Firelight

M U R D O C K Ever since his arrival in the Rift, Murdock had felt as if he was trapped in some terrible nightmare. The darkness never seemed to cease and the rain, unrelenting, had soaked him until he couldn’t remember how it felt to be dry. He had spent his days sleeping restlessly and fitfully, hidden away in whatever shelter he could find to avoid the rain, but most importantly, to avoid unfamiliar eyes. This place, whatever it was, seemed empty. But somehow, he felt as if his every movement was being watched. He travelled only under the cover of darkness, unsure what he was looking for, but trying, in whatever way, to find something that would tell him how to get home. Or, was he home? Had Helovia become sick? Poisoned by some disease or some darkness that had twisted and molded it into something terrible and unrecognizable? He glanced down at the soaked earth beneath his feet as he stumbled down the slick slope of a hill, struggling to find answers in the featureless mess of mud. How he longed to see the sun again, or to feel a warm, dry breeze against his face. His heart ached for Chernobyl and his son, or at the very least, for some friendly stranger to find him and offer some company. He was exhausted from his aimless wandering and fatigue dragged at his feet with every faltering step he took across the damp earth. The trail he followed, or rather, the trail he made through the undisturbed grasses and puddles nestled into dips in the terrain led him across gently rolling hills into the thick shelter of a forest. A dense fog swam at his feet as the cool night air sucked heat from the earth, the mists obscuring the faint glow of his hooves. What little violet light was left in the sky, painting the edges of muted, grey clouds, was soon blotted out by the crooked, reaching arms of tree branches that loomed over his head. The bottom of the hill delivered him into the threshold of the forest that swallowed him eagerly, leaving the openness of the fields behind him. He did not often like to venture into the woods, especially unfamiliar ones, as his only method of escape – flight – was then robbed from him. However, the need for answers drove him onwards into the shadows. The forest continued to thicken as he pressed further into its depths, but its stillness and quietness, which normally would have put him on edge, was oddly peaceful. Slivers of pale light danced through the branches as the clouds broke, but rain continued to drip down from thick, curled leaves. The droplets fell onto his already soaked coat, dripping onto his pale feathers and sliding down off the glowing emerald tips. Strange, perfumey smells reached his nose that reminded him of the scent of ripe fruits, and from the mud beneath his feet sprouted plants of strange shapes and colours. The ferns grew tall here, fronds as delicate as feathers bowing across his path and tickling his legs as he brushed through them. Strange lights shone dimly near the roots of massive trees, and on closer inspection, Murdock discovered vibrant wedge-shaped fungi sprouting from the smooth bark that emitted a dull and flickering glow of yellow. All around him, the forest seemed to come to life as he wandered deeper into it. His curiosity washed away his fatigue and his eyes became wide with excitement as luminescent flowers, mushrooms, and other glowing things surrounded him. The dancing lights of fireflies spiralled through the air as he broke out into a small clearing or grove of sorts, with a still and shallow pool as its centerpiece. The undergrowth here was thick and tall, leaning in towards the water and pulling at his feet as he stepped out into the little haven. Cautiously, he bent his head at the water’s edge as he approached. His reflection stared back at him curiously. A ripple in the calm surface caught his attention, and hastily he raised his head to look into the reeds on the other shore. A grey stone sat half out of the water, and on top of it, sat a small frog. It was as brightly coloured as the fungus and glowing dimly in the gloom of the night. Black spots and stripes covered its back like drips of paint, and its eyes were large and dark. “Hello,” he whispered, his voice rough from disuse. The frog said nothing. He watched as its pale throat swelled and contracted. It seemed to stare back at him, but was uninterested in conversation. “I wonder if you can help me...” He tried again, lowering himself to his knees on the sandy edge of the pool to lean closer to his new friend. The frog sat upright, but still said nothing. Its throat trembled, a strange sound cutting the silence, but no words. “My name is Murdock. I’m rather...lost. I wonder if you can tell me how to get home?” He waited then as he let the small creature think. Perhaps his size had frightened it. Or, perhaps, it had no capacity to speak at all. "talk talk talk" maybe i like that i'm not alright

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