The Forest Journey

He sleeps on the moss at the foot of the Glowing Tree, his mind full of green light from the Tree’s heart. Stretches a bare arm, slowly raises his head. The light in his mind fades as his eyes open, beholding the Glowing Tree with its bright emerald heart. He is at peace among the swirling faery lights.

The clearing around the Tree is ringed by thick underbrush. So it has been as long as he can remember. Yet today there is a break in the bushes, a narrow footpath leading away from the Tree.

"My road,” he says quietly. Placing one foot carefully in front of the other, he steps out of the clearing, onto the road.

It is little more than a trail, marked by naked earth where the plants and growing things have been trampled by unseen feet. He neither knows nor cares whose feet they were, only that it is his road, because he found it. The dusty path is smooth and soft beneath his bare feet, the grass growing on either side tickles his ankles as he passes.

A light breeze ruffles his hair and clothes as he walks. He smiles.

"My wind," he says. The breeze strengthens, circling around him and kicking up dust from the path. The wind takes on the aqueous tint of old copper, an ancient, faded turquoise. It is the colour of his loose, sleeveless tunic. Then it fades, and the dust settles. He continues along the path.

He sees a speck of light, far ahead of him on the path. It intrigues him, and he runs to see what it is.

The speck grows revealing itself to be a fire,with bright sapphire flames licking at the sky far above his head.

"My fire," he says, and so it is. He reaches his hand toward the flames, feeling the warmth on his skin. A burning twig tumbles off the pile, landing near his foot. He kneels to examine it. A thought occurs to him, and he licks his finger and passes it through the flame on the twig, quickly so it doesn't burn him. Emboldened by his success, he does it again, holding his finger in the fire a bit longer. Still he is not burned. He laughs, and grabs the burning twig. The blue flames surround his hand, whispering and tingling, but he feels no pain. Then the twig dissolves in his hand as the fire condenses into the form of a creature.

It is a giant serpent, with pale blue scales, ivory horns, and a deep blue mane like that of a horse.

"My serpent," he says. The serpent blinks its emerald eyes and speaks.

"The road itself does not change," it says. "Only those upon it." Then it, too, fades into nothing, and he continues on the path.

He whistles a tune as he walks, the name of which escapes him. He is not sure where he heard it, or even if he ever did. He decides that he is making it up as he goes, and smiles at his own cleverness.

The road bends, and as he comes around the turn, he sees a bridge. It is a simple wooden arch, with railings on either side and a small peaked roof over the middle. A light drizzle begins to fall, and he dashes under the roof of the bridge, laughing.

"My bridge," he says as he leans over the railing. There is only darkness beneath the bridge, a deep chasm obscured by mist.

The rain stops, and he steps out from under the roof to continue on his journey. The wood is smooth, warm and wet from the rain. The road at the other end of the bridge is dry.

A wink of red at the side of the path catches his eye. He stops, kneels to part the leaves above it, and sees a bright, plump strawberry. It dissolves as he reaches to pick it, and he stands and continues.

A dip in the path contains a small shallow pond. The water is a glowing amethyst and gives off the scent of honeysuckle as shining amber fish dart here and there.

"My pond," he says, and reaches to touch the surface of the water. The pond disappears into mist, which fades away as he passes through it.

The road is both long and short, and though he knows he has been walking for hours, he is not the slightest bit tired. He walks in silence.

A door blocks the road. It is high, made of pale grey stone with an iridescent sheen. It is locked. He looks down at his hand, and sees a silver key. The key fits the lock on the door, and the door opens of its own accord. Beyond the door is a room, round, the stone floor strewn with pillows and rugs in various shades of green velvet. It is dimly lit by leaf-covered windows, the ceiling is obscured by greenery from the vines that grow up the walls from the floor.

"My room," he says, as he slowly turns in the center of the room, observing everything. Then he quietly pads back to the door, goes through it, and closes it. The door disappears.

He continues on the path, through where the door was.

The end of the path is in sight. It is a clearing, dominated by a huge Tree with a glowing green heart, surrounded by soft moss.

"My place," he says. He goes over to the moss at the foot of the Glowing Tree. The Tree is smaller than he remembers it, the edge of the clearing closer in. He curls up on the moss and falls back asleep.