//------------------------------// // Part Five // Story: Neil // by Ferrum Requiem //------------------------------// With the wake of watery pain waving about the boy’s periphery, Neil could’ve sworn Poseidon had sucker punched him in his sleep. He saw the air thick with stray light beams glittering through his lean-to covering as the morning sunlight cut through it and the canopy. The rays waved with the faux liquid outline of his migraine, which felt like piercing daggers to his sensitive vision. Neil squinted his eyes to alleviate the intensely uncomfortable sensation. The dryness of his mouth only added to the present agony. Slowly, Neil reached a slothful hand to free the bulging bandage from his throbbing leg. Carefully, he pulled the cotton knot free and the dressing loosened immediately, reliving some of the pressure to his satisfaction. Inspecting the afflicted wound, Neil noted the puncture had evolved to a red mound which oozed an inky goo. Foul wisps of veins, tainted a sickening black color, streaked about the injury. It was the most abominable infection he had the displeasure of seeing. Neil chucked morbidly. Drunk with pain, he rasped in melancholic defeat, “well, that didn’t take long.” He sluggishly flipped off the sky with a weak grin. “You can’t fool anyone, god. Your shit stinks just like the rest of us.” Laughing, then wincing as the giggles pressed on the headache, Neil rolled on his stomach in his bedding to crawl for the brook. His dry mouth begged for a drink. If only he was of age, and in supply, of something stronger than water. Leaving his lean-to, like a slug with its slimy body feeling half dead, he slowly crawled, inching his way over the clearing to the brook. Arriving at the pebble shore, after what felt like an hour of crawling like some ghoul freshly animated from death, Neil dipped his numbed hand into what he knew was cold water, yet was barely perceptible as such. The lack of feeling nearly scared the thirst from the boy; but, like a drunkard would take to his bottle, Neil rapidly guzzled several palm-fulls of water, hoping to drown his thirst and the fear in one move. Only the thirst conceded. Sighing bitterly, Neil rolled to his side on the mossy pebbles and sunk his sweat soaked battered body into the cold earth. Shivering while watching the water dance its way down stream, he opted to despondently await the inevitable end. Suddenly, movement on the shore just meters beyond interrupted the surrender to death. Eyes struggling to see through the migraine induced blurriness, Neil thought he spied a small animal dragging itself towards the brook’s cool edge. Was it real, or another fever induced illusion? Pushing his vision to see better, he realized the creature was indeed real. In fact, it was the pup timberwolf from yesterday he scared off! Wait, what? Did I just call it a timberwolf? He recalled the regal being from the previous night terror. What was her name again? Lesa, Lyra, Lulu, Lu...Luna! That’s it, Luna! She called these beasts by that name. Product of a dream or not, the name made good sense and he chose to keep it. The young timberwolf limped a few more steps before falling with a whimper to the pebble shore. It looked sickly and exhausted. Apparently, Neil wasn’t the only one with issues presently. The pup struggled reaching the water’s edge, and the boy figured it needed a drink badly if it risked being out in the open like this. Closer it inched towards the boy and the brook beside him. Soon, it moved within an arm’s distance only to stop mid craw upon finally noticing Neil. Clearly, its sight was worse than his. Now closer, he could take a good look at the pup. Its body had this foul film covering the abdomen and lower legs. The pathetic creature shivered and panted. Its cute round eyes winced periodically in pain; their vivid color had waned to a pale green. Poor thing has it bad. Neil watched it desperately reach for the water, in vein, lacking the strength to make the final push. Sighing, the merciful boy reached out, dipped a palm in the brook, then offered it to the timberwolf youngling. Its groggy eyes alternated between the scary thing that screams, throws rocks, and swings sticks, to the sweet water in its strange paw. Finally caving, the pup struggled to extend its wooden appendage. A long thin root, to Neil’s amazement, grew from the pup’s paw and moved towards his hand, yet still it couldn’t quite reach. The curious boy extended the hand further. His widened eyes, despite the pain of the morning’s light, watched in astonishment as the root dipped into his wet palm and absorbed the water like a sponge. Amazing.... Neil watched the timberwolf drain the liquid from his hand, then in mere minutes it perked up from its stupor in better health, although the repulsive film remained. It recovered that fast?! Neil fought pangs of jealousy. If only he possessed such power of rejuvenation, to sip some water and spring back into action. Alas, the Human boy lacked such evolutionary perks. The pup tried to seat itself on its hind legs, but slipped and stayed lying down. Apparently, it's lower half was paralyzed. It then considered the boy with a curiously intense curiosity. Before the heat and weight of his fever pulled Neil’s weary eyes shut, the sickened boy wondered what the timberwolf was thinking. Darkness took him into an unpleasant rest as the morning sun rose above the horizon. Neil awoke periodically from sleep in bursts, with each time his body descended deeper into total paralysis. It grew harder over time to shift in his resting place, let alone fully move. Even breathing became laborsome before long. Pathetic Neil, glued to his back on the forest’s living earth, swallowing the last bit of dust in his dried throat before a knife of pain in his leg suddenly shocked him awake. He spied the timberwolf licking at the infected wound with its abrasive mycelium covered tongue. It must've dragged itself over to him. With fever deadened eyes widening in one last survival induced bout of terror, Neil desperately, albeit ineffectively, attempted to stop the youngling from further contaminating the injury or from eating him before fully dying. He waved his sluggish hands to scare it while rasping what was supposed to be a heated warning, something like, get out of here, you annoying little shit! Instead, what sputtered forth were grunts and barely comprehensible mutterings of feverish nonsense. Rolling his eyes back into the skull splitting headache, the boy gave in. Perhaps, it was better this way, Neil surmised. Maybe, the added microbes would kill him quicker, if fortune smiled on him for a change? Hopefully, sooner than later, he wished, before drifting again into an exhaustion and pain induced suspension. Neil had no memory of what transpired in the hours that followed the last bout of unconsciousness. However, the boy felt a strange change in his health. He felt, miraculously, better! The fever had broke, and the migraine with it. Upon reopening his eyes, Neil first noticed the water had dissipated and his periphery was clear. Astonishingly, with some residual stiffness aside, he could move again! He laughed while opening and closing his hand with little effort. Relief and excitement washed over him like a tidal wave. What happened? How had he managed this miracle recovery? His brown young eyes settled on the pup from before, now laying beside his injured leg. Seeing Neil was awake, its plantlike ears perked up. The beast's head rose and tilted at him, as if to ask him something. The oddest thing Neil spied immediately was the condition of his leg. He gawked and rubbed his eyes to ensure what he saw wasn’t some trick of the light. It was indeed no illusion. Both the angry swollen flesh, and the black corruption, healed. In fact, the wound showed signs of advanced healing, weeks in advance. Clinching a fist in renewed determination, Neil had to test something. Pushing his stiff body to move, he slowly rose to his feet. Numerous joints cracked as he stood on a sore, but operable, previously inoperable, leg. Tapping the foot on the ground, Neil winced as tears of indescribable joy washed the dirt from his face. The emotional intensity of being able to walk again was intoxicating. “I might not die after all!” The boy’s confused mind would’ve warped and twisted on itself for a logical explanation, that is, if there was a possibility for one; by all accounts, medically, scientifically, reasonably, Neil had no right to be alive, let alone crying over a renewed ability to walk. “There is a god!” he blurted to whatever, then wiped away the liquid mirth. At a complete loss, Neil ran some fingers through his hair, then his eyes settled on the bandaged arm, which, serendipitously, was also pain free. Apprehensively, almost afraid to confirm what his gut already knew, Neil untied the bloodied wrapping and saw only a trail of fresh scars where bloody gashes once bled. “But, h-how?!” The aghast boy stammered, before locking bewildered eyes on the paralyzed pup to his right. The explanation his mind deducted from the evidence of this impossible case carried such weight it forced him to sit back down and stare at this odd creature in disbelief. Looking to his leg and arm several more times, Neil rhetorically asked the young timberwolf while pointing to the healing leg, “did you do this?” The wild child merely locked eyes with his. Silence remained its answer. The wolf licked my leg; now, I’m better and it’s nearly healed. The other tore up my arm, and it’s the same. What if...if the wolf somehow healed me? Besides how premature the assumption might be, if it where true, how could I prove it? Racking his brain for possible solutions, he kept in mind that both wounds were exposed to a timberwolf’s mouth. It wasn't much to go on; but, the simple proof it spawned was easy enough to rule out first. The boy scientist took his mental razor, then cracked the knuckles of both his hands. “Let’s put Occam to the test.” Carefully scooching closer to the pup, Neil drew within reach. The creature lowered its head fearfully, but remained still, its round glowing eyes locked firmly with the boy’s unblinking brown orbs. Gingerly, Neil extended a hand to give the thing a friendly touch. It recoiled at first, but once it felt the scratch behind its plant ear, its eye lids lowered in ecstasy. It might've kicked a hint leg were it not deadened by the scummy film covering. Despite the eldritch nature of this beast, it was like any other dog at its core; and, Neil took pleasure in giving it a good scratch. “That’s your sweet spot, huh?” Soon, the creature panted, then Neil grasped his chance. With the other hand, he quickly put a finger in its mouth and drew a sample of its spit, with no discomfort to the pup. Neil smelled the liquid then quickly placed a palm over his nose to guard against the powerful odor. “David Hasselhoff’s nipples, that’s nasty!” It smelled like burnt rubber and weird old blue cheese, just like the other wolf from before. Hold on a minute, that smell reminded him of something. Neil pondered this for a spell. “Aha!” The memory struck like lightning. It smelled eerily close to penicillin! Mrs. Roseburg once brought a raw sample of the drug to her chemistry class. He’d never forget such a strange stench. It would be truly miraculous if these creatures secreted antimicrobial spit. The idea wasn’t so far fetched. Neil knew that an ant’s saliva had antimicrobial properties, which the workers used to clean the queen's larva. Perhaps, this creature’s spit also served a similar purpose? Besides the nature of such a thing, the second impossible aspect of this situation was the rapidity of his recovery. Even if Timberwolf drool held antimicrobial properties, there was no obvious explanation for his inextricably aggressive healing rate. It's like some compound within this substance excited Neil's recovery systems into overdrive. He didn't know the answers to these notions; but, his gut harbored hunches. To prove the accuracy of the first hunch, Neil took a breath, then rubbed the foul smelling stuff on a nasty throbbing gash on his left cheek. It stung, but stuck to the injury like a watery glue. Now, he waits. If it shows a recovery consistent with his arm and leg, then the matter was settled in Neil’s book. In the meantime, he had work to do. Morning long waxed to evening. From what Neil could tell through the small breaks in the canopy above, the sun was maybe two hours from midday. He had been fighting unconsciousness for eight hours, he guessed. No matter. Neil's gurgling stomach interrupted his time guesstimation, as if to say, Hey, you can finally stand? Great, now feed me you lazy bastard! “Geez, alright! I’m working on it!” Neil promptly gobbled some berries from the bush then moved to start a new fire. Thankfully, some embers still smoldered under the fresh ashes. Resurrecting the campfire was easy enough. With the flame eating eagerly again, the boy took his tooth brush and floss, then started his hygiene regimen, what hygiene he could manage out here anyway. With his teeth clean, and face washed in the brook, the boy spied a stately fish, clearly glaring back at him in the still pool. He locked narrowed eyes with it. “Soon.” It darted away, as if it heard. Things were about to get interesting now his mobility had almost recovered. The teen moved by the settled timberwolf pup, still watching him curiously. Neil grabbed his throwing spears, three in count, and his knife, while leaving the last spear behind for personal defense. Standing erect by the pebble shore, the young hunter waited for the right moment. Fish swam, happily eating whatever food they could nab, completely oblivious of the hungry human watching them closely from the dry place. Electricity spawned gooseflesh as his instincts screamed to toss the spear. Neil let fly and drove the tool into the pool at a fat trout chasing a crawdad. Pulling the weapon from the murky water, eyes gleaming with hope, he spied only the broken tip of an empty spear. Hunger mixed with disappointment and confusion at his misdoings. What was he doing wrong? Surely, it can’t be that hard. Neil tried again. Seeing the fat trout chase the same crayfish, he threw the weapon once it drew close. Neil cussed after retrieving another wasted tool. Only one spear remained. Now, it’s do it or float on berries and hollow dreams. Once more with feeling, the hunter focused all his will and lust for a good breakfast on this last fated attempt to nab that twice dammed fish! Seeing the prize swim about like he owned the place, it tried to eat that same crustacean, who’s having the worst luck, or perhaps, the best luck? Neil, giving in to his bestial instincts, savagely focused on the target, gripping the spear with white knuckles. He furiously drove the spear into the pool once the trout swam about a meter away. Grinning fiendishly, he swore the tool made its mark after a flash of scales graced his vision. Taking the spear from the water, his smile melted into a lip trembling frown. The spear had survived, fortunately. Unfortunately, so had the fat fish. Either disgruntled from the three near death experiences it suffered, or simply losing interest in the crayfish, it swam away unharmed. Neil was something beyond frustrated. Dragging his feet back to camp, Neil slumped down with a defeated plop on the log by the feeding fire. He snorted at the happily popping flames. "At least someone's eating here." Rubbing the incessantly nagging hole in his gut, the ravenous boy tried punching it away, to obviously no avail. “Well, that was stupid.” He sighed deeply, rubbing the now bruised and still empty stomach. Hunger can make you do strange things. The child timberwolf crawled by its front legs to lie on the ground next to his seat. It’s panting had elevated to a disheartening degree, like it couldn’t breathe well. Horrified Neil witnessed the black scum slowly creep up the thing’s body towards the chest. “Gross!” He gasped at the unsettling spectacle. “That’s some creepy crap! What is that stuff?” He leaned closer to inspect the infection. It was fuzzy like moss and disgustingly pulsated like it was alive. Maybe, it’s a kind of fungus? “A black mossy fungus? Hmmm.” The survivor wondered why that seemed familiar. An image of Luna beamed to his mind’s eye. He recalled what the dream told him about this life form. What did she call it? Mort moss? That's right. It grows naturally in this strange place, apparently anyhow. Standing up, he took the medical kit and grabbed the small hydrogen peroxide bottle. Maybe this will work? “Hmm. What can I use as a rag?” His eyes settled on his torn shirt. He removed it and donned the new one from storage: a nice clean short sleeve shirt, the last of its kind. Neil dabbed some peroxide on a cloth torn from the discarded shirt. Gingerly, the boy pseudomedic dabbed the fizzing substance on the sickly timberwolf. The black scum hated it and recoiled in retreat immediately. Neil made sure to dab the whole affected area with the medicine. Hopefully, it will kill that mort stuff and the pup will recover fully. Although, it might take a few more coats. Only time will tell. He glanced at the bottle of concentrated hygiene in his dirty hand. It grew lighter and more rarefied with every use. Should he really use it on this creature? Well, if the experiment proves true, this being saved his life. And what if his suspicion proves false? What, would he toss it aside to die like garbage? Neil tightened his grip around the plastic bottle. Well, I was wrong, little guy. You can die now, since you're not as useful as I thought. Imagining the abandoned corpse of the slime devoured pup at the clearing's edge repulsed his mind's eye to nigh physical nausea. It was a sickening and repugnant thought! Neil gave it no purchase, then gently touched his wounded cheek. Although he had washed the saliva off earlier, the cut felt better, and the swelling had subsided. He hadn't noticed it ceased to throb since the last failed fishing attempt. Neil's smile overtook his previously grim demeanor. That’s all the proof he needed. He owes this beast a big favor and he’ll deliver. Not to mention its antimicrobial and mysterious healing properties would greatly increase his chances of survival. Its parents would’ve found it by now anyway, which made it an orphan. If Neil managed to tame the beast, it could also be a companion! The matter was settled on that note. The survivor would keep it. Man’s best friend, or man’s best dog-plant-abomination-thing? Neil chuckled, shaking his head. He needed to properly name it. But, what appropriate name could one grant such an eldritch creature? Cthulhu? No, no, far too cliché. Contemplatively scratching his scalp, he opted to settle this later and move on to more crucial work: like stocking the campfire, gathering materials for tools, figuring out the issues of food acquisition, and camp expansion. If survival was to last beyond the week, Neil needed to expand and solidify his domain over the clearing. Right now, any manner of monster could waltz in and wreak havoc. He made a list of objectives to complete before the week’s end on some note paper: 1: Acquire materials: wood for tools and building, stone for the same, rope stuffs, and find a clay resource. 2: Food: review edible fauna book, scout for such plants nearby, build a fish trap, obtain produce for farming, and build a potable water reserve. 3: Expansion: build a flood proof hut, build furnace, and make advanced tools. He would add to list as he thought of more goals to work on. “I should gather supplies first, since it’s the easiest task on the list. I need to find wood, stone, rope stuffs, and clay.” These materials were trivial, as Neil had already found and worked with most on the list already. Clay was simple to find, a casual glance to the brook's pebbled shoreline betrayed a sizable patch of raw red clay, red as brick. He spent nigh on two hours gathering firewood, braking sticks into bundles, and finding poles for tool making. Now that he could walk, rope material in the woods were accessible, and he gathered them with the clearing in sight and sturdy spear at hand. Stones were everywhere; mere minutes were spent piling a bunch for whatever purpose he needed. The more tedious work was along the shore, seeking quartz, flint, agate, anything that could hold an edge. Finding such stones demanded Neil's close attention. Upon finishing the first set of tasks, Neil surveyed his work and felt an odd sense of primitive wealth and healthy pride. In his life before today, the boy passionately studied primitive man without the ability to fully relate with them. Everything about the present situation added to the teen's respect of his ancestry in ways no other could, a subtle reconnection to an otherwise untouchable lineage. With a sigh of contented accomplishment, Neil checked off his work list: 1: Acquire materials: wood for tools and building, stone for the same, rope stuffs, and find a clay resource. Whimpering filled Neil's ears, and a sharp pang of sudden worry chilled his spine. Looking back to the young creature, the boy's eyes widened in horror. He saw the black slime resume its conquest of its poor host with sickening vigor. In rapid succession, Neil opened the peroxide bottle and soaked a cloth. He dabbed the pop's affliction; it viciously hissed before a black tendril lashed from the putrid mass and struck his hand. Recoiling in surprise, Neil realized this was no mere fungal infection! Panting, while both disturbed and afraid for his new pet's life, he felt like there was something he had missed, some point he forgot. Luna came to mind and the memory of the cure she prescribed. She said a hanging moss resembling an old wizard’s beard can kill this repulsive stuff. Desperately looking around, Neil spied a plant of just such a description hanging from a high branch. Looking to the poor timberwolf, he nodded to it with sincerity. “Don’t worry, pal. I’ve got you.” Admittedly, there are few emergencies in life where chancing advice from a dream would be appropriate. This was such a moment. As he approached the plant, an anxious fear, separate from the immediate problem, itched in the nape of his mind: the idea that his dream might teach him something he had no previous knowledge of. Such an instance would be like picking a rose in said dream then waking up with it still in hand. Ahh, what if it was so? he couldn't help but wonder after grabbing some of the sage’s beard. How to concoct a medicine from it, though? He quickly recalled a part of Manly’s book on the Production of Primitive Medicines, after retaking a seat by the pup. The method was simplistic: boil the medicinal plant into a concentrated tea and dab the liquid on the wound, or grind the plant into a poultice and use a leaf as a bandage. He hadn’t made any tools for grinding food yet. Instead, he took the improvised lunchbox pot, and poured some water to boil over the fire. Hopefully, the dosage would work itself out with the fistful of moss he threw in. Neil was no apothecary and hardly knew much more about herbalism. Thankfully, he still had the plant guide, which offered more techniques of making wild medicines; but, with no time for leisurely reading, he would study it more after curing the pup. Once the water bubbled, he stirred it with a stick and watched the home-brew turn into a yellowy congealed liquid. It held the stick when pressed like a clear oobleck. What a peculiar development! It seemed to the forlorn teen, even simple moss held tantalizing secrets in this tenebrous place. Taking a handful of the medicinal non-Newtonian liquid, Neil knew a cloth wouldn't absorb it. Just as he wondered how to apply the wild drug, from the slime grew a tendril which opened on the end to reveal a singular demonic eye! From what unnameable bilge came such a hellish thing?! "Holy shit!" Neil screamed, "you're nasty!" As the mort fungus nearly covered the young beast's panting chest, Neil just glared into the crawling black scum's single parasitic eye with a blood chilling scowl. "I've got something for you, filth." He tossed the medicine onto the crawling bilge spawn. The parasite screeched then undulated like bubbling tar as the oobleck animated and dissolved the infection off the timberwolf pup. Moments after the last of the obliterated slime oozed lifelessly to the dirt, pure satisfaction relived Neil's tense nerves when the pup stood on its own power. It promptly jumped up to him with surprising force, and knocked him to the floor. It affectionately licked his face as its tail wagged madly. Neil laughed, and felt so happy the pup was alright now. The image of that parasite's sickening eye still sent shivers of revulsion through his body. Pushing himself to a seat on the dirt, the puppy hopped off and bounced about energetically. It batted at small round stones like a cat plays with a yarn ball, and with a large stick in its mouth it ran around making spirals in the bare earth. With the mort infection gone, it seems the youngling regained all its childlike flight, fancy, and enthusiasm. Look at it go... Neil gawked at the inconceivable rate of its recovery. The xeno was almost dead but minutes ago; now, the little eldritch spawn can't keep still. "Well, at least the clearing is livelier." Neil left the timberwolf to its antics, seeing as it was no longer in danger. He read over his list of tasks, and chose to procure a food source, as he was about to fall victim to hunger at this rate. Fishing was still out of the question, as he needed to make more spears in order to fish again before nightfall; thus, foraging seemed a more attractive objective for immediate sustenance. Taking his spear, knife, and some rope in case, he studied his old red scarf thoughtfully before leaving camp. The creative wheels in his mind turned and birthed a clever idea. He tied some more rope about the scarf and made a pouch with a shoulder loop. It was a simple, and effective, bag. The pup approached and sniffed the new creation, then sat and panted, happily staring up at Neil. "You like it?" Neil asked. The young creature tilted a curious head, as if to ask, what do your sounds mean? Or, maybe Neil was simply letting his imagination run rampant. With a shrug, Neil took the gear and told his new pet to stay, and even motioned the same with his hands. It took a few tries, but it learned and obeyed reasonably fast. Huh, this thing is definitely not dull witted. After several minutes of venturing into the woods, an eerie feeling began gnawing at Neil. The darkening mists, and dense air, embraced him uncomfortably. Unnameable vegetation, and smells of old rot and something else beyond words, immersed him in wonder. One thing was certain: this forest was an ancient place, simply due to the sheer size of the trees. With every step into the deepening wood, Neil felt increasingly estranged and unwelcome. Before he hiked too far from camp, the boy knew he'd better climb one of these huge trees and gain his bearings. Spying an ascendable tree, and placing his gear near its prodigious roots, Neil began to climb. After several minutes of careful toil, he broke the canopy, then spied an unutterable horror. It was a sea of green. In all directions, he saw only a thick endless mass of wilderness writhing in the winds, rolling up stoic mountains and humble hills. Now, the tiny boy felt like a singular germ within a living system that stretched beyond the microcosmic horizon. Hope for rescue, should the idea still be permissibly entertained, had lost its last struggle. There was no hope of being found under the suffocating canopies of this unending land ocean. Neil remained put, as the sun beat on his shoulders, and the hard truth reforged his reality. Guessing he was at least three stories over the ground, and knowing his personal height was 5' 10", he mentally calculated the horizon extended close to eight miles. God knows how far it further extended beyond that. "I'm the only Human within eight or more miles." He lamented finally, with sweaty palms clasping his head, "that's just over sixty-two square miles of nothing but murder forest!" Seeing no signs of civilization as he looked again, his breathing quickened. There was not a city, nor a tower, or a square, nothing but the small red tint of some distant roof to his right, nothing...wait a roof?! Neil screamed in rapture at finally seeing the red dot of something artificial in the distance. It seemed like a barn of some sort; yet, it was hard to tell effectively at such a distance, but he guessed the building was five or six miles away. His laughter and shouts of joy slowly silenced, as a gentle flame grew within. His eyes narrowed with a increasingly fierce gaze centered on that building. The flame matured to a blaze, as his grip on the waving branches tightened. Neil's motivation to survive and conquer intoxicated him with a sheer force that washed away any doubt or contrary thought. No matter how far it is, or how difficult the task might prove, he would penetrate this land ocean and capture his rescue under that roof. That building was his ticket out of this hell and he would grasp it, now! Descending the mighty tree with a vigor borderline hysterical, Neil marched right back to camp, forgetting his previous mission of food acquisition, or pet care, or making a home in this malicious forest. His only worry was successfully approaching the door of the home he saw. With all the tools he could gather, his backpack, the weapons, and the improv' scarf bag filled with berries, the boy began his long hike into the shadowed wood with a fire behind his determined eyes, and permanently put this clearing behind him. Why commit to survival, when he could hike half a day to secure rescue? The pup would survive, now the infection had been cured. Neil couldn't stand one more second than necessary in this place. He didn't look back. He had the weapons to fight another one of those timberwolves. At the huge roots of the mighty tree from before, the boy gained his bearings and walked onward, through thicket, mossy ravine, over shadowed brooks, and past twisted tenebrous arcades of viny trees, whose sheer scope betrayed the forest's uncountable antiquity. He penetrated a stubborn wall of brush and vine, then happened upon a stately stretch of less dense woodland and loose canopy. It was nice to see an end to the previously gloomy and shadow stained deeper wood. Sun beams greeted his focused eyes and showed the way as he continued his exodus to rescue. While checking his bearings to ensure he had not deviated from the target, a deer broke from the brush with a rattle of branch and shaken leaf. Spying the good creature, Neil smiled, happy to finally see some normal and benign wildlife for a change. Once having assured the accuracy of his march toward the safety of distant habitation, his passing approach didn't disturb the deer at first. It finally took notice when the boy stood ten yards away. The boy waved at the good beast warmly. "Hi there- Suddenly, from the depths of some hidden unfathomable hell, a spider twice his size emerged from a trapdoor of earth, moss, and grass stuck together with webbing. Its poisoned mandibles gripped the poor deer's neck with an audible rip of hide and crunch of bone. Just as fast, the abomination picked up the 140 pound meal like a toy and hauled the instantly killed corpse into its underground domain. Neil blinked. No evidence but the memory remained of the deer's previous existence. Mouth shocked agape, mind blank with a gripping fear of such sudden terror his body shook uncontrollably, he searched for any distinguishing signs between the solid earth and the spider’s trap door. The monster's lair camouflaged seamlessly after closing, making the trap seemingly indistinguishable from normal earth, until it was too late. Neil realized he had been holding his breath, and explosively let it go through flaring nostrils. He glared at his surroundings with a sickening paranoia. How many more of those hidden demons lied in wait but feet away from taking him? For all he knew, he could be standing on one's very door, making stillness his only means of life! The trees rattled a deathly toll, as spindly terrors crept and dangled from a canopy once seemingly benign, now hopelessly malignant with animate nightmares. Spiders of equal measure slowly pushed their doors ajar from below as smaller thinner ones descended from above. Once the monstrosities settled their many eyes upon Neil, like a thousand unforeseen curses, the animating nest of giant arachnids bore an unforgiving promise of sudden annihilation. The predatory orbs shone in the lighting like a sea of black jewels. The flesh tearing mandibles below betrayed the malicious intent behind those stoic, unyielding, uncounted gems. The creatures advanced, salivating digestive juices which audibly plopped to the dead earth. Thin singular wisps of toxic vapors wafted as the venom tainted the soil. Faint hissing and creaking of chitinous joints announced the eight legged convergence to welcome their savory guest to the deadly meadow. Neil turned on his heels and sprinted in maddened haste for the outer thickets he emerged from before. Into the brush he plunged himself. Fear drunk, he clawed at the vegetation like a beast. The dense green harbored no pity, and seemed bent on preventing his escape from the encroaching arachnid horde. The green sticks and twigs struck his face. Thorns drew blood on soft hand and arm. Branches caught his clothes and gear. Malicious roots and branches tripped him to the ground, and sinister vines held the frantic boy as he pushed himself to stand. Upon finally tearing through these wild fetters with sheer desperate force, the pebbled soil that worked into his shoes gnawed at the tender feet inside with every harried step in retreat. Unbeknownst to Neil, the spiders had lost interest since he cleared the murderous brush. They returned to their spindly crypts beneath the deadly meadow's venom poisoned earth and the nests in the deceptive canopy above. Heart pounding, blood cold, Neil ran until one last stubborn root caught his foot, sending his face into the dirt. Groaning as he righted himself to his soiled elbows, he spied both his comely campsite with awed eyes and a timberwolf pup, glaring at him with a deep concern for its new master's current ragged condition. Neil sighed the most explosive burst of air in his life, for he managed to escape a most gruesome death. All in all, one singular fact effectively stained Neil's hardening emotions: This forest is a festering abomination! Neil glared at his dirt stained hands after standing, “If this horrible place has an army of mutant freaks to stop me from getting out, and since an ICBM is momentarily out of the question, then I’m going to need bigger weapons, lot’s of them." Clenching the soiled hands to fists, as inner writhing anger challenged his temperament, he whispered coldly to the living horror holding him hostage and to its hell spawn, spawn ignorant of the alien they've mistaken for easy pray, "this means war."