The trees of Darkroot Garden are so thickly clustered that they block even the wind.
It's midday, and the forest canopy blocks out the light of the sun, only small patches flowing through to give it an eerie glow. Luminous light blue mushrooms glow on the trunks of the large trees, illuminating specks of dust. There are no woodland animals to be found, nor monsters, nor demons. The thick forest blocks out all sound, and the only thing to be heard is the footsteps of a couple walking on the soft grass and loose dirt.
Sær frowns. "How do we know where to go? There are no landmarks, and the trees shift the sun. I don't even know if we're still heading east."
Priscilla absently fiddles with her tail, her eyes hazy after walking for so long in the monotonous wood. "I don't know..." She sighs.
"Priscilla, are you quite alright? You look worn."
"I am worn." She gives him a weak smile. "I feel as if I have been awake for days..."
"Let us rest 'til the night has come and passed, then," Sær replies, a hint of worry in his voice.
Priscilla shakes her head. "I can keep going," she says tiredly.
"Well I can't," he says, flopping down on a patch of moss. "My legs are shorter than yours, and I hunger." Truthfully, he could travel a while yet, but Priscilla is a tough girl who would not stop until she was asleep on her pretty feet. She sighs, but yields, laying against the massive trunk of a tree.
Darkroot Garden has always been famous for it's enormous trees; people would flock from all over the land to profit off of the abundant lumber and ore-rich caves, only to be slain by the monsters in the forest. Eventually, humans and monsters alike were all slain, their corpses allowing the empty forest to grow thick and wild. The forest has been silent since, save for the groaning of the trees as they shift and grow.
Priscilla is a sight to behold, a pure white angel walking through a sea of green and brown. Her fur catches the few rays that pierce the canopy, giving her a glowing outline against the darker forest.
A rare gust of wind breaks through the trees for the first time since the two entered. It kicks up the loose dirt on the forest floor, quickly turning into a veritable storm. Priscilla quickly fades from view, her heavy-lidded slit pupils the last part of her to dissappear.
Sær stands up slowly, groggily walking towards where she disappeared. Suddenly, a blue glow cuts through the storm, and the last thing he sees is a patch of blue spores floating towards his face.
His eyes grow heavy, and he falls to the forest floor.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sær's eyes blink open, struggling to see in the darkness. It is quiet, the wind no longer audible. He tries to move his arm, only for intense pain to flare up in it before being gripped by a rough tendril, buried in his arm. Squirming, he flexes and stretches, snapping it like a branch.
Or a root.
Sær thrashes more strongly, and dirt shifts and falls on his face from above. More struggling, more dirt, more tendrils. He is fighting wildly now, the root-tendrils coming at him in full force. He begins to slow, the roots poking at him, trying to pierce his skin.
A flash goes through his mind. All the laughs he shared, the food, the kisses, the happiness. Who was it with? He couldn't remember. Not her face not her name, just a color. White. Another root peirces his skin. What color was that again? Sær had forgotten. His mind fades, his muscles slacken, and he starts to drift off into unconsciousness, a thousand voices lulling him back to sleep.
But through the din, one voice cuts through, light and loving as the sun.
"Darling."
With a final great tug, Sær bursts through the forest floor, red faced and panting, his face a mess of dirt, rage, and passion. He stands, spitting on the broken wood. No mere tree would keep him from Priscilla.
Looking around, he sees little has changed. The forest is thicker, darker, but elsewise as quiet as it was before. A feather touch spreads across his entire back, and he whips around, drawing his blade, now rusty and brittle.
The forest is still empty. The touch trails across his back once more, and once more he whirls around with and angry shout. As he comes to a halt, a darkness covers his left eye. He grabs it, pulling, only to feel a sharp pain on his scalp. Is this...
His hair?
Sær runs his hands along his back, confirming his suspicion. Oddly enough, the white band of Priscilla's hair tied to the back of his head has grown as well, covering is entire head, mixing with his own black hair to make strands that are half white and half black, giving it an eerie look.
Sær looks around him, turning slowly and taking in the forest. Upon closer inspection, it has changed. The leaves beneath the canopy are impossibly large, the largest being even bigger than Priscilla, spiraling around the trunks. Since the canopy is more dense, the trees must have adapted to gather water. His suspicions are confirmed when he spots a large stream pouring down the giant leaves, cascading onto the ground to soak into the ground or run downhill.
Just before Sær makes a full rotation, he spots it.
There, a short distance away, is what has to be the largest tree in anyplace, at anytime, so massive that it can't fit in Sær's field of view. The trunks of previous trees that once encircled it swirl around it, jutting out from the trunk. Then it hits him.
That's where Priscilla was. Sær takes deep breaths to calm himself. Charging in and mindlessly hacking at the tree would take ages, and would likely end up hurting them both. He can't burn it, he can't cut it, so how could he save her?
"DAMMIT!" Sær punches the tree, his stiff bones cracking and popping all over his body after being still for so long. He starts pacing the tree, his body continuing to pop, crack, and stretch.
His mind wanders to the event of his wakening. Those voices... Thousands of voices, Priscilla's among them. "I could hear her voice when the roots were inside me," he ponders aloud. "But other's as... Well..." A thought clicks in his mind. There were never any bodies recovered. If any of them were to sleep or fall in battle, the branches would pierce their skin.
It all makes sense to him now. It would normally be impossible for the forest to exist; water and sun could barely pass the canopy, the trees were to close to draw enough nourishment from the soil, and there are no creatures to die and nourish the soil.
Sær walks over to a small tree. Gritting his teeth, he draws his sword, and with a might heave, he buries it into the trunk. A spray of crimson fills the air, bringing along with the smell of salt and iron. Every single person to fall in this forest is still alive, feeding the trees with their own souls and blood.
Including Priscilla.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
With a crazed grunt, Sær once more struck the rock into the earth. A mound of dirt stands beside him, filled with roots and clumps of dirt and blood. Over and over he strikes the rock into the soil, digging furiously. Suddenly, a cascade of dirt falls from the ridge he had dug, and when the dust settles, a hand, peach and still pulsing with life, hangs from the dirt.
It twitches, and the iron bracelet on it's wrist glints in the sunlight.