Arle In The Forest

Around the edges of the forest the foliage was not too dense, allowing Arle and Firzt to make pretty good time for the first hour or two. As they got deeper into the forest, however, they began to encounter nearly impenetrable areas of thick growth that impeded their progress more and more often. Arle began to look around for a good place to settle in and rest for a while. They could even have a light snack from the bread, cheese and nuts that he had stuffed his rucka pockets with when they left. Firzt wouldn’t be too happy with such meager meal, but she would make do for now.

“Firzt! Firzt, where are you?” Arle called out softly. “Come on over here. I want to make camp for a bit and get some sleep. Firzt?” Arle paused to wait for some sort of answer from Firzt.

There was a rustle in the brush up ahead followed by a muted “Wuff”. Arle headed toward the sounds. He pushed aside a curtain of vines and found himself in a large secure clearing with a small spring bubbling in one corner. There were bushes heavy-laden with ripe berries along one side of the spring. Just past the berry bushes was a small stand of trees bearing a pear-like fruit. And was that a stone table with benches under the pear trees? A low appreciative whistle pushed it’s way past Arle’s lips.

“Nice setup, Firzt! How’d you find this? Have you been this deep in the forest before?

Firzt just grinned at him with a big toothy grin, and then pushed something towards him with her nose.

“What’s that? A guest ledger for this country lodge you’ve found us?” Arle dropped his rucka to the ground and reached for the wrap Firzt was nudging towards him.

“Mind if I sit down? You look so comfortable, after all. And I should probably be sitting down when I look at this, you reckon?”

Arle folded his legs underneath him and sank into the thick grass next to Firzt. The grass was soft as lamb’s wool and smelled faintly of Dulcet Herb. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, held his breath for a moment, and then s-l-o-w-l-y exhaled. The air was cool and sweet and unexpectedly calming. Arle began to roll his head back and forth slowly to ease the tension from his tired neck muscles.

“Rawrl” came a sound from deep in Firzt’s throat.

Arle opened his eyes and looked at her with mock annoyance. “All right. I’ll look at it. But, really, where are your manners? You are far too comfortable wearing the garb of impatience, Miss Bossy Britches! What is this prize you’re so anxious over anyway?”

Arle looked down at the small bundle in his hands. It seemed strangely heavy for an object so small. As he began to unwrap the black cloth from around the object, Arle’s fingers began to tingle. As the last bit of cloth fell away, Arle gasped. All the color drained from his face and his hands began to tremble.

“Firzt!” he gasped in a voice that sounded oddly foreign to his ears. “Firzt! This is… and then everything went dark.