Work Text:
Hardly anyone ever goes into the forest.
And those that do always come out different, if they come out at all.
You stand just outside the tree-line wondering if this is really worth it. Looking back at your village steels your resolve. The illness came quickly and suddenly and nothing is helping. The healers have tried everything but nothing is working and they’re expecting the first deaths any day now.
The only glimmer of hope had been a paragraph in a book so old the spine had creaked and groaned when it you opened it and ink faded nearly to nothing. It spoke of a plant that grew somewhere deep in the forest that could heal near anything.
With one last look back at your home, you settle your travel pack more firmly against your back and step under the boughs of the ancient forest.
It’s eerily silent even just a few feet under the canopy to the point that even your breath sounds overly loud and disruptive. The feeling of being watched makes the skin on the back of your neck prickly and you get the feeling that you’re being judged.
“Hello?” You whisper the word, but it still shatters the silence like a bell.
“Uh, magic, um… Magic forest protector guardian spirit thing,” and gods above do you ever feel like an idiot right now. “Could you please, ah, not kill me for being here? It’s just, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t necessary!”
The feeling of being watched and judged becomes a physical weight that nearly sends you crashing to your knees. Memories of your family and friends flit through your mind like someone is turning pages in a book.
When the spirit? Guardian? Being? Forest god? Is satisfied with whatever it learned it’s presence recedes and you find that you have, indeed, collapsed to the forest floor.
Your knees ache and your right palm and forearm stings with scrapes, some deep enough to ooze blood.
Your head feels like you’ve had far too much of your cousin’s favorite brew to the point where just laying there and becoming one with the leaf covered ground is very appealing.
You get the feeling that you’re being laughed at and can’t quite help the petulant thoughts that cross your mind.
Now you’re absolutely certain that you’re being laughed at.
But the pain in your head lessens enough that you can now truly take in your surroundings again.
There’s a… path.
You’re pretty sure there hadn’t been a path before.
The sounds of the forest have returned and the presence has retreated, but not vanished completely.
Well then. If this wasn’t permission, if not an outright blessing, you don’t know what is.
You pull yourself to your feet.
“Thank you.” You whisper.
And start down the path.