pt. 2

“L-lots of things,” Gill replied. “We hear the wind, I think I heard some wolves and some badgers. I hear the claws of the rats,” Gill gulped and looked around him. “I heard birds … I hear you.” Frost began to spread across the tips of the grass, creeping from the druid toward the men.

“You hear the forest! You hear me! You hear yourselves!” Called the druid. “You seek the trail but in doing so are lost! I am the forest, as you are.” The frost crackled, a latticework of burning blades steadily embraced the men.

“Even in your cities of stone and timber boxes, you must remember from whence you came! The forest moulded your very forms, lengthened your arms, granted you digits, propped you upright so you might stand as tall and proud and firm as the oak!” A puddle ran from the men, melting the icy ground beneath them but for an instant.

A wordless plea burst from Clay, and he moved to his knees before the figure. “Please help us, we were wrong, should have respected your forest more.”

“You should have fear for the forest. You, forest-borne, you should have fear for yourselves.” The men nodded.

“We do, we do.” The druid nodded, the crevasses of his face softening. The cold wind quieted, and it seemed the animals were sleeping. The men sank back, shivering.

“I know you are lost, and the forest commands me to guide you home.” The words seemed to break over Gil and Clay like a wave of warmth. Their postures hung slack. “Have no more fear,” murmured the druid, who had drawn suddenly so near to the companions. “Have no more fear.”

They sat then, together, and it seemed there was naught left to say. Both of the children before the druid had seemed to draw inwards, towards themselves. A hint of warmth brushed the druid’s face, and he knew the forest was smiling.

“When you venture inward, children, you come ever closer to the forest, to who you were meant to be.” Clay just nodded, looking downward at his hand melting a brand into the frosted grass. Or perhaps, melting into the frosted grass. Gill swallowed, then swallowed again, seeming to be about to speak.

“Yes, child?” The druid asked mildly.

Gill tried to answer, but all he could produce were guttural moans. The moons were in the eyes of the men again. Clay called Gills name in a stuttering gasp, staring wildly at the red streaks his fingers left behind on the bejewelled ground.

“It is only the berries’ blood, child, lay back and return to your home.” The druid knelt before the two, pushing them down by their chests with a strength his gaunt frame concealed. “It is a fair exchange,” the druid murmured when the men tried to resist him, clutching at their throats. Clay's fingers scurried about the blades of grass, fumbling toward his metal toys. The druid pinned his hand to the earth. “You took the berries, and the berries take you, and the forest welcomes its children home.” The sounds of rasps, of choking splutters, drafted a melody that mingled with the chirping crickets and the druid’s murmured prayer.