Theme: Exploration

The wind nearly knocked him off his feet. He staggered to the side on the loose stone drive way, the tails from the bowtie on the lapel of his jacket tickling his face.

It wasn't a bow. Bows were for girls.

He laughed at the wind's audacity, and planted his feet, standing firm against it. Resisting it. Defying it. With a vengeance, it whipped and pushed at him, making him waver, but this time, his feet never left the ground. His hair flew about his face, the force of the unseen foe made his eyes flutter, but he refused to give in.

The trees shook and trembled, their branches bent and creaked as the wind threatened to topple them. The cowards. Stiff brown leaves swirled over the yard, birds soared like kites, the wind the propulsion of both. He watched a robin, a sparrow, a bluebird as they flittered about, and laughed at their merry songs. Spreading out his arms, he imagined that perhaps, if he dreamed hard enough, the wind could pick him up, send him soaring too.

Turning on his heel, he sprinted over the rocks, onto the grass. He almost missed the cool dampness, the soft sponginess of the summer turf beneath his feet, but so long as the blanket of leaves replaced it, it was all right with him. Every step broke the repetitive phwoomp of the gusts of wind with a brazen crunch. He left duel trails in his wake, like the trail of foamy bubbles left behind a ship as it commandeered the open seas. Not that he'd ever seen one.

The trees now, rather than cowering at the force of the wind, moved in harmony with it, their limbs beckoning him into their embrace, the mysterious shadows of the looming woods. The wind pushed at his back, propelling him along. Every so often, he couldn't resist spreading his arms again, just to feel the wind push on them. Perhaps this was what canvas sails felt like, feeling that great invisible force pushing you to the skies.

Under the canopy of flaming tree branches covered in leaves of orange, red, yellow, the sunlight shifted and warped like the reflection of flames on a hoard of gold. Shadows danced everywhere, and particles of dust glowed in what full shafts filtered through the thick umbrella of trees. His cobalt gaze darted about, never resting on one thing for more than a few moments. There was far too much to see to waste time dallying. After all, it wasn't often that he got to explore outside the walls of the estate. And until he was of age – 15, Father said – these brief ventures into the forest just outside the boundaries would have to do. The squirrels, the slumbering owls, the wily foxes ducking into their holes, the anthills, all would have to wait. First, he had to find the place.

As if in a dome, sheltered from the wind, the calls of the birds amplified to a near deafening volume, and still, the wind could not resist adding its voice to the symphony of nature, raising a pulse of strings – the hiss of trembling autumn leaves – amidst the overpowering wind section.

Blackbirds and chickadees fled as he passed, and he watched them disappear into the boughs overhead, squinting at the brightness of the sun. Something large and dark blocked the light, and the forest grew quite suddenly darker. Glancing about at the new shadows, he looked up again, at the intruder. A puff of cloud, dark and grey, was beginning to move off. A ways behind it gathered the rest of the forces – a massive blue-grey thundercloud, coming in straight from the coast, with the power of the wind at its back. It would be upon him soon. He didn't have much time.

The enemy forces had gathered. They were ready. He looked about him. Who did he have?

T-t-t-t-t-t-tap. Woodpeckers. Fiery-headed warriors in glittering steel armor, with swords that struck from their mouths.

Rustle-crunch. He jumped as a deer broke free of the brush to the right and bounded away with the grace of a dancer. Soldiers armed with maces, tentative but bold, able to blend into their surroundings, giving them the advantage of stealth.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. A hornet's nest. Fierce forces innumerable, swift and angry in their attacks, merciless with their arrows.

Yes, he had a formidable army himself. He smiled, and looked back up at the coming storm.

"Come on, then!" he cried, waving his arm at it. "We're ready! You'd better be! You'll be nothing but fog when we're done with you!"

He laughed at himself, and scampered away, bounding like the buck he'd startled so. Running on his toes, leaping with the wind, vaulting over fallen branches, he felt weightless, indestructible.

He paused, looking around him for something, something… Ah! Yes. There. He picked up one of the fallen twigs, the straightest one he saw. Now he had a sword for himself. He whirled about; in the uncertain shadows, he could almost imagine he saw a man – tall, intimidating, wrapped in a tattered black cloak that whipped and snapped in the wind like a dark banner.

"We meet again," he uttered to the apparition, imagining it to be some long remembered foe that had past done some wretched deed, as villains were apt to do. "I knew you would follow."

The man swung his sword. His mouth moved, and he put a voice in his throat.

"Never caught unawares, are we, Edwin?"

"Never! I can smell evil coming a mile away!" He held his sword at the ready for whenever the fiend should attack. "And I should have killed you last we met, when I had the chance."

"You would never attack an unarmed opponent. Not you, oh holy knight."

"Chivalry doesn't apply when dealing with wretches like you!" He paused, reconsidering his words.

Maybe he should swear. His brothers swore when they were angry at things. Especially when they were talking about Gilbert and Vincent. He furrowed his youthful brow, and took a deep breath, opening his mouth again.

"You b-"

"Elliot!"

The villain vanished. The lights had been smothered, and he looked up to see another tendril of cloud blocking the sun. He blinked as he frowned; his time couldn't be up already!

He sighed, letting his sword arm sag. "Coming!"

He trudged back through the forest, which seemed so dull and frightened now. Without the sun's light, shadows conquered everything. The birds fled from the toiling branches, leaves were ripped from their perches to be swept straight into the air, never to be seen again. Branches cracked, and he felt a raindrop hit his forehead.

Dropping his twig, he quickened his pace, feeling more like a fleeing rabbit rather than a bold stag now. He rolled his eyes; if he could, he would so rather stay out in the storm than have to go back and watch it rage in its fury from his bedroom window through a dripping sheet of rainwater.

But orders were orders. Especially when they came from his mother.