AVftS-1
 Part of a series of archived posts in AVftS | |
| AVftS-1 | |
|---|---|
| Author: | Emily |
| Date Posted: | December 10, 2018 |
| Forum Post: | Linked! |
| Word Count: | 1,129 |
| Characters: | Síne |
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Síne had always been afraid of Kingfisher Forest, because she couldn't explain it.
She could explain most things, because even if she didn't know how they worked, there was a clear logic to them. She might not understand exactly what caused the sun to move through the sky, but it did so at approximately the same time every day and followed a pattern of birth, death, and rebirth every year. The seasons lasted approximately the same length every year, and followed the same pattern as the sun, with a time of sewing, growing, reaping, and death. The cycles were so predictable that the farmers of Ceadaichte Mòir anticipated them every year and could accurately plan their yields around them.
But Kingfisher Forest didn't make sense. Trees only grew in the forest; according to the traders that came by the town twice a year, there was a dead zone for approximately 100 kilometres from the edge of the forest before trees started growing again. And even those trees were very different, small and dull of colour compared to the massive red-brown of the trees in the forest. Whatever trees were felled by axe or storm regrew in a matter of months, as tall and as vibrant as they were before. The forest was unfathomably large, extending further north and south than anyone had ever gone, and deeper west than anyone had ever been able to venture. It was an infinite expanse that happened to end right at this spot, where Ceadaichte Mòir had been founded. There were other villages, though Síne had not seen them, to the north and south along the tree wall, but none within an easy travelling distance. She would often hear animals playing or calling for mates within the trees, and the children of the town often ventured out and played among them. The forest itself showed no malevolence or intention to harm. And that's why it was scary.
It was the 8th of Sun's Rebirth, only a few days away from the beginning of the sewing season. Síne was at a desk in her home, reading scraps of paper by candlelight. She was trusted with the responsibility of teaching the town children letters and numbers, and was only able to get them to gather during the winter at the main community building, in a room near the mayor. She was also responsible for rationing out what paper and candles the community would afford to her for this task. Her last candle of the year burned with a matter of centimetres left to go, lighting the last few shreds of paper that had been left. The remaining paper was wrapped in twine in various piles around her floor. She would exchange it with the traders when they finally arrived, and they would return in the fall with it having been reformed once again blank. All of the empty ink pots had been rinsed and sat atop the various bound piles of paper, as glass was always a valuable commodity with the tradesmen. That being said, they were a few days later than expected this year, and if they took much longer she would have to start reading next to the fireplace.
The wind outside rattled her door, causing the woman to start. With a hand placed against her rapidly-beating heart, she turned to look at it, waiting. One, two, three, four... the room remained silent save the friendly crackling of the fireplace and the occasional muted pop of a candle wick near its end. If it was any quieter Síne was sure she would be able to hear her heart beating raucously against her chest. Once she was sure it wasn't an intruder, the woman sighed, blew out the candle and stood up to stretch; it had been a long day of reading; the children this year seemed more generally interested in the old stories, and were writing a lot of their own. Hence the shortage of paper. Still, it brought a lot of joy to her heart to see the spark of curiosity in one of her classes, and she would try to get more paper from the traders in the fall. Some of the children had already started borrowing out books from her, which hadn't happened before, and two of them had stayed behind the last few days to ask about one of the legends she had recited, a story about a clever princess who had evaded capture by running into the Kingfisher Forest, which had recognised her virtuous heart and protected her from her pursuers.
They had asked how the forest protected her. She wasn't sure of that; the story that had been passed down to her wasn't as concerned with the details as the inquiring minds of babes. One boy, a brash little one who was often playing pretend swords with his friends just inside the forest, theorised the forest had cut the pursuers down to size with whips of vine and spears of branch. The other boy, a shy child who had lived with and helped his grandparents after the pox had taken his father, theorised the forest made the princess disappear, and those that chased after her gave up after not finding her for a time. The fact that both of these assumptions could very well be the truth was what frightened Síne. But then again, most things surrounding the Kingfisher Forest did.
She stepped to the door and grabbed the handle of the metal bolt, rotating it up and pulling it to the side, then down again so that it caught in the unlocked position. She then pushed down a latch that allowed her door to swing outward and open, letting in the night air. It was somewhat cold outside, though it was much warmer than it had been even a few weeks prior, and was warmer still during the day. Still, she was small in frame and stature, lacking any heft that might block the chill of her environment. The ground was no longer stiff with frost, and the grass along the ground had started coming back to life. She stepped outside and stifled a yawn, then looked to the forest. The Kingfisher Forest didn't change during the winter either; its leaves were still as full, its wood still as vibrant. Though the trees felled by axe or storm dried and became quality firewood, what was still connected to the ground never changed. A wind rustled through the tree tops, causing the branches and leaves to stir and rattle quietly, as the air moved toward her house. It rustled her shoulder-length brown hair, causing it to tangle even worse than it had been before. But even then, the forest did not seem intimidating. Not of its own merit.