He heard a knock on the cold metal of his shelter.
Miles awoke in a cold sweat. How long had he been asleep? His Circadian Rhythm had been thrown off since yesterday. What had awoken him?
Another knock reverberated through Miles' ears.
Miles froze for a second, then quietly whispered out into the darkness. "Sonic, is that you?"
There was no answer.
"Amy? Knuckles?"
Another knock, this time further away from Miles, cried out in the cold, humid night.
The first assumption that entered Miles' head was that a wild animal was curiously tapping on his tent to determine its origin or nature. In any case, Miles cautiously exited his tent and looked over towards the direction the last knock had originated from.
Standing there, at the edge of his constructed metal tent, was a fox. It was about the same height as Miles, but its fur was a silvery-white. Dimly glowing stripes of orange crossed under its completely white eyes, and then under a robe that it was wearing that shared the same color and pattern that its fur had. The robe was long enough to completely cover its bottom half in a formless drape.
The figure was staring at Miles with an expression that seemed almost somber and tired. A rush of cold wind flew past Miles' face as he stared at the mysterious figure. The silence that hung in the air almost dared either figure to break its grasp, but neither obliged.
Miles continued to stare. He was not afraid, although he thought he should have been. A wave of calm washed over him as he stared at the figure. The numbness of a newly awakened body still held onto him, but he still felt the warmness of a heavy blanket on top of him, a weight that was similar to an embrace.
The robed figure spoke.
"Follow me, please."
It slowly turned and began walking towards the tree line, away from the fire, which was now nothing but flickering embers, and the other campers Miles' was accompanied by. As it moved towards the tree line, it did not bob up and down, it simply glided across the grass which was now covered in dew from the moist, frigid air.
Miles glanced over to where he had remembered Sonic had laid after he had bid him a farewell and good night. He was still lying there, asleep, with his head turned away from Miles and the robed figure. Miles again looked towards the figure, who by now had made it to the tree line, and was peering back at Miles, waiting for him to follow.
Miles fully exited his tent, and drowsily made his way towards the robbed figure. The figure then turned again and continued its journey into the forest. Miles continued to follow.
The light cast by the full moon dimly illuminated the yellow and orange leaves of the lightly canopied forest as Miles and the figure continued their journey. Just as the figure seemed to do, Miles felt as if he was floating as he walked, but when he peered down he watched him slowly take each step. The entire experience felt strange to him, but he did not sense any negative feelings emanating from the situation or the figure.
Their journey continued until a small out clearing came into sight, where the robed figure stopped in front of a small tree trunk and sat. Miles followed, choosing to sit in front of the figure on the wet grass and stare up at the stars that were now more visible.
Another long stretch of silence occurred, but it wasn't silent. The chirping of the forest frogs, the mid-autumn cicadas, and the gentle breeze that always seemed to be emanating from the strange figure whispered into Miles' ears as he continued to watch the gentle twinkling of the stars above.
After a while, the robed figure spoke again.
"Hello Miles. I am the wind spirit of this forest. I wanted to ask you a question," it inquired.
Miles looked away from the stars and back at the figure. He did not how it knew his name but did not care to ask. He responded with a lazy nod of his head as he again peered up at the stars. He truly did understand why Sonic liked to sleep under them without shelter.
"Why are you leaving?" The robed figure whispered.
Miles again looked at the robed figure, this time in a more confused daze.
"How do you know I'm leaving?" Miles asked.
"Does it matter?" The figure replied.
Miles paused. "I suppose not."
Miles began to collect his thoughts to effectively answer the question. Why was he leaving? He planned to explain it to everybody tomorrow, but being faced with the question made him realize how little he knew of what he would say or how he would explain it.
"I'm leaving because I have to," Miles finally responded. The figure did not reply, it just continued to stare at Miles as if asking him to elaborate.
"Something inside me is telling me I need to leave; I need to say goodbye. I don't think anything bad will happen if I do or don't. There is a primal urge in me to move on. To start again and see what happens. Blind curiosity I guess."
The figure again didn't respond.
Miles attempted to explain his reasoning differently.
"In biology, a subject I have briefly studied, the survival of the fittest is a term that is often tossed around loosely and without further exploration. But I realized a couple of months ago while reading a book on the subject that what separates advanced cognitive organisms from similar organisms that seem to survive, breed, and generally be more successful in the other when there seems to be no reason why is curiosity. Those who blindly plunge into the darkness, paradoxically tend to last longer as a species. Instead of traveling headlong into their demise, the balance of probability states that the same number of organisms who die doing this find something that will lead to the future succession and success of their species, over many generations of course. The book states that 'There is a sort of madness there' when dealing with organisms who a more successful genetically."
Miles paused again. He looked back up at the stars and continued.
"I don't want to be a genetically successful organism. I want to be a fulfilled one, and ever since I read that, the same madness has filled me with the desire to explore that same precipice, that same one that calls out to the successful organisms: the madness of self-induced change."
The pseudo silence that encased the forest returned. Until that is, the figure spoke once more.
"One of the most mathematically complicated concepts is that of current."
Miles again looked back at the figure. "What?" he asked.
"Not that of electrical current, but that of the current that is found in flowing water, and winds," the figure responded. "There is almost no way to calculate how something will move when ebbed and flown through a current of substantial size. There are simply too many variables. It's one of the real-world examples of chaos theory. Have you ever studied chaos theory Miles?"
Miles nodded.
"I don't think it's very mad at all for living organisms to copy nature in that regard; to mimic the chaos that it displays daily. Sometimes the only reason you need to do something is that you feel like you need to do it. I face the same decision when deciding on the weather for this forest, for example. Every day, I play a game of cosmic dice when I decide how the winds will behave in this forest, for it is my job. Whatever I feel should happen with the air hear, happens. I don't need a reason. No songbird needs a reason to sing, for it is what it's meant to do. I don't feel like you are meant to say goodbye Miles, but I feel like change is a major theme in your life. It would be abnormal for you not to continue that trend, don't you think?"
Miles froze. He had placed significant weight on explaining his departure to his friends that he didn't stop to consider the likely scenario in which they would understand without needing to be reasoned with. Friends are like that. A true friendship is permeated with an agreed understanding of another that is rarely broken.
Miles didn't want to lose sleep over this anymore. He felt as though he could rest easy knowing that the change he was about to make in his life was something that did not need to be justified. He was changing for the sake of changing, nothing more nothing less. A contentness filled him and warmed him so deeply, he layed on the wet grass and stared at the stars, as his best friend always did. "Maybe Sonic is even more mature than I have become," he thought. "He knows how to watch the chaos unfold in the sky above."
With that, Miles fell into a deep slumber. One he had not experienced in months. He felt whole. The weight of an explanation was off of his shoulders. He would say goodbye tomorrow, he would leave, and that would be it.
Oh, how brief and sweet is goodbye when goodbye is brief and sweet.