this is the forest primeval

NOITCERRU There was a tension in the air, groaning and creaking under the weight of something unknown and terrible - the forest holding in a breath, stretching itself thin. Noitcerru knew that scent in the air of rain and wind, knew the eddy of dark pressing clouds overhead and what they foretold. But what he did not know was the winds, picking up the leaves down below and letting them swirl in wild spirals. Branches swayed in the air. These were not the winds he knew, the winds he saw as old friends - allowing him to glide across the Rift, those that amateurs would call servants but were really master of all who entered their sphere. No. These were new, and unnatural, and did not behave as they should; the current was changing, the very forces of the Rift working against him. Lightning ripped the sky open, razors flashing against the rain. But there were other blades down below - shadows, rushing out from the deep. Danger! The winds buffeted him to and fro yet the birdman's wings thrashed against it one heavy beat at a time, drawing great draughts of cold air as he lifted himself out of harm's way. The Rift creature was close - so close, unseen jaws and teeth and ivory fangs. Could he feel breath tickling his wings? Adrenalin ran like fire through his veins, his ears pinned back towards his head. Higher - higher - higher! The rain was slick on his feathers as he sped from the creature, from the denizen of the deep. When he had broken into the open air Noitcerru wheeled around sharply, looking back to the heart of the portal and the shadows that lingered there. He can see nothing now even as his eyes scanned the dark places, the hidden places, the tops of the trees. Nothing. Yet there was, unmistakably, something. Slowly he lowered himself by a few degrees - enough to see what was happening below but not close enough to be grabbed by whatever that was. His weak legs hung uselessly below him, swaying limp as a doll's. Great breaths came to his heaving chest. The Rift was never so active. What was that? What had caused so much unrest? That had been close, closer than most encounters he'd had with his sick and suffering homeland. To speak was to waste words in the deluge that none would hear but himself - but he wondered, and words caught and snagged between his bared teeth. "Talk." run boy run this world is not made for you

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Thank you, staff!