can still have fun. And I can still beat you, rocks or not.”

He squinted at me, probably wondering if I was trying to bait him. He quickly gave up. “Tomorrow,” he said as he turned to head home. “Rematch.”

I nodded, satisfied with the results, and began following him. Boku had bigger paws than me, so he always broke a path in deep snow for me to step in. I’d offered to trade before, but he usually just laughed. My paws would always be a little smaller than his, just because I was younger. I didn’t mind, though. It made it easy to follow in his footsteps.

Home wasn’t too far, but the quiet of the forest made it feel that way. Everything seems slower in winter. Snowflakes drifting through the air, birds hardly making any noise… it was eerie and beautiful. The only sound that interrupted the peace was the soft, rhythmic crunching of our pads on the forest floor. I missed feeling the pinestraw and ferns under my human feet, but I was grateful for the warmth our wolf-bodies provided.

Just past the treeline, in the distance, chimney smoke and laughter quietly rose into the sky. Our parents would be waiting, ready to ask what I had learned from Boku. I smiled to myself, tail beginning to wag, relishing the thought of seeing his face when I told Father I had beaten him today.

A branch snapped to our right. Boku and I both froze and jerked our heads toward the direction of the sound. It could just be another family back from hunting, but we were taught to always be vigilant. Another branch broke, this time behind us. A pungent stench flooded my nose. Something like musk, or old sweat. It reminded me of the time Boku refused baths for a week when we were little. He had just discovered how to transform and wanted to lick himself clean, but never did a complete job of it.

“Rynn,” Boku whispered. I turned to look at him, and saw his eyes wide, his fur standing on end. His gaze was fixed on something behind me… slowly looking back, I saw it.

A halfling.

It was a grotesque amalgamation of wolf arms, human fingers, matted fur and hair, and deformed facial features. I was both terrified and intrigued. Some in the pack had been going off on their own, and we’d heard that sometimes they… got stuck. No one knew why. All we knew was that they became dangerous, losing their mind to both bodies.

And now one was staring at us.

Instinctually, I began to growl. Boku hissed at me, and I heard his paws slowly pressing into the snow. He was backing away. I followed suit, trying my best not to growl and to maintain eye contact with the halfling. His eyes, one red and one brown, shifted between me and my brother. We kept backing up, as quietly as we could.

In the distance, at our home, a particularly loud laugh pierced the silence. The beast, as if freshly unlocked from a cage, screamed and began bounding towards us. “Rynn, get behind me! Run!” Boku yelled. I turned and ran, spraying snow everywhere as I went. We needed help from home. We needed someone bigger than us. We--

I couldn’t hear Boku’s paws. I glanced behind me just in time to see him and the halfling sizing each other up, circling each other.

I stopped in my tracks to watch. Boku, no. The beast jumped forward and swatted at him. He jumped back and ran behind, nipping at his heels. He screamed again, and swatted again, this time slamming Boku into the trunk of a tree. Boku dropped into the snow, making no attempt to get up, and the halfling stepped forward.

Everything in me went stiff. It was like the snow was holding my feet to the ground, and the cold air was blocking any air from getting in me. I couldn’t move.

A far howl ascended into the sky. The beast froze, an ear rotating to the sound. Softly, but louder and louder, pads were hitting the snow. The pack. They must have heard the halfling’s scream. They quickly came into view, zig-zagging through the trees, but making a beeline for the scene. The halfling began running, first on two legs, then using his arms. The pack quickly caught up to him and began nipping and barking at him, driving him further into the forest.

One wolf stopped at Boku, however. I ran towards them, recognizing Father as I got closer. Boku stood up when I arrived, and shook the snow from his fur all over me. He grinned mischievously as Father shook his head. “But… I thought...” I stammered.

He lifted his nose in the air proudly. “Played dead,” he declared. “He wasn’t very strong. But that was the closest I’ve ever come to a heart attack, so I probably won’t do that again.”

Father nodded in agreement. “It was the right decision today,” he rumbled. He looked out towards the chase, now far into the forest. “Those creatures should never have come this close to us. The balance has been disturbed.”

I cocked my head at him. “The balance?”

Father nodded again, solemnly this time. “This was not the only symptom. Many peoples in other lands have their own problems.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at me and Boku. “When you inherit the land, you will inherit the balance of it as well. Work to keep it in peace.”

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn 5

Cedric trekked along the path, carefully choosing each step. “Path” was a generous term. Since the only major traffic occurred once every century, the road was always overgrown soon after Migration. The grass had grown high in some places, hiding rocks or roots that tended to reach out and grab travelers. At least, that’s how it felt when Cedric first started his journey. He’d started only a few months ago, but so much had happened. Much had been discovered. He was hardly the same since the beginning.

It was during this reflection that he heard a small, muffled yawn behind him. He smiled to himself, thinking of the fortune of creatures so small. About time she woke up. Not that carrying a fairy was such a burden; it definitely helped with navigation. But he couldn’t very well make use of the benefit while she was asleep.

The drawstring burlap on his back opened slowly, and four wings lazily buzzed behind his ear, carrying their host to his shoulder. Fya stretched and let out another yawn, one that seemingly was too big for her stature, rubbing her eyes as she finished. “One sec,” she mumbled. She flew back into the bag and reappeared with a single coffee bean. “This’ll get things going,” she said, already with a mouthful. The griffins had been kind enough to give him some supplies when he left them, and Fya was making absolutely certain they went to good use. “Where are we?” she said, crunching on another bite.

“Pretty sure that’s your job,” Cedric laughed. “And I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to just eat the beans like that.”

Fya shrugged. “Bean’s a bean. Hold this, will you?” She dropped the bean into his palm and flew up. Cedric tried to keep track of her, but she soon disappeared into the midmorning sky, barely a speck in a sea of blue. He shifted his gaze back down to the path, plodding forward. True, time wasn’t on his side for this journey, but neither was endurance. It would do no good for anyone if he exhausted himself by the time he reached his destination. Cedric didn’t expect any terrible disasters to fight off at the end… but he wanted to be ready for them.

Over the wind, he could hear Fya’s buzzing returning. “Cedric, Cedric, Cedric!” she shouted excitedly the entire way to him. She slammed into his shoulder, and grasped at the wrinkles in his shirt to pull herself up. “Cedric,” she wheezed. “The… city… so beautiful…”

Cedric’s face darkened. He knew where they were now, and that they would need to find a way around. “Were there any paths west of it?” he asked.

Fya, still heaving, took no notice of his question or his tone. “I’ve never seen anything like it! Everything was so tall, and a lot of the towers were reflective, so I could barely see them, but when I did, I thought it was water because they were reflecting the sky, but when I got closer--”

“Fya!” he shouted. “Were there any paths west?”

She shook her head. “Not that I could see. But Cedric, this city looked amazing! We have to make a stop there! Just follow this path.”

Now it was Cedric’s turn to shake his head. “We’re not stopping there.”

“Come on!” Fya pleaded. “We could always use more supplies. And I just want to see what’s there! Something that beautiful has to have something intriguing in it.” Her wings had barely stopped buzzing this entire time. Cedric didn’t want to dampen spirits, but he had to stick to his convictions.

“Something that beautiful only hides something ugly in it,” he said flatly. “We keep going. We’ll head west of it and make camp tonight.”

Fya’s wings quit buzzing as she pouted on his shoulder. “Didn’t you just stay in a town? What’s wrong with this one?” She stood as her wings lifted her up and buzzed around his head. “Don’t you want to sleep in a bed tonight? Or maybe take a bath?”

Cedric’s mouth dropped in offense. “Hey!”

She shrugged. “I’m just saying, if this coffee wasn’t covering your scent, I’d be long gone. And I’d probably still be able to smell you.”

A soft smile began to form on his face. As loud and persistent as she was, Fya had been a good ally for his spirits on his journey. She deserved to know.

He took a deep breath. “Trust me, that place is no good.”

Fya snorted. “How would you know?”

“Because I came from there.”

He stopped walking and looked at Fya. She seemed… perplexed. Not outright agreeing or disagreeing, but maybe preparing herself for what was coming next. She nodded slowly, hovering over to his shoulder before plopping down. “Tell me about it.”

Cedric started walking again, with a bit more purpose than before. His cause and his story were intertwined, as they often are for anyone who attempts anything bigger than themselves. It would be nice for someone else to know.

Forest Traveler by eltowergo

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn 4

Cedric’s pilgrimage had taken him to many lands, each pregnant with intrigue conflict. But he had yet to encounter a town such as this, full of… actually pregnant citizens. The mighty creatures flew overhead while their many young chased each other down below, weaving through towers of mud and thick branches. At the tops of the towers were giant nests, homing beacons to the griffins of the valley. The structures seemed to be randomly strewn about the valley, but being among them felt as close quarters.

The bustling of the town was a sight. Cedric took special notice of a single griffin flying from nest to nest, dropping fruit and sticks with leaves to any younglings that cried out. The great Beast laughed as he went, his bellows of joy echoing throughout the rest of the towers. Such care from someone so mighty--Cedric had only dreamed of the concept.

“Oi! You need something, dearie?” A warm, almost squeaky voice came from behind him. Cedric turned to see an opening at the base of one of the nests, and a griffin standing in the doorway. Her feathers were golden, the afternoon sun glinting off each one, while the earthen fur seemed to absorb the other rays. Her head turned, focusing one eye on him, and asked again: “Do you need anything, love? You look far from home!”

Cedric, realizing he was staring a bit too long, broke his gaze and nodded. “Just exploring, ma’am. If you could point me to the nearest river, I’ll--”

“Nonsense, nonsense!” the griffin persisted. “It’s too far for a Wingless to make it before nightfall, you might as well stay here. Come in, come in!” A wing shot out from her back to Cedric’s, and she gently pulled him indoors. He was taken aback by how large the wing was, almost immediately blocking out the sun. If the griffin’s voice hadn’t been so welcoming, he surely would have feared for his life.

He entered the tower, and looked up to see the entire structure was hollowed out. Cross-beams went every which way up to the top, decorated with children practicing their flying and climbing. They had made a game out of it, climbing higher and gliding longer with each leap off the beams. Their giggling rang out as they leapt, warming the entire nest. Cedric chuckled to himself, thinking of the elves’ stoic bell towers in comparison. Joy would do that land good.

“Excuse me!” A squawking cut through the atmosphere from the doorway. “Akia, love, I’m sorry to do this, but do you by chance have any more of that coffee in?”

The griffin that was guiding Cedric turned. “Epian! I’m glad you dropped in, the last bag is just on that shelf,” she said, pointing a talon to the opposite wall. “Go ahead, we should have more tomorrow.”

Epian squealed with delight as she practically jumped across the room to the shelf. Cedric saw now that, while just as majestic, a few feathers seemed out of place. The fur had more silver than brown, streaking all the way to her tail. He didn’t know if it was age, but it certainly wasn’t indicative of her energy. Epian turned towards Akia with the small bag. “Sorry, I would have asked about it earlier, but it’s been a long night… or day. Eko is just now learning his roar, and he’d rather do that than sleep, so... “ She laughed loudly, but seemed to be forcing it.

Akia laughed with her, extending her other wing to Epian’s shoulder, smoothing out some of the rough patches in her fur. “He’ll get tired soon enough, but until then…” she winked. “I’ll get Magnae to bring an extra bag for you.” The women laughed again as she left. Akia turned back to Cedric. “Now you asked about a river. Is it water you need, or nourishment?”

“Both, really,” Cedric said. “But I can hunt well enough on my own. If the river’s far, I can--”

“Oh, dearie, we don’t hunt here,” Akia chuckled. “Plenty of fruits and veggies for everyone in our land. Let me give you enough to hold you over until your next stop.” She cheerfully plodded over to the shelves, carefully and precisely picking up different fruits between her talons and bagging them.

Cedric felt it would be futile to protest. Besides, he was a bit tired of rabbit and fish. As he waited, he noticed the children’s giggles had left the room. He looked up to find that the children hadn’t, but rather were sleeping in the rafters, tuckered out by their games. He smiled to himself. The other towns he had stopped in, of elves, of dwarves, of men… the discourse in all of them was strategic. They all asked the same questions: How do we get bigger? How do we get more? However, the contentment and care of this valley was almost stifling, yet welcome, like a wool blanket in winter.

Akia turned as she pulled the drawstring on the bag. “I’m afraid I never caught your name, love. I’m sure you caught mine!” She giggled. “Epian isn’t the quietest neighbor, that’s for sure. I think I see where Eko’s getting it.”

He smiled again, thinking of the episodes that family must have. “Cedric,” he answered. “Thank you for everything. I’ll be on my way now.”

“Now, now, are you sure you won’t stay the night?” Akia asked. “It’s all safe at night, but it’s much warmer inside with friends, isn’t it?”

Cedric stopped. “Friends?”

Akia stamped a taloned paw on the ground with conviction. “Like it or not, that’s what you are now! You’re here, you needed help, and we’re here to help you.” She leaned forward, cocking her head to look him in the eyes. “It’s what we do.”

He stayed still, partly in fear of how giant she was, and partly frozen in decision. His other ventures had required much of him. All that this valley was asking for was his compliance. His company. Not his service or resources. Cedric slowly nodded, the warmth of the land flowing through him. “Thank you.”

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn - 3

The waves gently tossed themselves onto the shore, each time climbing a bit closer to our campsite. It would still be an hour or two before the tide reached us, and we didn’t have much to move, so I saw no cause for urgency. We were planning to leave that afternoon anyway. I turned back to the fish slowly roasting over the fire. They still needed to be scaled, but I found the dry heat helped with that. Bay liked his with some moisture, so he was working on scaling them beforehand. The scrapes against fish flesh, the waves, and the crackling fire were the only sounds I could hear. There weren’t any birds in the trees and seemingly no other creatures nearby. Perhaps Bay and I had scared them off.

“Ugh!” Bay got up, throwing down his makeshift scraper. I would have lent him mine, but I didn’t want raw fish guts all over my freshly cooked lunch. He walked over to the fire and squatted, grunting on his way down. He glanced at my fish. “You gonna eat all that yourself?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Can I ha--”

“No,” I interrupted. “We need rations for the road. Just hurry up and cook yours.”

Another grunt and he was back at his station, cleaning up his mess and prepping his fish. At least he’d learned that much. Bay was fairly helpless a few days ago, before he’d been run off from his hometown. There are just some people you’re not supposed to question, and he’d found them.

“Cedric…” I looked up from the fire. Bay was staring out into the water, focusing on something. I followed his gaze. The water was… swelling? It seemed to be breathing, growing larger with each inhalation. My heart started pumping faster as I put the pieces together.

“Bay, we have to go! Now!” I shouted, gathering our supplies. “Pack as fast as you can, we have to get out of here!” Bay stood shocked for a second, still locked onto the water. His focus finally kicked in and he scrambled around, grabbing everything, fish scales and all.

“What’s going on?” he yelled, stuffing his bag. “Is it spirits?”

“Not quite,” I said. I began folding up the tent, throwing the stakes we made back into the forest. “I didn’t think we were anywhere close to their territory, but they must be migrating already.” The waves were almost crashing now, growing higher and closer.

“The Migration’s not for months,” Bay retorted. “Could it just be the tide?” Poor guy. He had no idea. No time to roll my eyes, though.

“It is the tide, that’s why we need to--” I froze. The water was already swirling around my ankles. I looked over at Bay, who was in the same situation even though he was farther back from the shore. The color drained from his face as he began to realize.

A thunderous crash on the sand startled both of us. A wave close to my height slammed into me, throwing me into the tree-line. Bay yelped as another wave seemed to lift him up and drag him into the water.

“Bay!” I shouted, scrambling to get to my feet. More water swirled around my ankles and tripped me before I could begin to run. I couldn’t get to him.

“Cedric!” he shouted back, just before seawater flooded his mouth. He was suspended in the wave, attempting to swim out of it, but getting nowhere. We had become prisoners to the sea.

I attempted to get up again, using a tree for support, but the tide grabbed hold of me, pulling harder and harder. My fingernails started to tear into the bark, but it wasn’t enough. My grip failed and I spun head over heels, submerged completely. There was no way we could fight against them. No weapon or bargain would be able to--

Wait.

Maybe a bargain of sorts could work. I kicked my legs as hard as I could, pushing to break the surface. I just needed a second…

Light and air hit my face. I took a quick breath and sputtered, “The fish, Bay! Throw them ba--” The wave overtook my last word. I could only hope he had heard me in the chaos. Amidst the spinning, I reached for my drawstring. Should I pull it hard and try to break it, or see if I could get all the way around and open the bag? There was no time to think; I was running out of air. I threw both hands as far back behind my head as I could, spilling out all the contents of my bag. Almost instantly, I shot forward, headfirst into the sand. I could feel it caking around my ears and in my nose, but I just tried to get it away from my eyes. I had to see if Bay had made it.

As the grains fell away, I heard heaving down-shore of me. I got up and stumbled over, wiping the last bits of freshly-made mud off my eyes. Bay was there, on his hands and knees, spewing enough water to make his own waves. Next to him… his now-empty backpack. He’d heard me. We’d be able to find new resources easily, but the question was now how much trouble we’d have holding on to them. The world was becoming more unbalanced by the day. Greater dangers may be waiting for us on our journey.

Water Elemental by Santiago Oborra

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn - 2

The great hall seemed to groan under the weight of the mountain as Darian walked through them. The only sound he could hear with certainty was the patter of his leathers on the stone floor, echoing up and down the pillars. Darian looked up, gazing at the stalactites decorating the ceiling of the hall. Each one had to be thirty or forty lengths (ten or twenty for the elves), but from so far away, they almost looked like stars. The water slowly dripping from them reflected the light of the many lamps dotting the hall. He could strain his neck all day long looking at the marvel. It was one of his favorite pastimes, in fact.

One droplet fell right in front of Darian’s face, snapping him back to the present and causing him to nearly leap out of his skin. Father didn’t know that he was out of their room, and he hopefully wouldn’t find out. Which reminded him… why hadn’t he been caught yet? Where are the hallkeepers? There were always workers mopping the floor and tending to the lamps, keeping the place from returning to the dark cave-state it once was. Where have they gone?

The faintest pinprick of sound interrupted Darian’s wondering. It was a squeal, echoing across the floor until the very last vibration had reached his ears. He smiled. Father had said something about a new pet the other day to one of the hallkeepers while Darian was exploring the hall. He didn’t seem to know that he was listening, so maybe it was meant to be a surprise. The squeal rang through the hall again, this time much closer. A new light began to approach on the other side of the room, flickering with unidentifiable shadows. Darian quickly hid behind one of the pillars, holding his breath. If he was caught outside the room at this hour, Father wouldn’t be happy.

One more squeal was let loose, before being muffled by… something. Whatever was making that noise, it no longer sounded joyful. He wasn’t sure if it ever was.

Darian slowly inched his way around the pillar, keeping a careful eye on the new shadows. He began to lean out, holding onto one of the grooves in the pillar for balance, until he could see the source. Two other dwarves were on the far wall, one carrying the torch, and the other a wriggling sack nearly half as big as him. Another muffled shriek tried to escape the sack, causing the torch-dwarf to punch it. Hard. The sack slumped over in its carrier’s arms, and the three figures slipped into a room behind another pillar.

Silently, Darian moved towards their side of the hall. Whatever was in there was in pain, and needed help from… me? Maybe he should get Father. No, he thought. There’s no time. As Darian approached the door, he heard the voices of the two captors. Gruff and aggressive, not unlike anyone else he knew. He needed to know what they were saying. If he found out who they were he could tell Father--

A crunch broke his concentration. Darian quickly jerked his head down, partly to hide from recognition and partly to find the source. He lifted his foot and a dried leaf fell lazily to the floor. Looking around, there was a trail of leaves leading from the entryway into the room. Had the dwarves tracked them in?

“What makes you think he’ll know anything?” a voice from the room asked. “He’s just a kid.” Darian paused his observations to continue eavesdropping. Were they talking about him?

“He’s not just a kid, he’s the kid,” answered the other dwarf. “They’ll tell us anything about the Migration to get him back.” Darian gasped inwardly, his hand clasping over his mouth to muffle his breath. The Migration? Father hated the tradition, along with many other dwarves of the hall. What were these two trying to do? He needed to get closer.

Darian started moving again, careful not to step on any of the leaves. The dwarves continued talking, but that was no longer his concern. Whoever was in there needed help. No one deserves to be a hostage.

Making his way all the way up to the door, Darian stopped. He didn’t know if he should open the door, call for Father, try to scare away the captors… he just needed to do something. He turned his head towards the handle, and slowly, slowly pushed the door until a crack just big enough to look through appeared. He slid silently towards the opening, trying to catch every detail he could. Shields leaning in the corner, bottles of wine racked against the wall, and… no.

The smallest, skinniest Ent that Darian had ever seen was laid on the table, unconscious. Its leaves were scattered on the stone floor, dried and brown. A sharp gasp escaped Darian’s lips as the door flew open, putting him face to face with Father. Darian froze, his mind racing, his ears growing hot as sweat began to bead on his forehead. The two other dwarves that he had seen before seemed equally surprised to see him. Father grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back into the hall. “ I told you to stay in the room,” he growled.

Darian’s mouth instantly went dry. “But I heard--”

“That’s none of your concern, boy.” Father snapped. “As far as anyone is concerned, you heard nothing.”

All Darian could do was nod. Everything was swarming, making him dizzy. He felt his knees go weak as his vision faded. What is happening?

Dwarven Hall by Dark_Minstrel

[theoreticalsmatt]

Pieces of Enn - 1

The trees flew past us. Dense ferns covered the forest floor, and I couldn’t have been more thankful for my wings. If we had to flee on foot, we surely would have been slowed by the flora and caught by our captors. We buzzed through the forest, dodging the vines and branches. A dew drop fell right in front of me, and I quickly barrel-rolled out of the way. I definitely wouldn’t make it if my wings were soaked, but as long as one of us could get there in time...

A howl close behind caught my attention. I turned to look at Benji, his already large eyes widening at the sound. The wolves were getting too close for comfort. Behind us, padded paws fiercely trampled the brush, paving a direct path to us. Time to make our own path.

“Benji,” I whispered. He looked back at me, hair in the wind. It was trembling as much as he was. “Follow me.” Benji nodded, and I banked left. We serpentined through a few trees, careful to keep the line of sight broken between us and the wolves. After a minute, we spiraled up the trunk of an oak and came to rest on a branch near the top.

“Fya,” Benji said breathlessly, his lungs still trying to catch up to us. “We won’t make it. She’s too sick, we’re too late, and those…” He shuddered, looking down from our perch. “Those wolves are so fast.” He spoke almost in wonder of them. His affinity for finding beauty in everything, even apparently in our predators, had always earned my respect.

I began pacing on the branch. “We have to make it. It’ll be too late to get the medicine anywhere else. If we can just make it past them without leading them to her, we can still do this.” My wings began buzzing as I went, almost eager for the next round of our chase.

He sank down, shaking his head. “We can’t. You know wolves don’t lose their scent, right? I heard that one died chasing down my cousin.” He brought his knees to his chest, hugging them tightly. “It ran itself to death.”

“No!” I stopped pacing. “Stop doing that. We can still--” I froze. My wings began buzzing again as a new plan began to form.

Benji looked up at me, cocking his head. Once he noticed the buzzing, his eyes started widening again. “Wait, what are we about to do? Fya, what are you thinking?”

I turned to him slowly. “I have a solution.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” His whole body relaxed with the words. Now came the difficult part.

“Um…” I approached him cautiously. “It involves fire.”

Benji’s face dropped in disbelief. “Absolutely not.”

“No, no, no, it’s okay!” I pushed. “It’ll be a controlled burn! The dew just fell, so there’s no way it’ll get too far. And we’ll have enough smoke to throw them off the scent, at least for a little while.” I stopped myself, waiting for his response.

He sat, staring thoughtfully at the branch for a moment, then slowly stood, turning his gaze to me. “You know I don’t like using that.”

I shifted my feet. “I know.”

Benji sighed, and looked up at the sky. I looked too. The sun was still rising, but it was drying the forest more by the minute. We needed to do this.

His wings buzzed as our eyes met. I had always seen positivity in his face before, but determination took its place now. His brow narrowed. “Let’s do this.”

We each pulled out our spellbooks, knowing that the slightest mistranslation or mispronunciation could mean disaster. In sync, we began to recite. I grabbed a leaf and placed it between us as we read. It quickly dried, and tiny pinpricks of embers started to take place, browning it. We finished reading and I picked up the leaf, careful to not put out the embers. Pausing before I dropped it, I glanced at Benji. He stared only at the leaf, and nodded solemnly. I released it, and we wordlessly watched it fall. The wolves howled and roared at it as it tumbled down the oak until finally…

...it exploded.

Flames quickly rose, turning the brush brittle. The wolves yelped, some helplessly as the blaze spread.

What had we done?

Fairy Cave by Tianhua Xu

[theoreticalsmatt]

After

There were black paintings everywhere. The room was full, from top to bottom, all different sizes of canvases… but all solid black. Each painting seemed to absorb all the warmth and light in the room except for a slight glint of yellow, a dim reflection of the roaring fireplace on the far wall of the room. Normally, I would find the coals to be welcoming, but the flames were dry and hot, slapping my skin and sucking out any sweat that I produced.

The woman in the corner didn’t seem to mind the heat, however. A black velvet cardigan covered her, with a high-necked sweater climbing up to her jawline. Through her pale cheeks, I could see her teeth gritting with concentration, unaware of the heat or my presence. She was painting another canvas. Each stroke of her brush was calculated, and weighted with meaning. Her hand floated across, carefully, intentionally placing every dot of black onto the canvas. The process of her creation was so much more enticing than her end result.

“Want to give it a try?” I jumped. Her voice was the first sound I had heard since entering, but it melted smoothly into the atmosphere that the crackling logs had made. The silky voice spoke again as she turned around. “Do you want to try?” An unexpectedly plain, but pleasant face greeted me. No skeletal features, no snaggletooths or warts… just a raised eyebrow as she awaited my answer.

“Sure,” I sputtered, my throat still getting used to the dryness of the room.

She grinned, faint wrinkles gently outlining her eyes. “Wonderful. I apologize for the heat. It allows the paintings to dry more quickly.”

I nodded, pretending to understand. I wasn’t a painter, but I’d never seen a method like that. As she slipped the brush and palette into my hands, they began to shake. It hadn’t occurred to me that I was nervous at all, but my body was speaking for itself. “Oh you poor dear,” she purred. “I know I make it look easy, but you really have nothing to be afraid of.” She stepped backwards, taking herself out of my vision. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

My eyes shut, trying to forget. Why was I nervous? Why did I feel the need to be as good as her? I had never painted before in my life! Surely she knew that. Surely she didn’t expect a masterpiece. And even if she did, all her paintings were black anyway. I could at least do the same. I opened my eyes and looked at my palette, identifying the resources I had to work with. To my bewilderment, but not my surprise, each cup of the palette was filled with black. No other colors, shades, or tints. Just pure twilight, twinkling with the same glint of the fire as the other paintings. I stared for a second, and began to paint.

The first stroke I took across the canvas was harsh, the wet line standing out against its dry siblings. Rough ends bled into the darkness around them, pulling them in as a vacuum would. I overcorrected the next stroke, painting no more than a hair’s width into the black. The moisture glistened for a moment, as if to milk all the uniqueness it could manage, and then melded into the canvas. My heart stirred less as I continued, calming my mind while my hand drifted across the space, wandering through the void. I still didn’t know what or why, but my feelings moved closer and closer towards what was becoming my creation. My magnum opus was slowly becoming just that: mine.

After what felt like a while later, I finished. Not for time or necessity, but because in my heart, I knew it was complete. “Truly remarkable,” the silky voice murmured. The woman sidled up next to me, her careful eye studying the depths of my work. My pulse began rising again, my nerves snapping back to reality one at a time. The realization that I had no idea what I had been doing flooded my mind. She was still scrutinizing, but I had to wonder out loud.

“Why… black?”

A knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “What do you mean?” she said without turning around.

I shrugged and continued. “Honestly, none of this is what I expected. I mean, I expected darkness, I guess, but… paintings? You? All of this...” I gestured around the room. “None of this makes any sense.”

She turned to me, her dark eyes suddenly brightening, as if she had been waiting since my arrival to enlighten me. “Tell me: does something have to make sense to be beautiful?”

I blinked, stoic and confused. “No.”

“Well then,” she continued. “Why do you want an explanation? Can’t you just appreciate my work? Your work?” she said, looking back at my painting. “You clearly understand the process of the craft, but perhaps you don’t understand the effect, yes?”

I shrugged again. “I guess not.”

She grinned again, excitement radiating through her skin. “Turn the canvas over.”

Setting the brush and paints down, I grasped the wooden frame and flipped the canvas to the opposite side. My eyes widened in shock. A nebula cloud, suspended in the void, spraying vivid purples and pinks into the night around it appeared. The stars weren’t just twinkles, but living lights, shining brightly throughout the room. It almost hurt to look at. I glanced at the woman and saw her face gleaming with pride as she looked it over. My words leapt out of my mouth. “This was on the back the entire time?”

“No, dear,” she whispered. “You created this.”

Everything in my brain froze. I made this? I turned the painting back over. The room’s ambience returned as my eyes re-adjusted to the dim lighting. A deep gulp of air escaped my lungs. I had barely breathed while looking at the painting. As I shifted my empty gaze back to the woman, I opened my mouth to speak, but I wasn’t sure what to ask.

She chuckled at my confusion. “It’s alright. Take your time.”

I shook off the shock and took another breath. “Are… all of them…?”

“Yes, every one of them has a wonderful backing to it.” She looked around the room, examining each of the pieces. “They are all incredibly magnificent.”

My confusion only grew. “Then why not display them? Why hide them?”

The woman heaved a sigh, again facing me. “I suppose I have some explaining to do, don’t I?” She smiled again, but with a deep sadness in the background. “If only you people could learn this in life.”

I shifted my feet, discomfort expanding through my body. I hadn’t really thought about my death since I had arrived, but I knew the discussion was bound to happen eventually. It might as well be now.

She picked up the palette I had used. “This isn’t really black paint, you know. It may not be something you can totally understand, so you perceive it as black, but it is merely the other side of color.” I cocked my head and she laughed again at my confusion. “Don’t worry, you are not alone. Think of a coin.” She took a quarter out of her pocket. “You cannot have one side by itself, correct? There must be both. A tail…” she flipped the coin in her palm. “...and a head. The same is true for everything in the universe: coins, colors…” she paused. “And life.”

I sat quietly, listening intently. When I first arrived, I half-expected, and half-hoped, to find all the secrets of the universe. This was close. It felt like this woman was just revealing truth I had always known, but never admitted.

“Living isn’t about worshiping life or death, or living in fear of either of them,” she stated. “It is knowing that both are required for your existence. That’s why I turn the paintings of every visitor I have: a reminder that both sides are necessary.”

The truth revealed was heavy, but it was something I could carry gladly. She was right; I wish I had learned it in life.

A clock sounded through the room, ringing one chime of its bells. The woman straightened up, as if suddenly called out of a trance. “Well, I suppose you need to get going. I’ll get you a coat for the rest of your journey.”

As she left the corner, I stared at my painting again. Solid darkness, absorbing every bit of light and warmth that drifted near it. A soft glint of purple caught my eye. As I watched it, I saw the sparkle slowly fade back to the yellow of the fire. I had already learned so much here. I could see everything differently.

“Here’s a coat.” The woman returned, holding the black wool by the shoulders, helping envelope me in it. The warmth no longer slapped, but sunk into my body, as if a fire had started in my belly. I opened the door and snow suddenly whipped into the room, attacking the heat inside. I cautiously stepped into the whirlwind, and heard the door shut behind me. I looked out into the darkness, wondering where this new existence would take me. The journey would be difficult, but I was prepared to face it. I walked through the night, proud.

[theoreticalsmatt]

Brave and Bitter

“Excuse me… sorry… coming behind you… sorry.” I bumbled through the lunch rush, trying to wade the busy waters back to my station. The dull roar of the crowd seemed to shake the dimly-lit lumber, the entire tavern teetering on the brink of chaos. One particularly bulbous fellow suddenly became excited by a point one of his table-mates had made about recent tides and bumped my elbow, causing my empty tray to clatter on the ground. He turned around, red in the cheeks with biscuit crumbs in his beard. I quickly apologized, gathering my tray and myself, moving on towards the kitchen. A faint but emphatic grunt acknowledged me as I left.

“Shasta! What sames tah be the problem?” The throaty voice came out of nowhere, causing me to jump. “Wave got mouths tah feed, boy! Refill ahnother round of lobster rolls!” The voice belonged to a gaunt man, riddled with years of brave stories and bitter pains. Faint gray stubble littered his face, as if the ocean had chosen to spray flecks of salt below the rugged peaks of his cheekbones.

“Yes sir, Mister Pat,” I said mechanically, grabbing as many baskets of rolls as my tray would allow. I headed back out to sea, ready to again dull hunger pangs and imitate home for these travelers that were so far from it.

“Ay, that’s Mister Pat tah you,” he threw back. I couldn’t decide whether to sigh or roll my eyes, so I did neither. He turned back to a group that had just stepped up to the bar. “What’ll ya have, lads?”

Mister Pat had found me almost a year ago, stealing crumbs from his kitchen and devouring them below the docks outside. I don’t know if he took me in out of kindness or necessity, but either way, he made me earn his saviorship. Being the only one to run a restaurant for weary seafolk can be difficult, especially for such an immortal as Mister Pat. Everyone knew him, even visitors, for as long as they had been alive. His hospitality had to be world famous by now... but time was catching him. Slowly and surely, with every cough and sputter, he was winding down. Hence, my presence aboard his tavern.

But that seemed to be all I was there for: a faceless body to serve food and drink for the floods of faceless people that came in everyday. I really didn’t mind the work. It kept my belly full and my mind busy. But every once in a while, in the midst of the hearty laughs and sloshes of beer, each spilling across the room, I felt… marooned. My time under the docks was awful in many ways, but moments of peace came to rest there. I could climb up and look over a glass sea magnifying whatever sunset the sky had chosen that day. The wind and salt would tangle my hair while light sprays of the ocean kept me warm. Freedom would flood my nose, pushing waves serenity to my toes and fingers. I was a king there.

A different wave suddenly covered me, this one freezing and pungent. I dropped my tray, the remaining rolls now dripping in ale. Slowly turning behind me, I saw the bulbous man, wheezing with drunken laughter, his mug on the ground. Our eyes met briefly, but not one tinge of guilt was on his face. A scowl, however, flashed across mine as I bent down to clean up.

“Gonna need a refill, then,” he gurgled. One of the few buttons left on his cardigan popped open, causing another cascade of laughter around the table.

I bit my lip, again accepting one of many blows I had received in the tavern. “Yes sir, right away.”

HIs face instantly changed, cheeks steadily growing more red. He grabbed the back collar of my shirt and hoisted me to my feet. “Whad you say?” he spat, leftover drink dribbling down his chin.

“I said I’d get that for you, sir,” I gulped. It seemed better to play it safe now. No doubt I could out-run him, but I wasn’t in any position to try.

He leaned closer, his smoke-laden breath piercing my eyes. “You takin’ a tone?” he snorted. “You takin’ a tone with me?”

I began to tremble. My voice was stopped up, full of sand and just as dry. I could barely breathe. I didn’t know what to tell this man, considering how provoked he was over my unprovoking actions. The blood started rushing out of my head into my near-dangling feet. What could he want?

“Ay! Drop ’ehm!” The tavern grew quiet. Mister Pat hobbled towards the man from the kitchen, but he held his head up proudly as he went. “Roscoe,” he said, stopping just a hair’s width from the man’s face. “Stay awey from mah boy, and stay awey from mah pub.” Roscoe swallowed audibly. Sweat began to glisten on his cheeks, mixing with the beer. He slowly put me down, keeping his head down towards his boots. Mister Pat leaned in closer and whispered one word: “Now.”

Roscoe nodded hastily and shambled out the doors. Mister Pat put a hand on my shoulder, his eyes still locked on the door. “Shasta,” he said, turning his sharp gaze to me. “Wave got mouths tah feed! Clean yerself ope!” The pent up energy of the room suddenly exploded back to before. Men laughed and ate, joking and drinking the night away. Discussions of tides and travels once again flooded the tavern, soaking the rough wood of the floor, saturating the place with a homely air.

I grabbed my tray and the spilled rolls and trudged out back. The clear night lifted the aromas of the conflict off of me, spilling them into the sea below. I wrung out my apron and hung it over a bannister outside, taking a moment to look out over the ocean again. It sparkled in response, as if it had been awaiting my return all these months. I could still hear the dull roar of the bar behind me, but it was matched by the soft tosses of foamy waves below. I missed my gulls, my crumbs, and my seashells. I missed seeing the sunrise through the cracks of the dock, warming my eyes to the day ahead. I missed my freedom.

Mister Pat’s voice rang through the back door. “Shasta! We need more crab legs!”

I took a breath, as well as one more gaze to the sea, before I grabbed my apron. I knew I would return there someday. I turned and headed back in, ready to brave the commotion and serve the unrelenting tide.

[theoreticalsmatt]

Whom Fortune Favors

Gunshots in the next room. I held Cooper close, burying his face in my shoulder. Children should never have to see war, but times had changed since the Second Depression. Everyone thought it would be a repeat of the 1920s in our millennium, but no one could have seen the desperation to come.

Another shot rang out. If these men were using warning shots, they must have an enormous supply of ammo. Weapons were the most valuable currency these days, and it felt like everyone wanted to use them against us. I looked across the room to Joshua, our leader. Through the darkness, I could see him gripping his saber tighter, motioning again for us to be quiet. He knew we were smarter than that, but I think it gave him comfort. Purpose. At the very least, something to do other than cower. The others in the room, numbering about ten or twelve, cowered with us. One of them, Derek, I think, had an old pistol. He fiddled with it nervously, knowing that it wouldn’t be nearly enough to stop the army in the next room.

The “army” had followed us for the past two days. We’d had recent luck finding medicine, and now it seemed like everyone else wanted it. Joshua had to be morally exhausted telling all those other groups that we couldn’t spare anything, that we needed to take care of our own. We knew that all the other groups were just trying to do the same, but some were more aggressive than others. Hence, the entire country ripping itself in half. Ours was the fourth state to have the law enforcement step away due to “extremely hazardous conditions.” To be honest, it made sense. If more guns were involved, it would just escalate to nuclear levels. Not that I agreed currently--more guns would be useful right now.

Among the random warning shots, laughter and ribbing ensued within their group. This was just a game to them. They had never explicitly made contact asking us for supplies. We were just part of their hunt.

I looked toward Joshua again. He seemed to be getting antsy. He kept twisting the saber in his hands, carefully watching our hunters through the cracks of the wall. Not that anyone wouldn’t be nervous, but I’d never seen him react this strongly to anything before. I doubted it was his first time in a firefight, but I also hadn’t traveled with this group for very long.

“Hey! Open up!” A man slammed something against our door. The entire room trembled, terrified of our own imaginations. Joshua stood up slowly, seemingly still assessing how to get everyone out alive. After a moment, he yelled back.

“Don’t shoot! I’ll come to you!” Another gunshot slammed into the wall. Joshua instinctively flinched, crouching halfway down. A few people screamed. Laughter erupted from the other room. Cooper remained quiet, slowly desensitizing.

Still crouched, Joshua turned to me. He looked so solemn. Maybe he hadn’t figured out anything for us yet. He blinked, and slowly turned to face everyone in the room, straightening up as he did so.

“I’m going to try to reason with them,” he half-whispered. “But there’s something you should know, in case I don’t come back.” Everyone’s attention focused in. Derek sat still for the first time tonight.

Joshua took a breath, and spoke quickly. “The man in charge is my brother. He’s after me. I’m sorry for putting you all in danger. That was stupid.” His eyes left us for a moment, as if inwardly scolding himself. He looked back and continued. “He just wants me. He shouldn’t have anything to do with the rest of you.”

Everyone was clearly in shock. Had Joshua known the entire time? What could he have done to be hunted like an animal? Suddenly, he turned around, quickly undoing his saber and setting it on the floor. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to us, slipping out the door way.

We sat in silence as murmured voices leaked through the walls. What had we done? He had done nothing but selflessly lead us, and we just let him go? Were we so selfish? We could be brave. We could fight them, rescue him, band together and find refuge. Cooper shifted his weight, burrowing further into my shoulder. I looked down and his brown, curly locks and realized… there was no way I would fight. Losing him would kill me. I looked around the room for potential warriors, but it seemed like everyone else had made the same justification in their own minds: they had too much to lose.

The voices grew louder, angrier. A smack sounded, and something hit the floor. Authority spoke, giving some kind of order. I looked at our group again, silently pleading with anyone who would look me in the eye. There has to be something we can do!

Another gunshot sounded, but this had a ring of finality to it. No laughter. No scoffing. Just the shuffles and shambles of feet leaving the house. A minute later, they were gone. It was over.

No one in the room so much as breathed. Surely that couldn’t be all! Surely there would be some salvation, some twist in fate, some rescue for us! The deafening quiet of the house answered our feigned defiance. Slowly, each of us stood, gathered our things, and left in shame. We all accepted a reality that day: in real life, heroes die so cowards can live.