The Dark Forest
Clemsy sat straight up, breathing hard while the bark echoed and faded.
Or was it only in his mind?
He hadn't been asleep long; the fire was still fairly high. A pine branch hissed and popped. He looked down at Runt, curled up next to where Clemsy's head had been. Purring, Runt looked back at him with a soft chirp. There was no other sound.
He'd left the last settlement behind the day after that nasty downpour. That was the worst of his journey so far. He'd had enough time to build a shelter and get a fire started, and he'd even managed to find a spot where the canopy was thick enough to keep it going, but the drops that came through were the size of a fist. Sidetrack stayed fairly dry up against the trunk of a grandfather pine, but was still moody and miserable. A drenched and bedraggled Runt had run into the shelter complaining as if he hadn't really signed on for this adventure and what was it all about any? Clemsy told him he could have stayed home. Runt ignored him and started cleaning himself.
The night had turned much colder and the drops diminished and stopped even though the rain continued. Dang, Clemsy had thought. He knew what he'd wake up to if he could ever get to sleep: the rattling and snapping of ice covered branches up above and a road far too slippery for man or beast. Fortunately the sky had cleared, the temperature rose to where it should have been for early November and he was on his way, muddy though the road was, by midday. He was through the stockade gate of Fort Hamilton and fast asleep in the Inn well before sunset.
The following day had taken him beyond the border of The Territories and into the Wild. The road had diminished then disappeared beyond the ford of a wide river. The supplies he'd bought at the settlement would last him some time, but he wasn't worried about running out of food. There would be enough forage for Sidetrack here and there. Runt would take care of himself wherever they were and, as a child, old Mujekeewis had taught Clemsy how to get by in the forest no matter the weather or season. He'd met the Abo on the border of the field at sunrise once a week and, as he grew older, would spend days learning the Abo way. Of course his teacher despaired of teaching Clemsy how to track and stalk. The entire forest was always aware of Clemsy's presence, and didn't seem to care. He wasn't much of a threat.
Those lessons ended when he'd turned twelve. Pa and Mujekeewis seemed to believe some debt to have been paid in full. The two had nodded to one another and Mujekeewis had faded into the trees as if he'd never been there and Clemsy never saw him again. Afterward, Pa had reluctantly taught him to work a rifle. Clemsy may have been terminally clumsy but he wasn't, and isn't, stupid. He was well aware of his danger when handling a firearm, just as he knew what he was doing when he worked with explosives. Ironically this was part of his particular talent, so he became quite a respectable shot. However, he'd never killed a thing. He wouldn't and Pa respected that. If he had to, maybe he would. Otherwise, it just felt wrong.
Right next to his shovel, a rifle lay within reach. He looked at it but felt no urge to pick it up. Runt lay undisturbed and Sidetrack was fast asleep, one hind leg bent, the hoof barely touching the ground. The dog bark was a dream then.
Again.
For the past three nights his dreams had been vivid and very strange. In one he rode a mare through a forest of giant trees, much like the one he was in now. There was always a dog, large and black with ears that pointed straight up and a snout that looked more wolf-like than dog. As often happens with dreams after waking, the image appeared in his mind from wherever dreams hide. The dog had looked right at him and barked a warning. Just as it had the night before.
And the night before that.
Clemsy sat straight up, breathing hard while the bark echoed and faded.
Or was it only in his mind?
He hadn't been asleep long; the fire was still fairly high. A pine branch hissed and popped. He looked down at Runt, curled up next to where Clemsy's head had been. Purring, Runt looked back at him with a soft chirp. There was no other sound.
He'd left the last settlement behind the day after that nasty downpour. That was the worst of his journey so far. He'd had enough time to build a shelter and get a fire started, and he'd even managed to find a spot where the canopy was thick enough to keep it going, but the drops that came through were the size of a fist. Sidetrack stayed fairly dry up against the trunk of a grandfather pine, but was still moody and miserable. A drenched and bedraggled Runt had run into the shelter complaining as if he hadn't really signed on for this adventure and what was it all about any? Clemsy told him he could have stayed home. Runt ignored him and started cleaning himself.
The night had turned much colder and the drops diminished and stopped even though the rain continued. Dang, Clemsy had thought. He knew what he'd wake up to if he could ever get to sleep: the rattling and snapping of ice covered branches up above and a road far too slippery for man or beast. Fortunately the sky had cleared, the temperature rose to where it should have been for early November and he was on his way, muddy though the road was, by midday. He was through the stockade gate of Fort Hamilton and fast asleep in the Inn well before sunset.
The following day had taken him beyond the border of The Territories and into the Wild. The road had diminished then disappeared beyond the ford of a wide river. The supplies he'd bought at the settlement would last him some time, but he wasn't worried about running out of food. There would be enough forage for Sidetrack here and there. Runt would take care of himself wherever they were and, as a child, old Mujekeewis had taught Clemsy how to get by in the forest no matter the weather or season. He'd met the Abo on the border of the field at sunrise once a week and, as he grew older, would spend days learning the Abo way. Of course his teacher despaired of teaching Clemsy how to track and stalk. The entire forest was always aware of Clemsy's presence, and didn't seem to care. He wasn't much of a threat.
Those lessons ended when he'd turned twelve. Pa and Mujekeewis seemed to believe some debt to have been paid in full. The two had nodded to one another and Mujekeewis had faded into the trees as if he'd never been there and Clemsy never saw him again. Afterward, Pa had reluctantly taught him to work a rifle. Clemsy may have been terminally clumsy but he wasn't, and isn't, stupid. He was well aware of his danger when handling a firearm, just as he knew what he was doing when he worked with explosives. Ironically this was part of his particular talent, so he became quite a respectable shot. However, he'd never killed a thing. He wouldn't and Pa respected that. If he had to, maybe he would. Otherwise, it just felt wrong.
Right next to his shovel, a rifle lay within reach. He looked at it but felt no urge to pick it up. Runt lay undisturbed and Sidetrack was fast asleep, one hind leg bent, the hoof barely touching the ground. The dog bark was a dream then.
Again.
For the past three nights his dreams had been vivid and very strange. In one he rode a mare through a forest of giant trees, much like the one he was in now. There was always a dog, large and black with ears that pointed straight up and a snout that looked more wolf-like than dog. As often happens with dreams after waking, the image appeared in his mind from wherever dreams hide. The dog had looked right at him and barked a warning. Just as it had the night before.
And the night before that.
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