Chapter 2: Camp Phrolova
…
When Phrolova and Rover stepped out of the portal on the other side, they were under foreign skies. The clouds were crumpled cloth, pierced at irregular intervals. Through the tears, one could see funnels that implied tornadoes rampaging on the surface above. Rover imagined that if they deployed their wings and flew into one of those eyes in the sky, they'd navigate a tunnel that would curve and direct them back towards the ground. Or perhaps the tunnels would form complex webs and arches, a distant memory of the civilization that inhabited these lands before the Lament.
Rover remembered looking past the Norfall Barrens, towards clouds that resembled inverted skyscrapers. At the thought, Rover's insatiable opposition towards the Lament reignited; Phrolova noticed Rover's shoulders and arms go tense.
"You'll be setting up camp here," Phrolova declared.
They were in a forest clearing about twenty paces wide. To one side, firewood was arranged in a stack. Towards the center, a couple of ashen logs remained within a shoddily made firepit. If someone once resided in this camp, Rover thought, they must have an impoverished survivalist repertoire. Rover looked over to Phrolova. Phrolova averted her gaze.
"This isn't my camp, mind you," Phrolova clarified. "I… will be residing elsewhere. There's enough supplies here to sustain you, I presume?"
"Yes," Rover said, conducting a mental survey of the space. "How long will we be here?"
"For as long as I need to properly assess you." If Rover's decision wasn't in her favor, it would best that they never discover the Fractsidus' important bases. "That won't be a problem, will it?"
"More time alone with the most beautiful woman in the world? You won't hear a complaint from me!"
Phrolova cleared her throat, and turned towards the edge of the clearing. "Then there is no problem." She walked a few steps, then turned to her right to look behind her again, intending to give a final remark. However, her gauze covered the eye on that side.
Realizing her mistake, she smoothly transitioned to turning completely, hoping the Arbiter wouldn't notice. However, Rover had already caught the mistake. "So you can look through your right eye," Rover chided.
Covering her bandaged eye with her hand, Phrolova pressed her lips together. "My right eye isn't hurt. It's just…" What am I doing? "It's getting late." It was the middle of the day. "My associates are no doubt expecting an update from me." Phrolova was the most senior Fractsidus overseer in the area. "I will return tomorrow morning."
Without waiting for a reply, Phrolova marched into the forest.
Rover stood there in silence. Suppressing a grin, they began developing renovation plans for Camp Phrolova.
Far from the camp, Phrolova slumped against a tree. She took it all in, gaze drifting upwards to the motley dots of white that broke though the tree's foliage.
She traced a finger along the edges of the gauze on her right eye, then adjusted them with her thumb. After being inducted into Fractsidus activities, she had always worn this. Even though her initial talent landed her a position as an overseer, no one had commented on them.
Was it… not normal? Apart from the necessary masks, the design of the Fractsidus uniforms contained many optional buckles and belts.
This eye-covering was by no means optional, though. It was necessary to make good stories. By one eye losing sight of the present, it gained insight into the past and future. All the eye's dark energy amassing behind the bandage, the only way left for it to go was backwards: perfect for unraveling the world's nature as a Dark Satire. That's what Phrolova had told His Excellency when she turned sixteen.
That was many years ago. After all that time unraveling the world's Dark Satire, Phrolova now stumbled upon a strange story arc.
The protagonist falls in love with the author, and the author descends upon the story as a character.
A niche but surprisingly popular premise, almost exclusively residing in the domain of romantic comedy.
Phrolova covered her left eye with her hand, attempting to conjure in her mind the stories she read that resembled her situation. Phrolova bent forward to recall with more effort. She pressed both eyes with her hands, curling forward so far her elbows almost touched the ground between her legs. After several minutes, the effort released in her hands, and she looked at the grass between the rigid gap between her fingers.
I need… to limit my scope. Phrolova slowly peeled the wrappings from her right eye, letting the white gauze float to the ground. As she did so, the colors of the forest became more saturated. Blood marauded in her cheeks, making her head whirl; an icy dagger progressively slid it's blade into her stomach. The chill crept into her lungs and heart. Her body was medley of contradictions, but the answer had arrived instantly when her vision cleared.
Phrolova hugged her knees to her chest.
It was going to be a while before nightfall, so she pulled her notebook and pen out of her Elysium, and she wrote a fable.
A sickly bear met a wolf. The wolf led a grand, powerful pack, yet it was impressed by the bear's large size and sharp claws. For this reason, the wolf left its pack and followed the bear.
The bear's cave was barren, yet the wolf insisted on staying.
The joy of hunting had long left the bear, so the wolf hunted for them.
The joy of eating had long left the bear, so the wolf stayed by their side until they ate.
Night fell, and the wolf stayed by the bear's side until they slept. Then the wolf feasted on the bear's belly. It ate and ate, but the bear was so large that come morning the wolf had not finished. The bear killed the wolf, and it so yearned for death afterwards that when it left the cave, the bear didn't even notice its innards dragging behind them.