The voice cut through the haze of her self-pity like a heated knife, tearing her back to the sudden present and the fact that she was in hostile territory. There had been no warning; no sense of being watched to accompany the sudden sound. Zamara was immediately unsettled and on high alert.
Immediately she went low to the ground on her hands and knees as her eyes frantically scanned the darkness to find either the source of this disembodied voice or spot any other potential attackers.
At first, none were forthcoming. And then the trees themselves seemed to be addressing her as one of their shadowy numbers suddenly appeared to move and grow a beckoning hand. Zamara bit her tongue to keep herself from shrieking out in sudden terror and every tale of every monster she had ever heard suddenly came rushing back into her near-panicked mind. She lay there, crouched like an animal with eyes fixated upon this gnarled arm.
After many tense moments, Zamara began to realize that there was no attack coming. Instead the low voice and its appendage seemed to wish to aid her and bade her sit upon a nearby rock. The girl found herself cursing her foolish wish for a traveler to happen upon her; certainly any that moved in the night in these terrifying, wild lands could not possibly bear her any kindness. And yet this strange tree was offering to bind her injury.
Zamara’s only true option was to acquiesce and crawl over to the indicated rock. There would be an opening, perhaps, where she could get the upper hand long enough to limp away from danger. As she did, the tree seemed to take on a more familiar shape until she saw the person for whom they were as they stepped into the pale moonlight.
Their appearance did little to comfort Zamara’s concerns, for they appeared to be practically emerging from a fable. They were covered in strange markings and wore the trappings of the forest- a truly primal look. The dancer made no reply as they approached, but nor did she attempt to flee. She watched this strange figure with eyes as wide as any doe’s, eventually murmuring a single sentence in her frozen state.
“Please…don’t hurt me.”
Immediately she went low to the ground on her hands and knees as her eyes frantically scanned the darkness to find either the source of this disembodied voice or spot any other potential attackers.
At first, none were forthcoming. And then the trees themselves seemed to be addressing her as one of their shadowy numbers suddenly appeared to move and grow a beckoning hand. Zamara bit her tongue to keep herself from shrieking out in sudden terror and every tale of every monster she had ever heard suddenly came rushing back into her near-panicked mind. She lay there, crouched like an animal with eyes fixated upon this gnarled arm.
After many tense moments, Zamara began to realize that there was no attack coming. Instead the low voice and its appendage seemed to wish to aid her and bade her sit upon a nearby rock. The girl found herself cursing her foolish wish for a traveler to happen upon her; certainly any that moved in the night in these terrifying, wild lands could not possibly bear her any kindness. And yet this strange tree was offering to bind her injury.
Zamara’s only true option was to acquiesce and crawl over to the indicated rock. There would be an opening, perhaps, where she could get the upper hand long enough to limp away from danger. As she did, the tree seemed to take on a more familiar shape until she saw the person for whom they were as they stepped into the pale moonlight.
Their appearance did little to comfort Zamara’s concerns, for they appeared to be practically emerging from a fable. They were covered in strange markings and wore the trappings of the forest- a truly primal look. The dancer made no reply as they approached, but nor did she attempt to flee. She watched this strange figure with eyes as wide as any doe’s, eventually murmuring a single sentence in her frozen state.
“Please…don’t hurt me.”
Zamara
