The Sound Of Solitude - Part 1/3 (Early Access) (Patreon)

Mist hung low through the forest as far as Rory’s eyes could reach. It didn’t encroach on the cabin porch, though. Possibly the remnants of an old ward, she mused over her warm mug.

A small, sprightly figure pranced through the clouds of condensation. Light-footed but controlled in every movement, the creature wove the trees directly ahead, occasionally trailing their thin, glowing fingers over the bark.

The steam from her hot drink joined the fog in a steady stream, and Rory's gaze rested on the figure dancing through the forest. The routine of her days manning the outpost was a slow and simple one. It gave her plenty of time to think. Maybe too much. Maybe that was why she allowed herself to indulge in the distraction of the spirit that passed her by at sunrise and sunset.

Rory couldn't say she had any first-hand experience with forest spirits, but from the little she had learned from other hunters, she had guessed that this was a guardian. If she was correct, then the trails that the spirit was tracing twice a day were the heart lines: a magical boundary to protect the heart of the forest. The source of its natural energy. If she was wrong, then it was simply a sprite that didn't get bored easily, walking the same hiking trail twice a day.

Perhaps she should feel nervous at the possibility of her cabin being in such close proximity to the forest's heart. Instead, she was curious. Not the foolish kind of curious that would lead her closer to the invisible barriers, but interested in why the outpost would be positioned so close to such a sacred piece of territory. If it wasn't intentional, the scouts hadn't done their job properly, and if it was... well, Rory had been rolling a number of ethical dilemmas around in her mind lately.

Either way, she had taken up the post now, and she had no intention of disturbing the heart, its boundaries, or the guardian steeling them every morning and evening. She was curious, though. And so, she allowed herself to watch from afar. It never quite sated the desire to know more about the dainty creature, which gave her an excuse to keep up her recently-formed routine.

Arising in the crisp dark of early morning, she would shed her patchwork quilt and quickly trade in the thick wool coat she had acquired her second day on the post. One night of the forest's merciless cold had had Rory tracing her steps back to the Ironhearth to purchase an additional layer. Her signature scarves just wouldn’t be enough, and she couldn't guarantee that her patrols would bring her enough pelts to fashion something for herself before the cold reached her bones. It wasn't the cold of Asterion Abyss or Cadmus Ridge… it was unnatural. It seemed to roll in right before the dawn, the darkest point of night. And once more when dusk approached.

Protected against the pre-dawn cold, she would proceed to the cramped kitchen that had been built into the tiniest nook of the cabin. The storage of provisions had clearly been prioritised over the preparation of provisions when the construction was taking place. Rory had plenty of cellar space to keep her kills fresh, but the process of brewing a hearty soup was a recipe for setting the cabin ablaze. She had gotten into the habit of lighting the fire first and waiting until it had filled the room with enough warmth for her to shuck off the majority of her layers before starting any cooking. It had only taken two charred sleeves and the disintegration of a scarf hem to bring her round to the idea of minimalist cooking. Minimum clothes, maximum flavour and burn avoidance.

Fireplace lit, next she would sort through her vials of dried herbs and select a concoction for her morning tea. The forest may not have contained as much game as she had been hoping, but the horticultural selection had been an unexpected and pleasant surprise. Picking and cataloguing her finds gave her hands something to do when she was in the mood to think. A lot of thinking hadn't led to any conclusions, yet. But Rory was in no rush.

Once her tea was suitably infused in the small pot atop the fire, Rory would then pull her coat and scarf back on and take her mug outside to the porch that encased the cabin.

She repeated this routine in reverse when the sun was setting.

A wooden watchtower overshadowed one corner of the cabin. It was thin, but seemed structurally sound. Rory had slept at the top her first night in the forest, with her mother's gun at her side despite its unusable state, and had soon realised that there was hardly any prey to be found in the area, let alone predators. There hadn't been a single visitor since she arrived, friend or foe. She knew the outpost had been abandoned for some time, though, so perhaps she was foolish to expect anyone stumbling across her.

Only the spirit that traipsed its trail, passing by the cabin twice a day, infused Rory with the feeling of life existing in close proximity.

It was almost out of view when Rory’s feet began to move without order. Her mug remained on the porch railing, and her body hopped down the steps to the damp grass. The thought occurred that she was, very gently, giving chase.

The spirit did not notice her approach at first. And Rory couldn’t fathom why she was approaching. It was both disrespectful and deadly to cross heart lines, and since she could not see them no matter how hard she looked, she wouldn’t know she had overstepped a boundary until it was too late. But she couldn’t stop, the spirit called to her… to something inside of her.

Rory had called it curiosity. Now she wasn’t sure.

The spirit’s clothes swirled around her, and now Rory could see it was a dress that clung to the spirit like a silky second skin at the bodice. The skirt swished between her legs in movements so fast Rory could barely register them. A petite and feminine figure, dancing through weed and grass alike.

She hadn't seen the magic up close before. From the outpost, she could only see the creature's physical movements, the grazing of fingertips over leaves and petals and bark. Like a person of superstition tapping their lucky charm. From this new perspective, she could see the energy that flowed from finger to flower. Zealous but deliberate leaps of light shot from them and out into the wilderness.

She thought of Feira, of the wild and fiery energy that she wielded. It wasn't an oppositional comparison, but the difference was startling to Rory. Controlled chaos versus intentional invasion. And the spirit’s power took over the expanse of the forest floor in every direction. Like a strike of lightning to each tree she touched, the energy flowed to the ground and outward, dispersing itself.

With a jerky spin on one pointed toe, they were face-to-face. Rory stumbled to a stop in front of her. The spirit tilted her head, and tendrils of silky white hair swung with the movement. She looked over Rory, head to toe, neither approving or disapproving. Rory fought the urge to fidget with her scarf.

When the spirit opened her mouth, a warbled sound came out. It almost sounded like, “Hello.”

Spindle-like, sage-green fingers were extended to her and Rory froze, uncertain as to whether she was expected to offer her own hand. To shake? To kiss the backs? She reached out tentatively, and the spirit interlocked their fingers with a slow curl. It brought a shiver up to the base of Rory's skull. The touch of fingers immediately wasn't enough, she needed to drag her hands up the spirit's arms and cradle her pointed emerald chin.

Rory didn't have time to prepare herself, so she forced her voice out in a projection of 'hello' that sounded as incomprehensible as the spirit's.

The spirit touched her own chest with her free hand and the glow that underlined her skin hummed brighter beneath her fingertips. A lilting sound, long enough to be a phrase, but Rory couldn't discern any Human words that sounded alike. The hand lifted and approached her own chest slowly. Rory watched it as though the world was spinning at half-speed, as though the moment the spirit's hand made contact with her she would cease to exist. The tip of the glowing index finger tapped her scarf and rested against it for a moment.

"Rory,' Rory heard herself say. The trance broke at her own voice, just as unfamiliar to her as the spirit's.

The finger retracted, their hands were disconnected, and the spirit bobbed her head in half a nod.

She turned on her heel, putting her back to Rory again, and continued with her task. Leaving the hunter to hesitate under the shade of a tree ten times her height. The greenery around Rory seemed brighter, the air crisper, and the fragrances of flowers sweeter. She hovered in the pocket of paradise until the spirit was out of view. She took the brightness with her. The forest was still beautiful, as it always had been, but it had lost the glint that the spirit carried with her. A glow of vitality that Rory had felt infused into her very blood for just a few minutes.

Treading back home, the forest that had been a haven in the morning almost seemed... dreary.

Rory found herself checking her clock all day, awaiting sunset with the excitement of a child awaiting a present.