Cylus 9, Arc 717
Arlo slept soundly inside his tent near the fire, and he hiked through the peaceful forest surrounding Desnind. It was a beautiful trial. Warm, a slight breeze, the sunlight filtered through the pale green leaves and cast golden patches on the mossy floor beneath his feet. He'd brought along his sword, his bow and his knife. His hat was stationed soundly on his head. Everyone knew not to go out in the forests unprepared.
But it was an ideal trial nonetheless, for an adventurous traveler to go exploring. Or maybe to go looking for treasure. Birdsong filled the canopy above him. Lyova skimmed happily along beside him, riding the crest of the slightest of breezes. A babbling brook tumbled along merrily off in the distance. As if all of them together were telling him, go, explore, find something wonderful.
He even whistled a half forgotten tune from his childhood, and back in his tent, Arlo hummed quietly in his sleep. In praise of Cassion, he left a trinket dangling from a small branch at the edge of the path. A cluster of bright colored feathers and small, circular stones he'd found in the brook with holes worn in their center, all strung on leather strand. Cassion himself might happen across it. Or maybe another dreamer who might stumble upon the path he was traveling now.
But then, of a sudden, all went eerily quiet and the young dreamwalker paused on his way. The birds had stopped singing, the brook ceased its babbling, and even Lyova's constant chatter in his mind wandered off. No more golden patches of sunlight to follow.
Instead, the dark rolled in like a thick fog consuming everything in its path. Like trial to night in an instant, the temperatures dropped and rivaled Cylus itself, the full moon appeared larger than ever through the trees. And off in the distance two hoot owls called out a warning to each other. Then they were quiet too.
It was unnerving, the suddenness, the menacing feel of it and Arlo reached back for his bow to make sure it was still there. But it wasn't the sudden stillness that bothered him most. Arlo could hear something in fact. It was faint as if it was distant. But it was there, and when he turned round on his heel, trying to figure out where it came from, it sounded as if it was behind him, in front of him. In fact all around.
He couldn't have explained it to anyone that hadn't heard it themselves. But it sounded like hundreds, maybe thousands of clicking, skittering feet. Or maybe tapping across a cold marble floor. Except that the underbrush seemed to rustle out of the way as they passed. And an even fainter, grating or sawing sound, like two rough sticks rubbing together, multiplied by a hundred or more.
He walked on, and the sounds got no louder, no softer, as if they were moving as he did. But there was only the rare, and the briefest of shadows that skittered away when Arlo looked, as if it had never been there at all. "This isn't one of yours, is it Jesine?" the dreamwalker said quietly, barely above a whisper as he went, trying to find the path back home. But of course the path had changed, and was taking him round in circles.
