A Dark Room

by Tired Old Man


1 -- A Firelit Room

A Firelit Room

My head pounds. I awaken in a room. The room is cold and dark. I shiver, and look around. I see nobody. I am alone.

Another shiver. Fire. I need fire. In front of me is a fireplace. Wood rests within. Tiny embers flicker beneath. A fire poker rests to the side.

Someone was here earlier? Where are they now? Is that how I got here? Head keeps pounding. I shiver again. Questions can wait.

I grab the poker and stoke the fire. The room immediately gets brighter and warmer. Chill leaves my bones in minutes.

I stoke again. The fire roars to life. The room is hot, comforting. Relaxing. I sit and embrace the warmth. The cold leaves me be, so does the darkness. This will do for now. Light streams out the window.

Some time passes. A slam as the door hits the wall. Someone stumbles in, cloaked in a dark robe. I cannot see their face.

They collapse on the floor, panting. I look upon them for a moment. They suffer from intense cold. The cure is heat. I have no heat to share. The fire does. I stoke the fire, and hope they are okay.

Must continue tending to the fire. That means wood. Outside the door is a forest. Wood is out there.

I look back once more at the collapsed figure. I pray the fire will aid them. In turn, I must aid the fire.

The forest is quiet, not a sound to be heard. For a moment I wonder how they found me, how they found this place. The forest is dark, this house a small hut of solitude. The light from the window, perhaps? What are the odds? It doesn’t matter. I must find wood. The fire beckons.

The forest is cold, so i make haste. Gathering wood takes a few minutes. A bundle of sticks, twigs, and branches rests in my arms. Nothing special, but it will do. It will feed the flame all the same.

The house is bright. A beacon of light in a dark, silent forest. Crackles grace my ears as I open the door. The fire is still burning. The room is hot.

She is awake. Groggy, but awake. Alive. She pulls back her hood, revealing her features. Midnight blue complexion. Eyes much the same. A horn protrudes from her head. Her hair lighter blue, bedazzled by bright white lights. Stars? A galaxy in her hair?

She tries to speak, but words fail her. Unintelligible mumbles relay her delirium as she gathers near the fire. She is determined to stay warm. As must I. Cold is merciless. Fire is merciful.

I set the wood down near the fireplace and place a branch inside. I stoke the fire, maintaining the heat and light for two now. She savors the warmth. As do I, but only briefly. I still need more wood.

I depart again, out into the cold, dark forest. I find more sticks and twigs on the forest floor. All of it will keep the fire burning, blazing. Must keep the fire going.

I hear voices. Out in the forest, they call. Alluring, enticing, begging me to venture, to wander into the depths. Compulsion tugs at my mind and body. I almost drop the bundle.

No, not yet. She still waits at the house. I have not turned her away, nor will I. Must tend to the fire. Must tend to her. I must. I must.

I enter, and she has stopped shivering. The room is hot, the fire still burning. She basks in the warmth, her cloak discarded on the floor. She opens her wings, heating her feathers. She looks at me, and purses her lips. A solemn smile.

She thanks me for the fire. Hugs me, making me feel uncomfortable. It is difficult to breathe. I don’t refuse it, though. Not like I can.

Soon she breaks from her hold, realizing my pain. I finally gasp for air, and she blushes.

She waits for me to gather myself. Tells me that she can help me make things using magic of some kind. Says she is a friend.

I am uncertain. A friend? She says it with certainty. Why does she say it that way? do I know her? Does she know me? How can I be sure? All I know is she hugs hard. Could even break my back.

She sees my face, full of doubt. Waves away my worries by asking for my name. Doesn’t want us to simply be strangers. Her name is Luna.

I share mine in turn. She tilts her head, then chuckles. Calls my name odd. Hers is odd too. Named after the moon? Her mother must have been lost in her starry mane.

I ask her if she knows how I got here. She tilts her head. I gesture to the fire, say I did not start it first. Someone else did.

She thinks for a moment, and shakes her head again. She does not know either. Perfect, more questions and less answers.

She sees my face, filled with concern. She tells me not to worry. Says it doesn’t matter much now. I saved her, and that’s all she thinks matters. I’m not so sure.

She extends a hoof after the exchange. I cautiously extend mine. We connect, and my cautious mood fades. I accept her friendship.