Familiar Failure - Part Two
03 May 2024 - Transcribed by Paul TurnerThe forest floor was dark save for two beams of light pouring in from where they had broken through the dense canopy. Elara Taloneye sat up and inspected herself for injuries. Finding none, she let out a small sigh of relief before staring up into the light. She waited for a moment, hoping to see the flicker of shadow. When it did not arrive, she deflated.
“How can a bird so large be so blind?” She asked herself.
She knew Ironclaw would likely come if she could reach the treetops. It would be their best chance since he was unlikely to find the exact spot where they fell through. She also knew there would be little chance of him hearing her through the branches and leaves overhead. Her head throbbed, the fall having dazed her more than she would ever admit. Plus, something was missing. She sat for a minute on the forest floor, barraged by the symphony of various animals hacking, retching, or fornicating while she tried to simmer the tempest in her head.
Her cloak was missing.
She saw marks in the ground, much like a stone thrown across the surface of a pond. They stopped abruptly at the base of a large tree whose roots jutted from the ground as though it meant to leave. Then she remembered why she fell.
“Please be dead. Please be dead,” she whispered as she approached and snatched away her cloak.
Fwanklin, who had been lying in wait, let out a shrill scream which pierced the air itself. Elara could feel her brain resonate within her skull. In one motion, Elara threw the cloak over herself and clamped her hand over Fwanklin’s mouth. The ringing in her ears continued for several seconds afterward. Once Fwanklin’s eyes met hers realization dawned, and she removed her hand.
“Ugh, why is your mouth so wet?” She asked while wiping her hand on his tunic.
“Sorry. I produce a lot of saliva when I’m scared,” he admitted.
“Is it acidic or something? That would be useful.”
“No. I produce too much and it makes me queasy.”
“Disgusting, and not even in a cool way. Get up. We have to get higher so Ironclaw can find us.”
Fwanklin nodded and sat up. His bones creaked as he did, and he wheezed from the effort despite his lanky frame. When he reached his full diminutive height though, he immediately collapsed back on himself like a sack of rotten potatoes which never should have been unearthed.
“I said let’s get moving,” Elara said through gritted teeth.
“I can’t. I think your cloak broke my ankle,” said Fwanklin, already tearing up. “You’ll have to go on without me.”
Elara was halfway up the nearest tree by the time Fwanklin finished his sentence. She deftly rose from branch to branch with ease until she was just under the beginning of the dense canopy. Only a few more moments and she’d be back on Ironclaw and in the sky where she belonged. Then she remembered her father’s words.
By the roots and branches which hold up our world, bless this mission, and let the bond of these two travelers be unbroken. If it should fail, let not the ground falter, but take my life instead.
She cursed under her breath and stopped her climb. Looking back down, she saw Fwanklin lying in a sad heap where she had left him. Already, a small group of owls were congregating in the branches above where he sat. Several of them eyed him with malicious intent and one even pulled out a switchblade. Elara sighed. She’d have to bring him along somehow.
They tried climbing the tree together, with Fwanklin holding onto her cloak. It became readily apparent this method would not work as Fwanklin lacked the upper body strength to hold even half of himself up. Every time Elara would leap onto a tree, Fwanklin would sink back into the ground. She even tried holding him with one hand while climbing up, but his flop sweat made this impossible too.
She was well past the point of frustration, and by the time Fwanklin quit crying the light overhead had begun to fade. Night was coming. Elara had spent little of her time in the forests outside of Barrad since she was a child. She preferred the freedom of flight. It certainly had nothing to do with how she obtained the scar across her lip and chin, she thought. They needed to get moving.
“I’m really sleepy,” complained Fwanklin.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, you haven’t even done anything!”
“That’s not true! I… um… this is the first time I’ve left Barrad. It’s a big step.”
Elara sighed. “Look, I’ll make a fire and I’ll give you something to brace your ankle, but tomorrow we’re leaving if I have to drag your dirt covered corpse over every rock and root on the way out. Understand?”
“Can we have s’mores?”
Elara squinted at him, wishing she had been a sorceress instead of a badass rogue and daughter of an archdruid. She took a deep breath. It would still only be a few days. They just needed to get out of the forest first and meet back up with Ironclaw. She could do it. She had to in any case.
It took longer than she would have liked to get a fire going. The forest floor was damp, and she felt certain Fwanklin had something to do with it. After a time though, they had something close to a campfire puffing out smoke. The heat it created was enough to warm up some meager mushrooms she had collected. The two ate in silence minus the symphony of belches of indigestion coming from Fwanklin. Afterwards, he fell asleep almost immediately.
Elara stared at him in disgust as the embers faded. She wondered how someone so positively useless could have survived to adulthood. Not only that, but he was being reached out to by a familiar. Many of her father’s druidic order sought out one as a rite of passage. For many elves, particularly the druids, it solidified and reinforced their connection with the world around them. These animal spirits were meant to guide the druid to reach their true potential. She could not even imagine what that would mean for Fwanklin.
Maybe he would be able to breathe out of his nose for a few minutes each day?
She smiled at the thought, but it grew bitter as memories of her childhood came to the surface. She pushed them away.
Who cares about a spirit animal when you can bond with the real thing?
Elara wished Ironclaw was under the canopy. He’d hate it, but she had grown used to sleeping near his nest in the Great Aviary of Barrad. She missed the sound of his breathing. As if on cue, Fwanklin snorted, pulling her away from her pleasant thoughts. She sighed and lay on the forest floor.
As her consciousness slipped away, Elara felt herself rise above the forest floor. Above the trees, she soared farther into the west. Within the span of a few flaps of her wings, she was nearing the Far Plains. She had never been there in person, but it looked just as she expected. Golden reeds danced in the wind. Patches of green grassland mottled the distant landscape. Small ponds of water poked out surreptitiously from the earth. Still. Unfettered. Yet, in the pit of her stomach, something felt off.
There were no trees. She would have no place to land. As adept at flight as she was in the dream, the flat lands of the Far Plains gave her pause. Her wings began to ache as she searched with eyes which seemed dull from fatigue. Then just as she passed over the largest of the ponds, something raised from within it. The water retained a thin film around the great mass as it reached ever upward until it had grabbed at Elara’s talons and wrenched her downward with great speed. She tried to cry out, but water began to fill her lungs.
Elara awoke and retched, her body spasming. Fwanklin was standing over her, a look of concern on his face. She also considered that it might just be his face.
“Bad mushrooms,” she managed to sputter out.
The two did not share much in the way of conversation until after Elara had fashioned a brace for Fwanklin. He complained about losing circulation to his foot, but she ignored his whining and gathered her gear in silence. It would take a day or so to leave the forest on foot. She had her knives and a shortbow, but Fwanklin would need something to protect himself.
“Why would you think it wise to leave without a weapon?” She asked.
“I don’t like them,” he said.
“What? You don’t like being protected?”
“From what?”
“From I don’t know,” she said while gesturing to the forest around them. “Everything?”
“I never left Barrad. Besides, it’s not like I wanted to leave.”
“Then that’s two of us,” she muttered before stomping off. “Hold here.”
A few minutes later, she returned. She tossed a switchblade to Fwanklin’s feet and pinned a few new owl feathers into her cloak to patch the spots where it had been torn. When she was done, she made Fwanklin test the brace. He could limp though it squeaked with each step, removing any hope of stealthily making their way.
The remainder of the morning was filled with them doing their best to make their way through the plethora of roots, branches, and droppings which filled the forest floor. Elara at least felt confident in her sense of direction. They would make it out before the next morning.
“What if Mister Raven isn’t at the end of the forest?”
“He’s not Mister Raven. His name is Ironclaw. And he’ll be there,” she said.
“I’m scared he won’t be. Didn’t you have the dream too?”
Elara stopped in place and turned to Fwanklin, her eyes equal parts fiery fury and abject terror.
“What did you say?” She asked.
TO BE CONTINUED