Day 19:
The sun’s rays cut through the treetops, scattering small patches of light on the ground. The forest is somehow light enough to travel, but even then it must be done so at an agonizingly slow pace. I spent the night next to the sign that I came upon after a day of walking in hope that I would have escaped, but to no avail. It appears that I spent an entire day going in one massive circle, yet I know that I didn’t change direction significantly. Every once in a while I would have to move around something, granted, but these minor adjustment to my path would not have been enough to turn me about. Last night I decided to go about a half-mile past the sign to see if the field really was there, but there was nothing. I was not able to search for a great amount of time, but I feel that I went far enough that if the field were there I would have encountered it. Host wouldn’t lie to me; I must have gotten turned around. He wouldn’t lie to me.
The forest still has that unnatural darkness as it did last night. The trees have turned the color of thoroughly burned ash; the branches have turned into gnarled and reaching abominations on nature. The shadows that swirl around the bases of the trees peer up at me as I pass by, clearing from the trail for just a moment before closing the way behind me. An unnatural darkness lurks here, the shadows of the Briar Sanctum attempt to engulf me with outstretched and jagged claws, but these seem to only follow at a distance. They have no quarrel with me yet. Where do you come from? What would scare the Windigo, for it has not appeared recently.
It has grown very cold, and the patches of sunlight, where I have the opportunity to write, have become increasingly scarce. If I am actually in the proper Everfree at this point, then why do I not hear or see any other creatures? Why is there naught but the trees and shadows? This is a strange feeling, to be confused. For such a long time I have been scared, but now I have the opportunity to actually question my surroundings. Surrounded by these curious little shades, they seem almost playful. Dancing around the small patch of sunlight that has found its way through the dark roof above me. While I am wondering about my surroundings, I must also observe my current state of being. There is no more food, and very little water. If I don’t reach the field within another day, then… starvation is less preferable than being killed by what has hunted me for what seems like an eternity. I have seen its work, and my entire core is chilled by the thought that I may eventually be turned into a horrific scenario: completely skinned, legs twisted at odd angles, a scream frozen in my torn throat, and unburied. That I would never be laid to rest properly. This, for reasons unknown to me, is my greatest fear. Was not my grave prepared for me? Would I never be able to sleep among the residents of the ruins? To be forever secured in a natural temple?
Once again, the time has been lost. I would be willing to hazard a guess at how long I have been walking, but in all reality that does not matter now. Who really cares what time of day it is? Ponies back home may be concerned about deadlines, appointments and the like, but here there are only two times of day: when it is light enough to travel, and when it is dark enough to hide. Perhaps it is important to focus on such things to keep yourself sane, hence the writing. This journal is my only friend, and it has kept my mind in check throughout this experience. It hasn’t been killed off, taken, or mutilated like the others. Goes to show how futile life really is, doesn’t it? Then why do I continue to fight for my own survival? If I knew that answer to that I would be free of this forsaken forest one way or another.
Something is following me and has been for some time, I’m sure. The shadows around me have become more hostile, clawing at my hoofprints, threatening to trip and devour me. Some of the shadows have become more recognizable, I know them as the ones that follow the Windigo wherever it goes, namely after me. The ghost of a creature behind me, however, is not the Windigo. Would it have been, the moment I turn around I would be encountered by a smile. An oh so friendly smile. Here, when I turn, I manage to see something disappear into the trees, always moving away from me. This thing hides its face, and moves without care or direction. This is the type of creature that always lurked in your closet when you were nothing more than a foal. The thing that simply waited instead of hunted, letting you come to it. You always felt that you could escape it, but inevitably you would wake, and there it would be. The Windigo hid under your bed, instilling in you a sense of fear that could not be overcome by anything save the daylight. Unfortunately for me there is very little daylight to take comfort in.
The shadows have become all too familiar now, whatever uncanny darkness I may have traveled in has passed. It must be close to evening now, judging by the fading of the patches of sunlight. I do not recall the trees being this dense in the last few days, but the trail does seem familiar. I am so very tired, more tired than I have been in the last few days. This sense of urgency to escape, with the exit being so very close, it has ultimately drained me. There is no place to sleep here though, I must press on until such a place is found. It may just be the shadows and my tired mind, but it looks as if there may be a clearing up ahead. Dimly lit, so perhaps it is a clear night tonight.
Host lied to me. There may be a field somewhere, but what he said was wrong. I pass one sign after leaving the ruins, and walk for a day to find another sign, identical. Then I question my path and myself. I knew I walked without changing direction, and I have done the same today. Yet there is another sign, identical to the other two. I have good reason to believe that it is the first one, as the clearing is just ahead. Fair bet that the clearing is also the courtyard of the lost city I slept in just two days ago. I have gone in a circle after all.
So, that’s your game. Was the second sign a fake? Perhaps, but it really doesn’t matter now. My suspicions were correct, that the clearing was the courtyard. At first I believed this to be a welcoming sight. The moon, somehow full again, casts an eerie, pale glow into the circle of stone. A fine mist hangs just beyond the courtyard, shifting in and out of the crumbing stone. A line of trees separates the clearing from the rest of the forest, where an utter darkness has taken hold of everything. The pale, grey light from the moon works its way into the trees, slowly tearing at the dark, but the shadows also bite at the fringe. I personally sit in a single moonbeam, attempting to keep my entire being within the light. But now I am not so sure that is the best idea. You have been waiting for me; in the one place I believed I was safe. You hunted me, wore me down, took nearly everything I had, and wasted my time and energy with two pointless days just so you could wait for me. The Windigo stands in the center of the stone circle, motionless. You would think that it was no more than a black statue if it wasn’t for that face. Juxtaposition in itself, the eyes stare straight ahead, seeing through everything, yet they have nothing inside them. They lurk just outside your vision of sight, so when you just turn you head you notice that something far off to the side watches you. The smile, gleaming with white, crooked teeth says otherwise. White, the color of innocence, contrasted with a very malicious shape of a tool used to devour. The smile is the thing that waits for you. It waits just off to the side, a corner of it covered, still and silent enough to be missed at first, but it must be noticed. A smile full of meaning, however dark it may be. I do not remember the body being like that, however, it is far ganglier than before. I am off to the right, yet it stares straight ahead. Am I unnoticed?
If I lie low then perhaps I
My presence is very much known. It was not a sudden jerk of the head, but slow and calm, as if it merely wanted to take note of something. The ghostly white pupils, amidst the red eyes, made contact with mine, then it turned back to stare straight ahead, the smile became slightly wider. It is deathly quiet.
Cath Wintergreen Amber