Trell - 1

Trell and his escort travelled all night, resting only long enough to drink from the falls several miles north of the lake. The road was well worn, and the travel easy in the moonlight. The troop moved at a steady pace, but still found time to talk and laugh about the previous nights party. They carefully avoided the subject of Trell’s quest, and several times he caught one of his comrades eyes drop as their eyes met. But for the most part they were able to maintain high spirits until they approached the human road.
The last mile to the road was very steep, and while not difficult, it took a great deal of energy leaping from boulder to boulder up the river bank through the vines and branches of the forest. When they reached the road they all peered cautiously down the road in both directions before settling down for a meal.

They could all feel the anxiety knowing that here Trell would be leaving into the unknown world beyond the forest. The sun began play among the ridge of mountains to the west, as they all sat and munched on some acorns and blackberries while catching their breath. No one spoke, and Trell was glad. He had to force himself to swallow the food as he fought to contain the lump that was rapidly growing in his throat.

He drew the magnificent swords given him by Chêne, but found no joy in their beauty. All he could do was rub the fine leaves that provided grip to the hilt, and run his hands along the length of their blades. At any other time he would have swung them around to check their balance, spun them on his index finger for show, and been very eager to show his companions how amazing they were, but now neither he nor the rest of his troop were really interested.

After a few minutes they had all eaten, and the silence was beginning to become awkward. The captain of the troop stood, straightened his weapon belt before barking: “Troop, assemble!” to which all of the fauns dashed to take their place in a double line running perpendicular to the human road. The captain stood facing the troop only a few feet from the road, and Trell stood at attention at the far end of the formation.

The captain then barked again, “Honor-guard, form path!”. The two lines took a step away from each other and then turned to face each other.
“Honor-guard, present steel!” he barked again. Forty swords flew from their sheaths, and came to meet those from the other line, raised above their heads and forming a kind of arched tunnel between Trell and the captain.

Again the captain barked, “Paria, attention!”. Trell came to attention and saluted.

“Paria, forward march!” Trell marched smartly through the tunnel until standing under the final arch of swords he stood only a foot from the captain.

The captain stepped to the side, and barked one final time, but this time his voice cracked as he said, “Paria, depart!”

Tell stepped forward onto the road, then not knowing which way to go he turned to the left and began walking. He continued walking for some distance when he heard from being him: “Honor-guard, assemble!” a short pause then, “Honor-guard, left face!”

Trell was a little surprised because he knew this was not part of the ceremony. He was tempted to look back, but instead he forced himself to keep walking.

Just before he rounded a bend that would take him out of sight of the troop her heard one final bark, “Honor-guard, salute!” followed by the clang of swords.

Trell knew this salute well, and he also knew that it was definitely not part of the ceremony. This time, though, it was easy to keep walking because tears were flowing freely down his face, and such a weakness would be very uncomfortable for both himself and those of his troop. But had he ventured a look back, he would have seen more than one cheek sparkle in the morning sun with tears of their own.

Trell’s eyes dried quickly as walked, but the lump in his throat didn’t subside for several hours. The forest began to break up into clumps, and then as he climbed a rise he saw the sand plain stretch out before him all the way to the mountains.

He suddenly found that he couldn’t breath. It was not the hot wind that ruffled his hair, or the mountains that defied his efforts to see further. It was not the exertion from the traveling, or the weight of his light pack, but something entirely overcame he forcing him to stop and leaned against the last emaciated tree. He took deep breaths trying to control whatever was happening to his body, but he just could not catch his breath.

He realized that his pulse was racing, his knees were shaking, and his palms were sweating badly. It was as if his very life was being stripped from his body. He fell to his knees, and placed his hands on the ground to try to steady himself, but it was no help. He heard a sound behind him, but was completely helpless. He could not turn around. He was being crushed by some force that he had never before felt. His vision began to darken, and he knew he could not fight off the darkness.

As his head began to sag toward the dusty road he felt a hand on his back, and eyes snapped open. He felt two strong hands grab his shoulders and stand him on his feet. He tried to stand, but found himself entirely dependent on the arms that held him upright. Then he heard Chêne’s firm voice: “On your feet my boy. This world is not that scary.”

Suddenly his lungs filled with air, and knees snapped to attention. He was still very aware that he could not feel his arms and his hands were tingling, but he found the grip of the hand loosening, and his strength returning. Turning to see the smiling face of his commander, Trell suddenly felt all the emotions of the last few days wash over him like a wave. His eyes again filled with tears, and his chest began convulsing in deep throbbing sobs. He once again leaned on the tree, but this time it was not from weakness, but from blindness. The tears had obscured everything into a blur, and he felt a little dizzy as well.

Chêne placed his hand on Trell’s should and just waited until Trell was able to clear his eyes, and turn to face him.

The only smile that Trell had ever seen on Chêne’s face was the one he fought down when he met his sister the Queen. For the first time, Trell really looked in the the eyes of the great faun that had protected the forest for as long as he could remember. He saw the deep wisdom and strength in his eyes, but he also so the years in that depth.

But there he stood, strong and resolute, ready to defend every creature in the forest to his dying breath.

Trell tried to speak, but found only a horse whisper escape past the lump that had returned to his throat.

“You wonder why I would go out of my way, just to pick you up off the ground?” said Chêne giving Trell a crooked smile.

Trell could only nod as Chêne continued. “You see Trell…” he began, “I am not so unlike yourself. Many years ago, I too took the path of the Paria Volontaire, and yes, I took almost failed to pass beyond the borders of the fey wood.” Putting his arm around Trell’s shoulder Chêne pointed out across the desert. “You see, out there you will be alone. Here…” pointing back toward the fey wood, “there is powerful magic protects our lands. It is strengthen by every living creature, plant, and fey that calls these woods our home. Everyone one of them would give their life to protect you, and as would for them. But out there, it will be only you. No one will have your back, no one cares if you live or die. Only the strength of your arm, the spring of your step, and the depth of you wisdom will keep you alive.”

“If you ever want to see you home again, you will have to harden yourself against the cruel of men, and elves, and orcs, and demons. You will be tested beyond your strength, and you will be endure more than can be endured. Then if you are strong enough, you will find yourself, and you will know who you really are. So when your time is done, you find your way back here.”

“In the meantime,” Chêne gently touched the locket around Trell’s neck, “I will take care of your family. You just take care of yourself, and come back to us.”

Trell turned to face Chêne and squawked out, “I will.”

Then without another word, Chêne leapt into the sky, and disappeared over the fey wood.

Once again Trell tried to take a step forward, and once again he felt the crushing, suffocating air of the world of men, but this time he was stronger somehow. This time he raised his right hoof and stretched it out in front of him. Then followed with his left, then his right again. Slowly he descended into the world of sand and blistering heat; and when his legs wanted to stop, he would lean on his staff, and then continue on.

Around midday Trell paused to rest, and drank the remaining water from his waterskin. In hopes of find some water he took a few minutes to look around him. He knew what was east, and was resolved to not to return there unless it was in triumph. To the north the sands became deeper and formed into endless yellow dunes that seemed to go on forever. To the south the land slowly rose out of the sand, and a few scattered plant braved the heat. Ahead of him, to the west, a jagged jumble to ridges crossed his path.
He could see some trees growing there, but they were at lest a days march away, offered no guarantee of available water.

So, he trudged on, but now he began to take notice of his surroundings. There was some sage and a healthy smattering of cactus. He saw evidence in the sand of some type of rodent activity, and occasionally caught a glimpse of some tough skinned lizards sunning on the rocks. He also knew from his training that there would snakes, but none of them showed themselves.

As the day wore on his mouth and tongue became parched, and his skin soon stopped sweating. Him tongue became so dry he began to wonder if it crack and split like that of the desert reptiles.

Still he could only keep moving. His step slackened a bit now, but he was determined prove himself.

By the time the sun slipped behind the peaks ahead of him he was exhausted. The only thoughts he could muster were a determination to make it the ridge ahead, but they still seemed so far away. Surely he could not endure another days march with no water. He decided to rest for the night and venture on in the morning. He ate his last handful of blackberries, which brought enough relief to his tongue and throat that was was able to cough down some acorns, and quickly drift off to sleep.

He awoke the following morning with a dry mouth and tongue, but could not even produce enough saliva to wash the sand from them, so once again, he climbed to his feet and headed west. Within a few hours he was once again breathing heavily, and began to get dizzy from the heat and dehydration. He stopped frequently and leaned on his staff, but that only made it hard to get his hooves moving again.

Hour after hour he fought his way forward. A couple times the road cheated his eyes and his heart with mirages that brought short bursts of hope, only to dash them as the retreated down the road or vanished all together.

[Add another day]

Then as his strength truly began to give out he began climbing a small ridge no more that a couple feet high, and steeled his resolve to make it to the top of that ridge before he sat down to await the obvious end of his journey. He didn’t know what he would find there, but deep down he hoped this was the first ridge in the mountains that he has seen earlier in the day.

Twice his knees hit the dirt road before he approached the top. He was stopping every few feet now to gather his energy and resolve, but somehow he continued his final ascent, and at long last reached the last twist in the road before cresting the ridge. He forced his eyes to stay on the road in front of his feet until at long last he reach the top.

As he raised his eyes to see where he was to die, his heart entirely failed him. If he had any lingering hope of water, or shade they were dashed in an instant. What he saw before him has a gentle slope back down to the same plains he had been struggling through. He could see the ridge of mountains, but his tortured mind estimated the grove of trees or bushes to be a days march if he had a full waterskin and plenty of food.

Staring down the slope and on to the distant ridge, his eyes somehow managed to squeeze a single tear from his eye. It dried on his cheek long before it reached is cracked lips, but he didn’t notice. His vision was fading now, and from somewhere inside him a rage began grow.

He blinked a couple times to try to clear his vision, but to no avail. Suddenly his rage erupted and his world seemed to go red. He drew his swords, and attack the only thing he could see.

A large stand of cactus stood about two paces to his left, and he leapt at it like it was a dragon killing his family. He struck it hard and fast. Needles and slashed leaves flew in all directions. Trell had no control over his body anymore. He just hacked and sliced, and kicked and screamed. This cactus plant suffered all the anger he could produce.

He was furious at Chêne for letting him come out here when he must have known there was no hope. He was furious at the fey council for sending him. He was angry at his troop of Dervish for not stopping him when they had the chance. He was angry at Nénuphar for…

No, we was not angry at her. She was the only good thing in this entire world. Now rage redoubled because he would never see her again. His stomach turned to stone, his throat knotted up, his teeth clenched, and he attacked with everything his body possessed. At least this vicious plant would know how unfair it was.

Then everything went dark.

Trell was surprised as he began to regain consciousness. He couldn’t see or hear anything, and his first thoughts were that he must be dead. As he caught hold of that idea he became curious as to what this new existence might be like. He began to mentally reach out to his senses to detect any kind of sensation at all. After a few moments he felt something. It felt like something brushing against his cheek. It passed across his cheek and onto his nose where it seemed to disappear. Then it happened again. Something brushed across his cheek, then his nose, then disappeared.

He waited for the sensation to occur several more times, and his mind began to race. What could be happening to him. If he could feel his cheek then surely there must be more of him. Perhaps some merciful being had granted him a new body for this new existence. He strained with all his mental effort to see if he could feel any other parts of his body, but to no avail. The only sensation he had was this soft brushing agains his cheek.

As his mind raced trying to comprehend what was happening, he suddenly saw a pinprick of light, then another, and another; but still most of his vision remained dark. Only one small corner of his vision seemed to be working. Then the brush against his cheek again. He studied the lights, but could learn nothing other than that they were different than the darkness that encompassed the rest of his vision.

Then a breeze rippled across his face followed by another brush against his cheek. His vision too was growing. He could distinctly see eight or ten distinct points of light.
Soon he began to feel the ground pressing against his body. He must be laying on something with his head cocked lightly to one side. As moments passed his eyes began to open wider, but found very little to gasp hold of. It was very dark wherever he was.

His next sensation was a smell. A faintly familiar smell. He knew he recognized it, but couldn’t place it. It was like the smell of the wet leaves and wet grass, but different. It was a dryer smell, dusty perhaps. Then it hit him, cactus!

As the realization took hold of his brain, the rest of his body exploded in pain. His arms, legs, and chest were on fire. The right side of his head felt like it was bashed in and set on fire. He tried to get up, but seemed to be tied to the ground; none of the his body would respond. He manage to let out a sickly croak, and open his left eye just enough to see some large dark shapes near his face.

He lay there roe what seemed like an eternity, unable to cry out from the pain, unable to do anything except take shallow breaths and move his one good eye. Eventually movement did begin to seep back into his body. First he was able to blink some dirt out of his left eye, then move his tongue, and attempt to swallow. Then he found that he could move his feet and his neck. Finally his finger, then his hands, and then he began to move his shoulders.

As more parts began to move, the pain throughout his body redoubled, and he froze, clenching his jaw and his hands. But the pain just went on unabated, and he felt another croak escape his parched throat. He soon decided that he absolutely had to move, or the pain alone was going to kill him.

With one huge surge of effort he rolled over onto his back only to discover new parts of his body erupt in pain. Even with the small pack protecting some of his back the pain was unbearable. Before he could even think, he threw himself over again, and then again. Finally he felt his body hit the sand. It was a relief not to feel new needles dig into his flesh, but at the same time it redoubled the pain in much of his right side.

One more roll send him over the edge of a small dune of sand and spun him into a partial sitting position. To his surprise, the back of his legs seem to have mostly escaped the cactus, so with one final effort, and a free elbow, he slid down the rest of the dune and came to a sitting position staring out into the darkness. There he sat quivering in pain and breathing deeply for several minutes.

When he gained control of his breathing and shaking, he reached up to see why he was unable to see out of his right eye. To his dismay, he found a cactus leaf stuck to the side of his face. Without thinking he grabbed it and threw it away. He screamed as the needles were yanked out of his cheek, temple, and eye lid. He felt the pain spread from needle points though his face in general. After a few minutes of agonizing pain, the burning settled into a steady living fire over the entire right side of his face. He grit his teeth again, closed his eyes, and laid back on his pack.

When he opened his eye again the sun was beginning to work its way down the mountain ridge in front of him. His face had settled to a dull ache and he could see out of right eye just a little. He raised his hand to his face again only to drop it back to the sand as needles shifted and ignited his entire arm into to stabbing pain once again.
He knew that until he could extract the needles he would be unable to concentrate on anything else, so inch by inch he worked his way up his arms pulling one needle after another; pausing momentarily when the pain threatened to overwhelm him, then beginning again. He then worked from his hoofs up his legs, abdomen, and chest. Then with fingers number from pain and fatigue he found the remaining needles in his face and neck, tossing them away one at a time. He knew there were more in his back, but they seemed to be fewer in number, and as long as he didn’t move he could tolerate for the time being.

By this time, he could feel the temperature rising and the sun was beginning to swallow the shadows in front of him. Then a thoughts caused him to pause. What was that sensation that had wakened him?

He raised his hand to his left cheek and found broad swath of slime that extended from his left cheekbone under his eye and completely covering the left side of his nose. Bringing his hand away, he could see that is was a clear substance, but surely not his now snot. His nose was completely dry, and choked with sand.
He eyes caught hold of the cactus leaf he had ripped from his face, and realized that it was not a full intact leaf, but rather it had a large section sliced of leaving the side near him exposed. most of the wound was covered in sand, but the sand was wet. Then he noticed a little drop of clear liquid collecting on the part of the wound still open to the air.

The cactus was dripping! Surely that is what had brought him back to his senses. Some leaf above his face must have been leaking onto his cheek. He quickly collected some of the partially dried slime, and trust it into his mouth.

He nearly gagged as the slime touched his tongue. It was like eating grass, and it stuck to his tongue so he couldn’t get it off. He tried scraping it off on the root of his mouth and spitting it out, but was only able to disperse a small amount that way. He slowly worked the bulk of it to that back of his throat and swallowed. Again he nearly gagged, but taste subsided somewhat, and his mouth actually felt better than it had since his last drink of water.

He looked around, but the rest of the cactus was behind him, so with great effort he climbed to a standing position and turned to examine the cactus. As first he was blinded by the sun, but with some effort he worked his back to the road where he could see.

The cactus plant had been fairly large, but there was very little left in tact. All but a few branches were hacked off and lying in a wrecked heap, and there in the midst his swords. He could clearly see where he had collapsed, and there was indeed a branch handing over his resting place. The leaf that had been dripping on him had stopped dripping, and pretty much sealed off the wound.

He retrieved his swords and extracted some more of the jelly from one of the larger leaves. Again he nearly gagged as he worked the slime across his tongue and swallowed. He repeated the process with several more leaves, and was able to stop gagging with every mouthful. He was able to slime his lips as well, and the goo seemed to help the pain in his hands.

He paused now and again to pull another cactus needle from various parts of his body, but the cactus jelly had brought moisture back to his body, and with it a hope began to grow. When he has extracted all he could from the pile of cactus leaves he looked around for another plant. Not far down the road that he has traveled up the previous day, was another cactus plant similar in size to the one he now faced.

This cactus was unspoiled by the assault of his blades, and he was able to get large mouthfuls of the cactus jelly. As he ate, he found that he was able to chew the entire leaf, though this tactic brought needles into his mouth more than once. But he ate with an appetite that surprised him, and by mid day his stomach was full, and he stopped to asses his situation.

He climbed back to the top of the ridge, and looked on the landscape with new eyes. Now, instead of dry lifeless land, he saw fields of life giving cactus. He suddenly thought that he might just live. With the ready supply of cactus he could travel almost indefinitely. He still craved water, and felt thirsty, but the cactus had taken the edge off the burning thirst, and he now found it bearable, at least until he could reach the ridge before in the distance.

With his swords back in his belt, and his staff in his hand stared down the far side of the ridge. At each large cactus he would stop, and select some of the choices leaves which, after removing the needles would store in his pack.

Occasionally he would come across some large barrel snapped cactus that has huge amounts of jelly in them. While it was palatable to eat them, he was unable to take them with him because they had so many needles and the needles were so small it was impossible to carry them without completely pealing them. This in turn gave his a large handful of goo, but he was unable to devise a way to transport it short of filling his pack with slime.

These two types of cactus turned out to be the only real useful cactus plants. the large cactus trees seemed be more wood than jelly, and they were far too bitter to consume. Most of the other cactus plants had small leaves or not enough leaves to worry about. He did find that some the cactus plants like the ones he had first encountered had fruits on top of them. These too were good to eat, and if possible almost good. So Trell gathered some of these as well.

When the road began climbing into the foothills, Trell was disappointed to find that, what he had thought were trees, were in fact large bushes that gave only little shade. So he pressed on until night fell, and spent the night at the base of a large rocky ledge.

The next day brought him to the top of the ridge where he found some real trees. In fact the entire west side of the ridge was covered in trees. He was so excited that he ran up to the first tree he could reach and hugged it for several minutes. It was only a straggly little aspen tree, but it was a tree, and he was overjoyed to see it. He wound his way down the road to a large stand of trees were he decided to pend the rest of the evening and night.

He was awakened in the early morning hours to a little rain that had begun falling. He bounded out into the open and let it run down his face and into his mouth. For the first time in three days his mouth was actually wet. Not the pasty moisture the cactus jelly, but actually wet and pleasant.

The rain lasted for only a few minutes, and he got little more than a couple drop into his waterskin, but this raised his spirits immensely, and he slept until well into the morning.

With new hope, Trell climbed a large pine tree to see what lay before him. He was still pretty high up on the ridge, and the tree he chose was large than most of those around him, so as he peaked out from the delicate branches near the top, he could see forever. The land before him was a high desert of sage and cactus, but it lacked the blowing sand from the east side of the ridge. The land seemed to rise and fall with areas that might harbor rivers or other water running in strips the the valleys. And way off in the distance he could a mountain range much large than the ridge he now found himself on.

The road turned to the right and descended the ridge slowly as it ran northward. Once the road reached the plains it turned back west, and ran as far as Trell could see, straight at the mountains in the distance.

Gazing out over the plains, Trell felt very small and very alone. He wondered if he would ever meet another living soul. In the back of his mind he knew that this road must go somewhere, and he had even seen a human caravan on it once while he was training with the Dervish; but, sitting high in a tree overlooking a world much larger than he had ever seen, was a humbling moment. It was the kind of thing that settles into a persons soul, and changes them.

Trell stayed for a long time in that tree thinking of home and wondering what lay ahead. He daydreamed of fighting great dragons, and climbing those mountains ahead of him. He wondered what kind of creatures inhabited this world, and worried about whether they would hate him. He imagined entire forests filled with giggling dryads and nymphs. He imagined flocks of fairy dragons and the little sprites that herded them. He imagined running with herds of strange animals just for the fun of it.

He once attempted to look back toward his homeland, but could only see to the ridge, a few hundred feet away. Then as his legs started to ache from strain of clinging to the top of the tree, he heard an old familiar sound. Not so high above him a large red-tailed hawk screamed prompting a scurry of movement a few tree over. He watched as two squirrels scrambled for cover.
As he descended from the tree he didn’t feel quite so alone, and the world didn’t feel quite so alien. If this world had birds and squirrels, surely it would have deer and foxes, rabbits and mice, fish and walruses. Yes, he decided, this world might be worth visiting after all.

His new found hope put a spring in his step, and he pulled out his pipes and began to play and dance his way down the road. The extra effort caused him to tire quickly, but it lightened his heart and allowed him to think fondly of the fey wood. After a few minutes he pulled out a cactus leaf to munch on, and settled his pace into a walk.

That day he found some pine nuts and few acorns. The pine nuts were a welcome taste, but without a way to treat the acorns, they were far too bitter to gag down. Other than that, the plants in this region were strange to him, and he was forced to remain on a diet of cactus that he had picked from the other side of the ridge.

By the time the sun began to set, he had descended to where the trees gave way to shrubs, and he could see that the the shrubs would soon give way to sage brush. So, he decided to spend the night in the last grove of trees near the road. It was a stand of aspen trees, far too thin and slick to climb, but they had laid down a good carpet of old leaves that made a soft bed for him. He again pulled out is pipes and played for several hours as the darkness settled in around him.