Tales From the Old World

Beginnings

Blank nothingness. A dark vast expance of pure space. Silent and cold and empty. 

The deep breath.

The plunge.

The feel of soft earth beneath one's fingers. The pull of muscle and bone. The smell of grass, fresh with dew. The rustle of the wind through the trees. The first cold breath to enter the lungs. 

Eyes opened.

Harsh white light filled the world but slowly faded to reveal soft greens and browns of a forest, silent aside from the occasional breeze. Eyes slowly moved, absorbing the surroundings, not quite making sense of everything. The only thought in his mind was Bryndel.

"Bryndel . . . that is my name," he softly said, his voice weak and hollow. He felt a slight stirring beneath him as the last syllable escaped his soft, pink lips. The forest quickly shrank back, forming a clearing around him. The trees along the edge bent and twisted forward, as if bowing in respect.

His mind was confused, everything appeared sideways but he was not sure why he realized that.

The golden haired man pressed one wrinkle free hand into the earth and pushed forwards. The world tilted, setting everything upright. His mind clicked, telling him this was how it should be.

He wiggled his toes, letting the cool earth settle in the gaps between them. He breathed deeply, fascinated by the smell of the forest and captivated by the mellow greenery. After a few moments he became painfully aware that he was alone. He wondered if there were others like him hidden out beyond the . . . the . . . "trees," 

At the sound of the word the trees bristled and swayed in pride. They liked to hear their name. Especially in its full power. Groans and creaks could be heard emanating from the forest, almost like a soft applause.

Bryndel stretched himself wide, warming his naked body in the warm sun. He let the radiant sunbeams coat his body, giving him strength. He took a cautious step forwards, the crisp grass cushioning his foot as it pressed into the ground, creating an impression.

After completing his first succesful step he felt his confidence rise and he took another, and then another, until he was standing in front of a mighty oak, his nose inches away from the knotted bark. He raised a hand and placed it on the rough layer, gently stroking the tree trunk. He felt the harshness of the bark tear into his flesh and he tore his hand back, fearful. 

Peering down at his hand he was appalled to see a viscous red subtance oozing from the cuts in his palm.

"Blood," he said in his rough voice, breaking the silence of the wood. When the word broke the air his hand began to tingle, as the blood seeped back into the little cuts, sealing them. Satisfied, Brydel took a step into the woods, feeling the crunch of leaves and the spongy humus beneath his tender feet. 

As he ventured further into the forest the leaves began to attract to him, like metal to a magnet. They stuck to his skin at first, forming a scale-like coating. As more leaves clung to him they began to arrange themselves into a great green cloak, flexible and strong. Bryndel pulled the edges taught, liking the feeling against his fresh skin. Instinctively he pulled up the hood, sheilding his eyes from the sunlight filtering in through the canopy.

Onward he trekked, feeling some kind of internal force driving him forwards.

Day's later Bryndel emerged from the forest into a wide open plain, golden with tall grass, sun bleached from the constant daylight. He was struck with awe at how massive the world before him was and felt so very small. He walked forward, wading into the sea of grass, his torso obscured in the dense flora.