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Are those divas? But the one Ryther plucked yesterday was dressed, and seemed different somehow. More…civilized.
And all are staring at me.
When did they even come? I was sure I was alone moments ago. As I watch, baffled, more crawl up between the trees, zeroing in on me.
Objectively, I should be afraid. I’ve never had issues with creepy crawlies, ignoring spiders and cockroaches alike, but the snake alone ought to make me uneasy, not to mention these people-like things.
Yet I’m not. For the first time since I arrived in this world, I feel truly safe. Not the uneasy sense of holding a scorpion that could turn against me at any moment, like what I felt around Ryther. Just…safe, in the deep, unyielding knowledge that no one here wishes me harm.
“Erm. Hi?”
No one responds. Of course they don’t, they’re animals. And whatever else those things are.
I’ve never felt more stupid, but greeting them felt right.
I felt alone and terrified, and needed...what did I need?
I clear my throat.
I appreciate their arrival for no other reason that the fact that I needed a distraction, but if all the animals and things in the woods are coming here, won’t I be easier to track?
Nature here will listen to your need, and come to your aid if it can.
“I need to rest,” I say, battling the awkwardness. “And hide. People are trying to catch me. Maybe there’s somewhere I can lie low for a while?”
No one answers. How could they? Most of them are animals; even if their vocal cords were made for speech, I sincerely doubt giant snakes speak English, even in this weird world.
And yet, they communicate just fine. Seconds later, every single beast and thing slithers, hops, or steps out of the way, clearing an alley in the forest.
I’ve only taken one tentative step, half expecting the predators to change their minds and dive for me to get a taste, when I feel something on my hand—the bad, mangled one that itches and burns, even though it’s been a while since I pulled the arrow tip.
A white fox with a little blue to its fur, propped up on its hind legs, is licking my palm. It should be gross—and it’s definitely unhygienic—but though the saliva still feels freezing, it provides me with almost instant relief, like holding a burn under cool water. I bite back a groan, wincing through the pain.
“Thank you,” I tell the creature, before I think better of it.
But I don’t think animals can enslave me—and even if they did, I’d rather belong to that cute little fox than Junis anyway.
The canine lifts its eyes to mine, looking particularly satisfied with itself. It bumps my hand with its head, and to my utter shock, I’m able to flex my fingers. I run them through its fur. He definitely deserves the scratch.
As I progress through the path laid out for me, I glance back to find the animals trampling it, erasing traces of my footfalls as they depart. They’ve left me, but not before giving me what I so desperately needed.
I think until this very moment, I hadn’t believed it, deep down. I’d told myself they were all somehow mistaken about it all. It must have been a huge misunderstanding.
But now I know. They know. I belong to this world, and they want me to stay in it.
At first, I think only the fox remains, walking a few steps ahead of me, but stopping every now and then to make sure I keep up, or demand a scratch. But as the day grows cooler, and the darkened leaves fall, I catch movements in the trees.
It takes a while to spot the crow, but once I do, I see it again, and again, sometimes disappearing, but coming back within moments.
It’s following me.
Unease settles in my core. I don’t think the bird is willfully putting me in danger, but now that the oak leaves have fallen, it’s easy enough to spot. What if someone finds out they only need to follow it to find me?
But that’s silly. There are plenty of birds in the woods, aren’t there? No reason why anyone one should specifically target this one.
The sun has completely set when my stomach growls, demanding my attention. I groan in annoyance. For twenty-five years, I’ve had to remind myself to eat, treating it like a chore, but now for some reason, I’m starving after what, ten hours? Twelve? I guess I don’t often go running and traipsing through the woods. Or getting shot by poisoned arrows.
Between my fatigue, hunger, and the undeniable pain through my shoulder, I slow down, but my guide doesn’t seem to care.
