The Roar of Andora: Book One

Chapter Forty: The Forest Guide

Aaron ran after the stag through the forest. Up the leaf-ridden muddy slope, through the densifying mists, losing sight of the creature for a few brief moments and then the hazy shape of the animal would reappear again. The run through the forest led Aaron into a thick grove. Spurs and thorns got caught in his clothing. The vapour of his breath bursting on every exhale. And then finally reaching the peak of his exhaustion, Aaron could not run after the deer any further. Slapping his knees, Aaron slouched over and wheezed, catching his breath.

"I'm—I'm—" he heaved "Losing—" gasp "my fucking mind," he finished in a thin voice, shaking his head. "I'm losing my fucking mind," Aaron repeated. Lifting his eyes, Aaron saw in front of him a patch of wild berries; a hoof print engraved in the mud below.

"What the..."

The shine on the wet ruby coloured berries roused the demanding appetite Aaron had been ignoring. Exhausted, desperate, and starving, and for a reason beyond his rationalizing mind, Aaron stumbled forth, falling onto his knees, and crawled toward the berries. Clasping a handful, the juices leaked between his fingers as he shoved as many that could possibly fit into his mouth.

Nothing, no flavour, had ever tasted sweeter. He chewed the berries in his mouth as fast as he could, the body not knowing when it might ever eat again. Only when Aaron tried to swallow had he realized how dry his mouth was. Grabbing another handful and then another, the insides of his palms and the sides of his mouth were soon stained red. Just as he gorged through his third handful, his body rejected swallowing any more. Forcing the last of the mushed berries into his mouth, Aaron was amazed by how quickly he felt full.

Kneeling on the muddy ground, now that his stomach had been served, he was able to think clearly, where to go and what to do next.

Aaron was clueless.

He was deeper in the forest than ever before, the deer's trail to the berries had made him lose whatever little sense of direction he had gathered since stranded in the wild.

"Aaron Evershield thought it was a wonderful idea," he began narrating, "To follow a stupid deer to a bushel of wild berries that very likely could have been poisonous and is now more lost than ever." It had even crossed Aaron's mind that perhaps the berries were poisonous (or hallucinogenic) and had done something to the stag that made him unafraid of his human presence. "Great," Aaron said, looking around, tossing his hands. "What the fuck's the point now. May as well just die."

Aaron then looked at the axe he had dropped beside him. Took serious consideration of it.

But he knew better.

Falling onto his back, gazing at the bare branches that cut across the darkening sky, Aaron longed to see the stars. Recalling the stars drowning the sickle moon's glow in their bright vividity over the Vale of Catholina. And that might not had even been an entire day ago—but Aaron felt that it might as well have been an entire lifetime ago.

For a moment, Aaron dipped beneath the surface of his urgent thoughts to make sense of how he would have ended up miles away from his home laying face-up lost in the woods. But didn't grant himself more than just a dip into his deeper mind. Not only did he know better not to, but he couldn't. It wouldn't make sense to him yet—not enough time had passed.

Rolling his eyes over to the right, Aaron noticed an obtuse groove in the mud. Then, on further examination, recognized the stag's hoof-print.

Under any circumstance other than his current dire one, Aaron would have rationalized. The deer could not possibly be guiding him. But, stranded physically and mentally, desperate to the point where he could interpret anything as a guiding sign, Aaron welled whatever reserve of strength he had left to lift himself off the forest floor and follow the hoof prints into the darkening forest. 

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