I'm going to be honest. I have no idea if anyone will ever read this. The story never got very much traction when I first wrote it, and it's been nearly a decade since I touched it. I am writing, and posting, the remainder of this storyline purely for my own satisfaction.
To prove to myself that I can.
That is all.
If anyone happens to read this, thank you. I hope you enjoy your time here.
It's not my best work, but this story, this world, these characters, mean a lot to me.
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While his mother, sister, and partner all did their best to stay the plague—it was spreading now, faster than it ever had; whatever had been keeping the boy health, relatively speaking, was finally beginning to fail him; like the infection knew it would soon be purged and it was now staging some defiant grandstand—and Kayli Oakwalker scrambled to gather supplies and reagents, Sythius entered into that place of legend which he'd only ever heard spoken of in reverent whispers.
The resting place of his forebears.
The Emerald Dream
While he was largely ignorant of social niceties, and he didn't have what anyone would mistake for an extensive vocabulary, Sythius was not a stupid man. He recognized, nigh-immediately, that he had been transported to the same clearing where his physical form still rested in Moonglade; the main difference being that, here, there was no sign—whatsoever—of civilization. No shelters, no statues, no peoples. The greenery was overgrown, the trees huge and looming. The very air had a green hue to it. Most young druids may have thought it some breed of hallucination, a mere vision; they might have felt claustrophobic thanks to the thickness of the atmosphere, they might have jumped at every shifting, tilting shadow. They might have felt the vines, twirling and tumbling beneath the undergrowth at their feet, and screamed.
But Sythius felt nothing but pure, rapturous excitement. He grinned, fit to split his face, clenching and unclenching his fists in anticipation. He began to move, climbing and shifting, almost skipping, child-like, through the other-forest. His movements were swift, sure, graceful. Here, in the Dream, he was no dullard. Here, in the Dream, he was no exile.
Here, in the Dream, he was home. And if any of his companions could see him here, even his lady mother, they would have marveled at just how easy he made traversing it look. He was in his element, free to let his instincts guide him, free to let his training take hold.
He did not forget his mission.
Sythius kept his eyes roving, constantly moving, sifting through the brush for the tiny articles Anathala had sent him to gather. He found one, nestled against the trunk of a tree so tall that its top vanished in the mists; the acorn lounged on the roots like a lazy king. He plucked it up, slipped it into a pouch hanging from his wide belt, and immediately set out to find the next.
Anathala had said one or two should suffice; Kin was so small. Sythius decided, without really thinking about it consciously, that he didn't want to take chances. Truly, he thought of these little acorns—ah, and there was another one, clustered behind the petals of a bright purple flower—as treasures from this kingdom of crowning nature, and he simply couldn't resist the temptation.
Just as Sythius was leaning down to pluck up his third acorn, he felt something. It was a prickle just in the back of his neck, something that most civilized people would ignore out of hand. But Sythius was largely disdainful of civilization, and he took every sensation, no matter how small or trite it might seem, as a signal. He whirled, teeth bared, muscles taut.
He found himself staring at his own shadow, having detached from his feet and risen up on its own hackles. His shadow-self grew as it rose to its full height, seeming to gather substance from the magic in the air. This hazy, grey-tinged thing hunkered down on all fours, eyes gleaming pure white as though the fabric of this unreality had been ripped there.
His shadow-self growled, low and menacing.
Sythius's grin never left his face.
He simply clenched his fists again, settled his feet, and readied himself for the dance.
