underbrush. Not long after that, from off in another direction comes the sound of two animals fighting. Hoping nothing finds him in his perch, he hugs the tree all the harder.
I want to go home! Tears of loneliness and fear roll down his cheeks. Somehow, though long in coming, he does manage to fall asleep.
Howrrrrrrrr!
Startled awake, teeth chattering from the cold, James is hit with the realization that he hadn’t been having a bad dream after all. Another howl brings him fully awake. Off in the distance comes the sound of a wolf pack on the hunt. With every howl, fear that he may be found causes him to grip the tree all the tighter. Face pressed tightly against the bark, his eyes dart to and fro in an attempt to pierce the shadows of the forest and see those that hunt the night. All the while he silently prays to remain undetected.
The darkness of the night is alleviated somewhat by slivers of moonlight that have somehow managed to breach the thick forest canopy. The sparse rays give the forest an aura of ghostly light. Perched in his tree, James remains still and quiet while listening to the hunting pack.
Minutes pass and it’s soon apparent that the hunt is taking them toward his tree. Fear such as he has never known springs to life within him. Suddenly their cries alter, becoming more intense as they crash through the underbrush straight toward his tree. A moment later, three dark shadows race through the darkness not far below his feet.
“ Get away! Help Me!”
Cries of terror from off in the distance split the night. They’re not after me! Relief at not being their target is followed quickly by shame at being glad it is someone else. For a fleeting moment he considers doing something to help, perhaps shouting for the man to climb a tree. But fear stills his tongue. He does not want to die.
Off in the distance, he caught sight of the man racing through a patch of moonlight. Hot on his heels, two wolves passed through the moonlight a split-second later
Tears stream down his cheeks as the man’s fearful cries for help sound once more. A bloodcurdling scream; then the night turns deathly silent. James shakes with fear and shame; fear that he may be next, shamed by his own cowardice.
There was nothing I could do! Had I gone to help, I would have been torn to shreds as well. Getting little comfort from such selfish reasoning, he presses his face against the bole of the tree and tries to think of home as he attempts to shut out the sound of the wolves. Sometime later, he hears the wolves howl as they race off through the forest. As the woods grow quiet once more, he tries to keep his imagination from replaying the scene of the man’s grisly death. Sleep, when it does come, is filled with dreams of moonlight and wolves.
The morning sun wakes a very tired, cold and sore James. The events of the night before showed him that to remain in the forest will mean his death. I gotta get out of here. No more pussyfooting around, I have to cover ground before night comes!
Making sure the forest floor holds no menacing predators, he makes his way from the tree. He then takes care of his morning business, realizing that plant leaves are not a good substitute, and turns his mind to food, or rather his lack thereof.
Nearby stands a bush bearing little pink berries. In his starved state, they look delicious. Walking over to the bush he pulls off one of the berries. Holding it between his fingers, the thought occurs to him that the berry may very well be poisonous. He contemplates his chances of survival if it is in fact poisonous; they aren’t good, but the growling of his stomach cannot be denied. Figuring one won’t kill him, he puts it in his mouth and bites into the firm flesh of the berry just hard enough to squirt forth a small measure of its tart juice. Not very ripe but not entirely unpleasant either. Chewing it slowly, he waits to see if there will be any unpleasant reactions. When none materialize, he swallows it.
Picking several more of the riper ones, he wraps them in a leaf before putting them in his backpack. If he doesn’t get sick in an hour or two then he will eat the rest.
Recalling the events of the night before, he wonders if the man killed by the wolves might have something that may be of use. James grabs his spear and heads in that direction, not looking forward to what he will find. It doesn’t take him long before coming to a scene right out of an old slasher movie. Bones litter the ground; blood was everywhere. The man’s clothing had been shredded.
Horror takes hold of James as his gaze falls upon what’s left of the poor guy’s jacket. The letters H-A-V-E-S… are still discernable across the remaining portion of the jacket’s back. It looked very much like a letterman’s jacket from his high school. Using the end of his walking stick he turns the torso over. Stitched in gold lettering is the name “Randle.”
His legs give out and he drops to his knees. “Oh, Seth.” Shrieking, he cries, “There was nothing I could do! ” Guilt and shame at his weakness last night leave leaves him shaking and wracked with sobs. I should have done something! Would the knowledge that it was Seth being pursued by wolves have made any difference? Ashamedly, he realizes it wouldn’t. Coward!
“Though there was nothing I could do for you last night, there is something I can do for you now.” With that, James grabs a rock and begins digging a hole, a grave for his former classmate. It takes him some time since the ground is firmly packed, but he manages to excavate a cavity large enough. He then sets about gathering the grisly task of gathering the scattered remains of Seth and lays them in the grave. When the job is complete, James covers Seth with dirt then makes a cairn of stones. Tying two sticks together with vines for a makeshift cross, he hammers it into the ground with his stone at the head of the cairn.
Taking a moment, he says a few parting words before picking up his backpack and walking stick. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to settle his shaky nerves, he sets out once more westward. Hopefully, he’ll come across this Trendle before the wolves pick up his scent. The woods no longer bring him peace as they had yesterday. Wariness and dread fill him today.
As he forges through the at times unyielding brush, James thinks about what it means that Seth had been in this world too. Could he have gone to the interview just as James had? And if so, there could be others. Thinking back to the newscast the night before taking that fateful trip to Commercial Ave, he realizes there could be at least one other person that had passed through the door marked “Private;” a girl. Could there be more?
After jumping for a third time at the loud cry of a nearby bird, James comes to the conclusion that he is going to need more than a walking stick should the wolves return. Judging by his slow rate of progress through the forest, it’s unlikely that he will break free before night comes again, and he may not remain unmolested.
Thinking about his walking stick, and how it is in many ways like a spear, he gets an idea. Pausing for a moment, he opens the book on magic and makes sure he understands what he must do. First, he forms a visualization of his desired outcome, then puts together the words. He leans his walking stick against the side of a tree, takes three steps back and says:
As straight and true as a spear can be,
Filled with the strength of an old oak tree.
Make it sharp, to penetrate steel,
And perfectly balanced for user to feel.
With the last word comes the surge of power from deep within him. He watches as the walking stick slowly changes, becoming the mirror image of his visualization. Its surface smoothes, the end on the ground rounds off while the other comes to a very fine point. When the spell runs its course, where the walking stick once stood, now stands a dark brown spear.
James waits a moment to ensure nothing else may happen, such as the spear exploding or something equally unpleasant. When nothing does, he steps forward and tests the sharpened tip with his finger. He jerks his hand back and a drop of blood wells out. Sharp, I hardly even gave it any pressure. Feeling somewhat better for having a weapon, he takes the spear and once again sets off toward the west.
What about armor, magical shields, spells of protection? As handy as having those would be, James simply didn’t wish to push his luck as far as magic goes. I’m new at this. Keep it “Simple Stupid.” Besides, he hadn’t the faintest idea how to create something like that. He didn’t know enough about how to make a suit of armor, so how could he create one with magic?
As a Dungeon Master, he had forever stymied his players when they had attempted to use wish rings. They wish for a million gold pieces, they would receive a million gold pieces fused together, usually in a very remote locale. They wish for a suit of +100 plate armor, they would receive it. But when the armor is two feet thick and weighs a ton, it doesn’t do much good.
