//------------------------------//
// halsolong 
// Story: Lost of thoughts 
// by CraftAids 
//------------------------------//

Heads between a lizard and fish roared into the sky, a sharp toothed black mass stalked a muted fear, and he walked past the same tree for the 47th time. He could see them in the sunlight, in the cracks between the trees. He could even spot, quite clearly, where space wrapped around. This, he would tell you, if you could ask, was what made him think he had lost it: there was a spot with two suns, just a little apart. He would slowly walk past the mass of heads and necks and teeth at a distance again. Soon, he would walk through that spot, and there would be two masses of heads, one in front of him and one behind him. The sky would be wrong until he took just one more step and left that sight behind again.

The mass of black sat, silent, in a tree, and, then, it was in another. Its green forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air. All was still for a moment before a green light shimmered in the tree. A cicada flew down from the branches and into the open. It flew confused, slow circles and then dropped to the ground. It was just out, in the open, sitting there. Green flame licked over the cicada, obscuring it. When the flame faded, a big spider with a skull on it was left behind. It skittered back into cover, under a bush. The darkness in the bush shimmered green, and a green, forked tongue flicked out from under it. A frustrated buzz sounded.

The hydra was standing somewhere. It didn’t know where it was. It couldn’t feel its feet. It couldn’t hear its roar. It could see only bright, patterned, cloudy shines in every direction set in rows and columns, burning its eyes. It swung and flailed and kicked but hit nothing. When tiring, it slowed. Once rested, it tried harder. It had been trapped like this for 8 hours.

On every pass, there was a tulip. Every pass, he checked behind a log and found it. It was good the first time. It was good the second time. If he could eat another without vomiting, it would probably be good. Currently, his stock of food was larger than it needed to be. It was in his mouth, clenched by the stalks.

There was no need to walk; it wouldn’t do any good. He just stood “behind” a tree and relaxed. The flowers dropped in front of him. The stones in his side still ached. It was midday and he could see and hear a terrifying creature with many heads. He was a horse, gravity pulled down, and it was bed time. Soon, he was asleep.

Snapping, cracking, crushing percussion yanked him from slumber and shook the ground. He was awake and rested and panicky, and there was only one tulip on the ground. It was raining. Two trees collided, one falling from the sky, scattering dirt and broken wood across him and the clearing he was in. That roar he had slept with filled the air, and tremors pulsed in the earth. He picked up breakfast, picked a direction, and fled. Also, he finally noticed that it was raining.

He picked wrong. A tree lifted and left a clear vision of a toothy blue-scaled cyclone of vegetative death. Its stubby legs carted its fat, armless body closer to valid targets for its aimless rage, mostly trees. Its long necks swung wildly and lifted tons of future sod and its heads crushed trunks. The heads invaded through the gaps it had made, snapping at the air, lunging. Its eyes swept over him. They didn’t pause. They didn’t react to him at all. He just backed away and ran. He was not pursued.

The stars were out and rain was falling. Again, the large, black shelled, fanged creature's blue eyes fell on the same exposed root system. If it kept walking, it would find this overturned wreckage again. The muted fear it had been stalking was frantic now, but fading.

It breathed in. It breathed out, slow and long.