To Save a World Ch. 03

She pointed at the plant again, made a motion of taking one of the thing stems, and rubbing it to her skin -- her fur. Then she grimaced, blocked her nose with her hand and made choking noises, and eventually lolled out her tongue.

"Oh!" Lydia realized. "Oh, the plant kills."

Silver blinked at her.

Feeling a little self-conscious, Lydia pointed at the plant, then made the same tongue-lolling motion that Silver did. Silver nodded vigorously, a satisfied smile on her face. Feeling just a tad bit silly, Lydia smiled back at the woman.

"Dead," she said. Silver looked at her questioningly. "Dead," she repeated, and then made the tongue-lolling motion again.

"Ded," Silver repeated, then pointed at the plant. She said it more like 'de-duh', with a small sing-song inflection at the end, but Lydia thought it not so far from the actual sound. A flush of triumph went through her at her accomplishment, and then suddenly she knew what she had to do.

"Yes! Dead, the plant makes you dead if you touch it!" Lydia nodded vigorously, laughing. Silver smiled even wider, and without the fierceness, her foreign face actually held some kind of feral beauty. "Ded," the wolf woman said again, and then made another motion. She mimed taking one of the plant stalks again, and then rubbed it on her skin. Her eyes closed in the death-pose for the third time, but then she suddenly opened her eyes and stared at Lydia, expectant.

"Um, yes. Dead," Lydia said uncertainly.

But this time Silver shook her head no. With a determined glint in her eyes, she once again demonstrated about grabbing the plant. This time, when she motioned rubbing it into her fur, she first mimed being dead, and then she slowly, dramatically... woke up from her death.

"Heal? The plant heals, I guess. But which is it, does it heal or kill?" she guessed, muttering to herself.

Silver stared at her patiently, which Lydia found a little bit disconcerting. At a loss, she merely smiled politely at the wolf and then shrugged helplessly. Perhaps another time, but the implications of the strange plant growing out of the ground were too complicated to communicate to her.

Doubtless, though, that her companion knew more about the forest than she did. This thought gave her a little bit of hope -- at least one of them knew things around here, though it certainly did not mean that she could slack off. Silver carefully nodded at her, and considered the plant some more. Perhaps, like her, the creature simply did not know what to do with the plant. Maybe it was a kind that had another kind that looked like it, and one was poisonous while the other can cure, or perhaps the plant can both cure and kill in equal measure, depending on how it was used. Whatever the case, Lydia is unlikely to know more, so she silently resolved not to touch the oddity before her.

Her little exchange with the creature highlighted something of monumental significance to the young woman -- communication. Silver was, to her, a creature right out of legends. Before this, she lived in a world where beastmen were only heard of in songs, borne from the fickle minds of tavern poets and bards. They were fearsome monsters, uncivilized creatures of great strength and might, enemies that humanity has managed to vanquish from its lands.

But she has to stop thinking of her along those terms. Silver wasn't a monster of legend, but just another terrified soul hoping to get out of this situation alive. And terrified souls wanting to survive needed to be able to talk, in the least, or they'd neither be terrified nor tired, but just dead.

And she'd felt that she could do it, too. A little while ago, staring at those intelligent, inhuman eyes, she'd felt an inexplicable connection. A recognition that Silver would also be trying her best just as she was, and she owed it to her, and to Aaron, lying unconscious, to try her best for.. Something. Anything.

In the midst of this ancient forest, amid the unfamiliar cacophony of teeming life, beside a creature stepped out from legend to stand, painfully and terrifyingly, before her, Lydia suddenly felt very small. She felt small, powerless as a bug on the feet of giants. It was a feeling that she knew well.

This time, though, she knew something was different. Her gaze meandered across the vibrant walls of plant and leaves, towards the impossibly big skeleton of a fallen tree, which contained the person who showed her hope. Who showed her, in such fleeting manner, that although bugs may be small, they sure as hell can give a nasty bite.

* * *

The day had passed by relatively calmly for the whole group. The sounds of the forest had now changed from the busy, random chaos of the day to an almost anticipatory buzz of the oncoming dusk. It was not dark yet, but it soon will be, and fast, specially so this deep in the forest.

It was both familiar and unfamiliar to Sershe. The dense greenery, the myriad of smells, the peculiar, cloying humidity of life pressing down on you that only forests have. She and her people lived in a forest just like this one, but also very different. The forest that she grew up in knew her people. Even when Sershe, she had the feeling of protectiveness among the trees, of the ancient life around her cooperating, helping her tribe somehow, throughout the days.

This forest, this one felt like it was pushing her out.

Except that's not quite right. It didn't actively push them out. It was like how one would regard an ill-fated rain, or an accidental stain on one's fur. You wanted it gone as soon as possible, but it was insignificant enough in the meantime that you let it be. Tolerated. That's the word. She felt tolerated. She felt that the forest was merely tolerating them, and that they should be grateful for this toleration.

Grateful, too. Only too much. The forest has afforded them rest -- essentially afforded them their freedom from pursuit. Sershe was, at the very least, sure that the enemy isn't anywhere near their current location. Although it was a different place, she knew how to read the spirits, how to feel for the distilled essence of life. And the forest was teeming with life.

It was how she noticed the difference between her forest and this. Her forest was used to their presence, this one was not. The spirits still recoiled at the feel of her, perhaps unused to being observed, regarded. It was going to be hard to entreat the spirits to do her bidding, for a while, but with her talent she is at least capable of sensing for disturbances. And so far there is nothing.

She finished her patrol around their rudimentary camp just as it was beginning to darken. Practiced paws glided silently across the forest floor, the thistles and thorns that so encumbered her human companions rebuffed by her fur so that she seemed to drift unobstructed through the underbrush. Her companion's slight terror upon seeing her did not come as a surprise.

She was a small thing, the female human. Her peculiar, fire-hued head would barely graze the wolf woman's chin were they to compare their height -- but it was not just that. The woman had an air about her, of wanting to appear smaller than she already are, of wanting to disappear into the background, unnoticed and still. It was in the way she moved, too. Cautiously silent, economical, as if a great bird would swoop down on her little form from above if she spent too much time out in the open.

Sershe recognized this mannerism as that of a prey.

She wasn't just prey, though. Far from it. Several times in their frenzied trek through the jungle Sershe had thought that the little woman had finally given up, fallen unconscious somewhere on the forest floor and simply refuse to get back up. But she didn't, never even made noises of complaint, and just trudged on despite the obvious fatigue on her tiny limbs. Underneath that dainty exterior lay a formidable core, an unwillingness to just lay down and die, the stubbornness of life itself.

Sershe realized that she had been staring when the woman made an inquisitive noise. She made a conciliatory gesture, and accepted the offered spot beside her companion. It was a pity that, unlike her rescuer, the female human was not able to speak the language of the forest people. The beastman was curious about them, having seen so few humans before, and only from afar. That, and her voice was appealing.

Light was beginning to rapidly fade as she self-consciously settled beside the little woman, offering her a grateful smile. Sershe was pretty sure that she was not the only one feeling unsure -- but she recognized an offer for friendship when she saw one. They sat cross-legged, their knees touching, backs now to the trunk of the tree, following the slight inward curve.

In front of them lay the man who she swore her life to, the paleness of his skin accentuated by the waning light so that he looked delicate, translucent -- as if touching his skin would make him vanish. Make him dissolve into so much dust.

She shook her head to banish the thought. Too early yet, to give up hope. Tomorrow she will attempt to entreat the spirits to help heal him. She would have done it as soon as possible, but securing their camp and the surrounding area took up most of her energy, not to mention the scant rest she's had throughout the whole ordeal.

So much to do, still. It will not be easy, surviving this situation with almost nothing on them, one of them unconscious and likely dying, the other one lacking for any useful skills, needing to be protected. The forest was a force unto its own -- uncaring, unforgiving. Anyone who dared to live within it unprepared would find no help from it, no refuge. The spirits of nature cannot be tamed, only befriended in the loosest sense of the word. She would not be able to do this alone.

She wondered if the others made it out alive, with their unquestioning loyalty to her word. She had ordered her kin to give create havoc in the slaver's camp, and to do everything they can in order to ensure their future survival, including looting their supplies.

Sershe basically ordered them to their deaths. But it was necessary, and she had all the trust in them. She murmured a small prayer to the spirits for their safety, just as she had done throughout the day.

It was now well and truly dark, and although the forest never really went silent, the shift in the kind of noise it made was to Sershe akin to the sky turning red for the sunset. Different creatures made different sounds in the beginning of the night, taking up the song of the day according to their own tune. Closing her eyes, she could almost imagine she was home, high up in the trees, safe and warm in her own soft bed, in her simple tree hut, connected to other tree huts by exquisitely woven bridges of ropes and trees, their village an invisible bulwark of everything that was good and familiar.

Before the fire. Before it was destroyed. Before they had to go, leaving behind everything.

* * *

Sershe had her claws out before she was even fully awake. The entrance to their shelter was right behind her, and she was crouched, her arms outstretched defensively, tipped with sturdy, razor sharp claws. Something had awakened her -- a slight shift in the feel of the spirits around, a momentary disturbance, like a discordant note in a continuous song.

It had awakened her instincts, made her move even without her conscious mind deciding on it. And now here she was, her mind snapped to wakening, suddenly absorbing the information her senses were sending to her head. The coldness of the air. The oppressive darkness. The sudden, absolute silence that greeted her ears like something that you could touch.

Sershe was straining to see across the dark, crouching completely still even as her oblivious companions slumbered behind her. All traces of sleep were gone from her body, the need to defend herself making her blood warm up, her limbs light. Taught and steady. Ready. Her ears strained for the slightest disruption, every sound suspect.

A deep growl emanated from somewhere in front of her. Sershe's heart sank. Wolves.

The night was slowly revealed to the young beastman in shades of gray. Her kin had particularly good vision, even in the night, and she'd never thanked the Spirit of Beginning more than now for that particular trait. There. A pair of eyes skulked deep in the gloom, crouched, ready. Though she couldn't see, she could feel more of them spread out all around her. She started to feel wary. The whole pack has come to hunt.

A blur of movement -- and then she was throwing a wild punch a little bit to her right, connecting with a solid body sailing in the air, impossibly bigger and heavier than she would have thought possible. The force of the leap was completely stopped by her strike, and the assailing wolf was violently thrown to the ground, giving off loud whimpers of pain.

Immediately her brain prickled in alarm.

Wolves don't hunt like this. A Shaman of the Kin of the Forest knew many things, and she knew that such creatures never resorted to confrontations like this unless they were cornered, or are starving to death. Wolves usually back out if you held your ground and faced them head-on. There was no need to suffer greatly if they only chose their prey wisely.

More fundamentally, their hunting relies on the rush -- the fleeing of their prey, a sign of fear and weakness. They rely on outmaneuvering the escaping prey with seamless coordination between members of the pack.

They have not done anything to antagonize the pack. She had not even known they were near. And it was peak season for the forest -- it was impossible for them to be starving to death.

Her hackles raised, feeling an electric surge of dread sweep through her. The presence of wolves would not be enough to cause a disturbance in the spirits around her. Unless...

She felt a sudden force from behind, and she desperately twisted, bringing her claws to bear on the swift approach of an enemy. Her sharp claws met with flesh and bone, felt it tear and be torn. The assailant once again swiftly disappeared into the night, leaving her fingers bloodied. Sershe hissed in pain.

Beastmen were different from the animals that they were molded after, but they did not in any way count themselves as inherently superior. Just separate. Mankind had that hubris of superiority, establishing hierarchies and reinforcing it with needless bloodshed even among themselves, but her kind was different. Her Kin, especially, respected the wolves -- the creatures of their beginning. Even feared them, to some degree.

They demonstrated that fearsome agility and coordination as they launched swift, precise attacks on her and then melted back into the night. Sershe was as fast as them, and her senses just as keen, so no attack was left unpunished. She sidestepped an approaching rush, low to the ground. A quick jab of her claws was delivered to the back of its head, the force from her higher vantage force so strong that it was able to drive a wound deep to the bone. The whimper that time was final as the wolf collapsed in a heap, skidding from its forward momentum.

Sershe felt the air around her change. The pack had been testing her with light, swift attacks, but that probably changed the moment she killed one of theirs. She kicked the body out of her area so that she wouldn't stumble on it, and used the lull from the attacks to focus on her magical perception.

Immediately she felt the blazing auras of the wolves. Her perception was almost no different from her night vision, except that she saw things in shades of force, or energy, or life. It was difficult to explain it, but she knew she was seeing the spirit of all things. She has always seen it, receiving her training from a very young age as the next Shaman of their village meant that her ability to perceive the energies that flow in the world, and their meanings.

So real dread filled her as the aura of the wolves blazed white in her mind, so brilliant that the otherwise radiant forest seemed dim.

Blessed of the forest. The thought rang through her mind. A blessing for them, a curse for us.

Sometimes, for reasons unknown, the forest chooses to bestow creatures with more of its spirit. This could lead to three potential results: the creature may not be able to assimilate the magical energies properly, resulting in their death; the creature may be able to assimilate the extra energies given to them, but not know how to handle it properly, and thus turn into unthinking, destructive monsters; and lastly, the creature may be able to assimilate, and additionally be capable enough to retain their normal sanity -- but it was very, very rare.

These creatures would be regarded as legends. Some as feared harbinger of death and destruction, some as inscrutable guardians. Yet some as hands of the forest themselves, a manifestation of their purpose. Yet some as gods

She did not know what these wolves were. But what she was sure of was that these were creatures perfectly attuned to the magical energies of this mighty forest. This made them very dangerous, as the blessing of the forest grants them more strength, speed, cunning, and maybe even magical abilities, to some extent. And because it looks like they were trying to kill them.

A deep, menacing growl came from all around her. That was her only warning.

Two of the blaring auras shot towards her, front and back. A blinding, unnatural simultaneous attack that would have ended her right there had she not been ready for it. She dashed to the side, expecting the wolves to retreat again once they landed, but they simply changed direction and charged at her.

A slash of her claw hit the one on her right in its face, but she missed on her other side and Sershe felt it as its powerful jaws attempted to tear her leg. Instead of shaking her leg free, she endured the pain and simply stabbed down with all her might. Her sharp strike hit its neck and it fell limp.

The other wolf was recovering from its bloodied eyes in front of her, but before she could finish it a sudden pain clamped down on the back of her right leg.

Fuck, she cursed. She had carelessly disregarded her flank.

Before the wolf could disappear the ground around it erupted with greenery, rapidly entangling it with a mass of thorny, poisonous vines that made it impossible to escape. Its growls of rage slowly turned into whimpers of pain as the thorns started digging into its skin, getting through the fur and delivering their painful poison.

She turned her attention back to the struggling wolf in front of her just in time to see it shake its head and swiftly jump back to the shadows. Healing, she realized. Sershe gulped. She did not allow herself to tremble.

Lydia woke up, the feeling that something was deeply wrong foremost in her mind. She had managed to find a position curled up next to the unconscious young man, and now that she was awake she had to crawl over him to get to the outside.

Her body was awkwardly right above Aaron when she heard a deep, menacing growl that stopped her from movement.

And then Silver walked in front of her. She gasped, taking in her injuries, the dark blood flowing apparent even in the dim light. Silver was limping and breathing hard, but she still took her stance in front of Lydia and Aaron.

Another growl, but this time it was like the forest itself was expressing its displeasure. It came from all around them -- a deep, angry thing, the sound causing an involuntary shiver to run down her spine.

Lydia had a sudden awareness of being apart from the forest. An alien, a foreigner. An invader.

There was a deep thud in front of her, and she looked up just in time to see a great wolf dash out of sight. Another blur launched itself at Silver, and the wolf-woman met it squarely in the air with a mighty strike, moving impossibly fast. The wolf fell with a roar, but before the animal even hit the ground she was moving again.