AN: This is more of a collection of short . . . snippets? is that the right word? rather than a concise chapter. I was originally planing to upload them all independently, but then a friend said it was probably a bad idea and I realized that I don't read stories that look like they have overly short chapters myself. So, I just compiled them into one big group the length of one of my normal chapters.

Please read and Review! And if you have any suggestions, don't hesitate to share them!

Winds gently whistled through the trees of the forest, gently rattling the tree branches and rustling their leaves. Unfortunately, while I found the slight chill brought by the breeze comforting, between my rough marching over the past few hours and getting caught in low hanging branches, enough of my hair had escaped from my makeshift braid for it to constantly be getting blown into my face. My first reflex was of course to grab the strands trying to invade my eyeballs, but I couldn't afford any to make sudden movements. I needed to remain quiet, or else I might find myself going hungry for the next few days. Or least needing to raid the reserve . . . which I knew I wouldn't do.

Currently, I was laid out flat on the ground, slowly crawling forward as quietly as the dead leaves would allow. I tried to keep my movements to only the times when the breeze intensified, using the background noise of the forest to disguise the noise I was making, and trusting the low hanging branches some three feet above my head to keep me hidden.

Perched on a low branch some hundred feet away from me, sat my target. A medium sized green and blue bird, currently in the process of grooming itself. Admittedly, my own myopia(nearsightedness) normally made spotting such creatures difficult. However, this particular kind of bird had a bright red face, that in the subdued greens and browns of the forest, I could spot them from a considerable distance.

Of course, spotting something from a distance and hitting them from one are two different things, and I had thus far only accomplished one of them. I had found my position, and it was time to rectify that.

Breathing in and out slowly, I focused on the tingling sensation of power just beneath my skin, and prodded it to the surface as gently and subtly as possible. I didn't think the bird would be able to sense me, but I didn't want to risk it.

Once I had a steady stream flowing, I channeled the energy towards my hands, where it slowly began to coalesce into a physical form. Slowly, a long, pink-orange cylinder began to form between my fingertips, carefully crafted by my minds eye.

It was roughly four feet long, and abut an inch and a half wide. While I couldn't see from my current position, I knew that the cylinder was hollow, with an opening in the end opposite me. The side closest to me, which I had pressed against my shoulder, was larger and shaped so I could press it against my shoulder without discomfort, and they was a second wider section part of the way down so I could grip it more comfortably. Inside the cylinder, I felt a spiral shape begin to form, as I smoothly rifled the interior of the cylinder. Finally, I formed two raised portions along the pipe like structure, to help me aim.

And like that, my gun was complete.

Breathing even more slowly than I had been before, I took aim down the length of my weapons barrel, aiming at the red-faced bird sitting in the tree. With another shift of energy, I felt a sphere of condensed energy form at the back of my "gun", ready to be fired. Nervously, I began to build up power behind it in a steady flow of pressure, using the majority of my focus to keep the power from bursting out and firing before I was ready.

The anticipation was killing me by this point, and I was forced to clench my jaw tightly to keep my teeth from chattering in my mouth. Every muscle in my body demanded that I pounce, and denying that urge rendered me all but sick, but I knew that I needed to ignore it. Finally, I was ready.

I finalized my aim. I took one last deep breath. I released the built up energy . . . !

'KA-BAM!'

And my "gun" exploded in my grip, riddling the hand closest to the explosion with small cuts and burns. I snarled in pain, crawling unto my knees and cradling my damaged right hand to my chest as the remains of the weapon dissolved back into particles. 'Dammit! I made the barrel too tight again!'

Shaking my head, I glanced towards where the bird had been, only to see an empty branch. Not that I was surprised. Really, the idea of it sticking around through both the explosion and my own snarling was laughable.

I sighed in disappointment, still cradling my bleeding digits, and crawled out from under the branches I'd been using as camouflage. Once they're was nothing obstructing my path, I began to stumble mu way towards the nearest convenient place to sit. My legs, stiff from my slow crawling through the underbrush, shuddered in protest at the motion, but I knew that I'd feel better once I'd stretched them out a bit.

After taking one last look around the area, I turned my attention to my still bleeding palm and fingers, surrounding them in a warm glow as I focused my power unto them. Slowly, the discoloration from the burns began to fade, and the abrasions in the skin began to seal shut. Once my injuries were fully healed, I began to clench and un-clench the hand, searching for any discomfort.

Assured of my success when I felt no pain, I shoved off of the fallen log I'd used as a stool, and began to shakily walk back towards they I came. I still needed to find myself something to eat, or else I'd be spending the night hungry.

The subtle pattering of water rippling over branches. The groaning and creaking of the wood under my feet. The of-key harmony of bird-song in the background. The shifting of the reeds lining the shore. All these sounds combined to form a symphony that would be downright nostalgic . . . were it not for a simple reality.

I hated fishing.

. . . Or at least the form it took for me.

You see, I didn't really know how to make a proper fishing-rod. Nor did I have any idea of how to make any form of decent net. That left me with only spear-fishing in the shallows (which tended to go . . . poorly, for me), and my current method. Which was to say, crouching on a mass of trees that had fallen into the water which fish tended to gather under, waiting for one to get close enough for me to stun with an explosive ball of power I held in my other hand.

Really, it was all quite uncomfortable. At least with normal fishing, you could sit back and relax. But no, I was stuck with using balls of energy that would detonate the second I lost focus, trying to split my attention to keeping it stable and motion in the water.

I'd tried other setups for my explosives, stronger outer shells, delayed detonation and such, but nothing else worked as effectively. If I made the shell of energy to stronger, than it wouldn't detonate until it hit the bottom, or would detonate after hitting the surface. No in between. So my only option was to set up the sphere to blow after a set amount of time, for which I needed to know how far away the fish was to begin with, forcing me to focus on it constantly to set the "timer" when I saw the fish. Which was exactly what I was doing.

Distantly, I remembered a time when I had enjoyed fishing, though they were blurry at best. I couldn't even remember who I was with, despite the obvious answer being "those family members you can no longer remember." Nonetheless, I couldn't help but wonder. 'Maybe I'd actually enjoy fishing if I got to float around in a boat with a line in the water, instead of . . . this.'

But there was no point to wondering that. Pondering what if's wouldn't get rid of the aching of my Achilles tendon's, or the pounding feeling where my spine met my skull. Or any of the other minor pains I'd developed over the past few hours as I waited for a fish to stay in one place long enough for me to "set" the "timer" on my projectile.

By that point in time, I was seriously considering simply blasting a larger, more powerful sphere into the water, and letting it stun/kill every fish in a thirty foot radius. I knew from experience that it would work, that I could get basket-loads of fish from doing so. But no, if I did that, then I'd have far more fish on my hands than I knew what do do with. Way to much for me to eat before it went bad. I suppose I could have dried some of it over a fire, but with my cooking skills, the resulting flavor would be horrible.

I sighed out loud, trying to crack my neck. Unfortunately, that did nothing to relieve the pounding at the base of my skull.

The sound of the waters surface breaking knocked me out of my sulk, and I found myself looking around to find the source of the sound. Sitting roughly ten or so feet away from me on the same mass of dead trees was an otter. It's fur was sleeked back from water, and it's head was tilted to the side in and adorable curious expression.

'Oh no.' I groaned to myself, allowing the orb of power hovering above my right hand to fade into nothingness. If there were otters here, then they would steal any fish I killed before I could get it out of the water. I knew that from experience. And they knew from experience that I wouldn't shoot them for it.

I rose to my feet and stretched, scaring the otter back into the water. As annoyed as I was that I hadn't caught anything, at the very least I could finally begin to work the kinks out of my back and legs!

In the forest, silence was rare. Usually, there was a breeze rattling the branches, or birds singing, or squirrels chattering, or . . . something. Total silence was eerie. And I didn't like eerie. I felt like there was something watching me, something that had scarred every other force in the forest to silence. Of course, I knew from experience that that wasn't the case, but the feeling persisted.

So, in an attempt to take my mind off of the strange feeling, I began to search for something to do.

There were multiple small projects that I could potentially do. None of them were vital, or else I'd have don them already, and all of them were things that would take a considerable amount of time. I could weave a basket. I could prep a fire pit in preparation for smoking something. I could work on my energy manipulation. I could try and make another pot out of clay. Or I could start soaking some wood in boiling water using one of the pots I'd already made, and bend it into a small container. Or carve a lid for said containers.

But . . . I didn't particularly feel like doing any of those things . . . I ended up deciding to do something frivolous instead.

Cracking my fingers, I moved out into the open, making sure there were at least six steps between myself and the nearest tree, and that the air above me was clear of branches. I breathed in slowly, closing my eyes, and felt the pressure build up inside of me, before flowing out. I gathered it in the air around me, before it was focused into a flat circle a foot or two in front of me.

Delicately, I raised one foot to the floating disc, and began to press my weight down on it. When it was sustaining my full body-weight, I lifted my other foot and stood fully upon the floating platform. Then I began to make another platform, and repeated the process.

As I climbed higher and higher into the air, my fear of heights began to act up, driving me to stat making secondary platforms for me to place my hands on. Before I knew, I had transitioned from climbing "stairs" to climbing a "ladder". By the time I had opened my eye's again, I had climbed above the tree line, and could see a large portion of the forest beneath me.

The sight of naught but open air under my feet never got any more comfortable, but after adjusting my stance and taking a deep breath, I calmed my heart's beat to something reasonable.

Now calmed down, I took in the sight of my home base from above. My home base was built in and around a large tree, likely the oldest in the forest. While not the tallest tree, the massive evergreen was easily the thickest. In fact, it was the only tree in the forest large enough that I couldn't wrap my arms around it, exceeding the length of my arms almost three time's over at the base.

The tree was roughly ten times my own height, and the top ended abruptly, giving me the impression it had once been taller. It lay in the centre of a large clearing, in which there were no other trees, allowing it to have still-green branches surrounding it from top to bottom, rather than the stripped bottoms most of the forest's trees had.

My house, a box shaped collection of slightly crooked boards and relatively straight branches, was constructed roughly two to three of my own height off of the ground, requiring that I climb up several branches in order to reach it. It was held together with a combination of wooden nails(dowels? I know someone who called them dowels, but who?) sap, and clay, with the roof being three times as thick as the walls and floor to keep out water.

The clearing around my home-tree was full various different projects of mine. Fire-pits, wood piles, roughly constructed wooden crates, and clay pots were scattered about, and I knew that under the cover of the trees one could find several of the tools that I wasn't currently using, such as the tanning rack.

Of course, it all looked quite messy from above. 'I, should . . . probably organize things.' I slowly paced back and forth on my platform, trying to plan out what things I should move where. 'The fire pit's way to much work to move, it stay's where it is. The wooden crates are all rather dry, so I should move them all the way to the other side of the tree from the pit. Most of the pots are fresh water . . . keep those near the tree in case a fire starts . . . what's that flapping sound?'

I looked around quickly, searching for the source of the sound, only to find the talons of a large bird of prey mere feet from my face. With a startled yelp mirrored by the raptors own shriek, I jolted backwards, my platform dissolving underneath me as I lost focus.

For the first second I spent plummeting, I froze up, fear of heights crippling me, but I fought in down enough to realize I needed to make another platform. Bringing all of the power I could to bear, I forced another structure to materialize below me, only for me to smash right through it, only slowing down slightly.

At least the shock proved enough to knock the last of the fear from my mind, and I managed to form yet another floor underneath my falling form. Then I smashed through that one as well. 'Not like I expected anything different', I thought, preparing to make a final platform to stop my fall entirely now that I was slowed down enough. A shame I was only two paces above the ground at that point.

"GAAAAHHH!"

The crashing of thunder. The howling of winds through the branches. The rattling of sticks clattering together. The slight creak of the walls of my tree-house as the tree-branch supports swayed. The pounding of falling water on the roof. 'Just like me to sleep through half of a thunderstorm.'

I had always slept like a flipping rock, but somehow it always surprised me when I managed to sleep through something ridiculous. Walking over too the entrance, I moved the log that held it "closed" and poked my head out past the thick, wax coated flap of leather that served as my door. I immediately found myself drenched by the torrential downpour outside, the wind rendering the roofs overhang mute.

Holding one hand in front my eyes to keep the water from getting into the ocular organs, I looked around the clearing that surrounded my tree. Unfortunately, between the low light and my own poor eyesight, I couldn't make out much in the clearing bellow beyond the sight glint of light off of the puddles bellow. I'd have to wait until morning to see how much damage the wind and rain had done.

Pulling my head back into the dark confines of my little hut, I tried to wipe some of the liquid off of my face, only to realize that ones bare fore-arms weren't the best tool for drying yourself. I wiped off what water I could with my hands, and turned to search for one of my robes.

The inside of my tree-hut was basically pitch-black at the moment, but I had built it myself, and been using it for years. I could navigate the small room in my sleep. I grabbed my robe off of the short, chopped of branch that I was using as a coat rack and began to wipe down my face and hair. Once I was sure I was(mostly) dry, I returned to the door and moved the log back into it's proper place holding the flap closed.

I felt around the room, making sure nothing was out of place, before slumping down unto the mass of fur's and old worn sheets that served as my bed. I dragged a random mass of said soft material unto myself, and rolled over so I was on my side, face half buried in a fur.

' . . . of course I manage to find the thinnest point of the pile.'

Not being able to get comfortable with my side pressed into the wooden floor, I adjusted my position. Only to find another thin spot.

At this point I pulled myself back out of my pile of bedding and began to rearrange the furs and sheets in an attempt to make myself more comfortable. Once I was confident that there were no more thin spots to poke me in the side, I flopped back unto the pile and once again burrowed underneath the surface of the mound.

After counting over two thousand squirrels jumping from one branch to another, I realized that I was not going to be getting back to sleep any time soon.

I rose out of my place of rest with an aggravated moan, crawling back to the door-flap and again moving the log to peak out into the rain. It was still to dark to make out anything bellow, but at least the wind and rain had calmed to a breeze and steady drizzle, so I didn't get soaked a second time.

Moving back to the bed, a slumped back against the still exposed, though smoother down, bark of the tree. I could feel every nook and cranny of the gnarled surface rubbing against my back, but I didn't particularly care. No, I just stared off into the darkness, trying to let my thoughts wander to some distant place more interesting than the makeshift walls around me. But my mind was quiet that night, so I was left alone with the darkness.

Growing tired of the silence within my own mind, I turned my attention to the power bubbling just beneath my skin, drawing it to the surface. In the black of the tree-house, I could see as my skin began to emit a glow the colour of a yellow-peach, the light flickering across my skin as I flexed my fingers. Putting my palms together, I focused for the briefest moment, before pulling my hands apart to reveal a small ball of light. With a thought, the ball began to grow in both size an luminosity, until it was a melon sized orb that lit the entire chamber..

The sphere of lights surface danced with varying shades of yellow, with faint hints of white and aqua flickering around the edges. The things it illuminated, by comparison, were far less vibrant. Rather, the walls and floor of my bedroom were quite lifeless and monotone in comparison.

I closed my eyes for several minutes, focusing on the way the light shone through my eye-lids. But the silence in the back of my mind remained, among the distant echoes of memories that wanted to surface, but could not. And that quiet terrified me.

Opening my eyes once more, I looked around the small chamber once more, searching for something, anything to distract me from the silence. But all there was in this room was a small cupboard containing dried food, a clay cup of water, and a pile of fur and rags.

The realization that there was nothing to save me from the quiet drained me, both physically and mentally, and I let myself slide rag-doll unto the ground dramatically, starring up at the ceiling. Not concerned with the non explosive sphere of light, I allowed it to roll out of my hand unto the floor. The orb struck the ground without sound, and rolled into the wall across from me, illuminating a precise series of scratches in the walls.

I focused on the scratches, little patterns of straight vertical line's with a single horizontal slash through each group of four. Ever line represented a time I had gone to bed in this little hutch. And the wall was covered in them. Almost forty rows of twenty sets. 'When was the last time I visited town? A hundred days ago? Two hundred? A year?'

" . . . I need to talk to someone." I truly spoke for the first time in weeks, voice cracking in my throat as thick streams of tears carved their way down my face.