A Dark Room

by Tired Old Man

3 -- The Dusty Path

The Dusty Path

It’s surprising how fast things move. How quickly they grow. All when you don’t really notice it.

The village expanded greatly. Wood is plentiful. Huts dot the landscape around us. What was once one became five.

I cart more wood in. See many smiles among the populace. Cheerful, happy smiles. But none match hers. Her smile I look forward to the most.

We built a trading post. Nomads shuffle in from time to time, bringing wares in exchange for wood. Cloth for blanket and comfort. Fangs for sharp tools and cutlery. Leather for garments, shoes, and other necessities.

Some even offer dragon scales. Claim they help for protection. Protection from what? They say there are monsters out there. Ferocious creatures.

I laugh. The most ferocious thing I have seen is a bunny in these woods. I turn them away. They warn me of danger again. I scoff at the thought. No one would dare harm this place.

The farm now produces wheat. It took little time for the seeds to grow. They rooted to the soil quickly, grew faster than expected. Almost impossibly so. Odd it seemed then, but thankful we are now.

Instead of grass and water, we now feast on bread and water. A vast improvement by my standards. We still wait on the other seeds to grow, brought in by other ponies. Cabbage, carrots, celery. They will come eventually; quickly, if the wheat is a good indicator. And the feast will be nice.

Our home, our village is now functional. Sustainable. The forest calls to me. Nothing shackles me, binds me to this place any further. I must venture, see the world.

Luna sees my eyes. My desire to leave. She doesn’t want me to go, but understands. Suggests a workshop so that she may help prepare tools for my journey.

The dent in the wood stores is barely noticeable. Within hours, she and I build the workshop. Tables and tools all within an open area next to the house.

Only now I notice how important my house is. It’s a hub of activity for me. My room, her room, the storeroom for all the goods, and now the workshop. I like it. It keeps things central, organized.

I craft simple tools immediately. Torches, waterskin, rucksack. It is strange to carry things that are not wood. I will get used to this.

Finally, a weapon. the teeth are sharp, the wood long and sturdy. I fashion a crude spear. Won’t stab deep, but better than bare hoofs.

I grab some bread rolls from the storeroom. She is there. Her eyes beg me not to go one last time. Filled with tears.

I shake it away. The need has been held back for far too long. I tilt her chin up, force her to look me in the eyes. I smile, and tell her I will return. She will tend to the village while I am gone. I trust her to do this in my stead.

Voices in the forest cheer me on. Happy to see me on my way. I ignore them. I don’t do this for them. I do it for me. My natural drive to explore, to expand my reach. It urges me onward.

The trees break away to a field of grass. I look up and see clouds. Naught but clouds and dim sunlight through them. A swig of water and a bite of bread. So begins my journey.

Another house within my sight. No smoke from the chimney. Abandoned, perhaps? It’s not too far away.

The door is off its hinges. The window cracked and broken. The wood old and creaky under my hooves. Please don’t break. If it breaks, I might break. Won’t be able to return then. I have a promise to keep.

A sound, a violent yell. A crazed pony hops out of the hallway. They brandish a knife, intent to harm… or kill. I see it in their milky eyes and their gritted teeth. Their rationale is gone; only instinct remains. Talking is futile.

Flashes of steel, wood, fang. Flickering sunlight as our shadows fight, dodge, riposte. Not two ponies, but beasts trading blows. Grunts couple each strike. Screams when we each draw blood.

Both of us now weak and ragged, sporting deep cuts and deep holes. A final blow shared between us. His knife in my gut. My spear to his neck. We collapse to the floor, my attack more decisive than his.

Removing my spear, I grasp my gut wound. Red begins to pool beneath me. Bandages. Need cloth, cloth…

He wears cloth garments. I set to work. Tight wrappings round my body. Most of it around the gut. All of it around the gut. Must contain the blood.

The pain searing, slowing my body. My movements sluggish, yet steady. I need to explore the house later. For now, I must return.

Limbs heavy, despite less burden. Walking now a task taxing my body for all its worth. The wounds catch up to me at the edge of the forest. So close. I am so close.

I collapse. Darkness takes me. but before it consumes… a flash of light.

Comments

[Samey90]

Who stepped on The Dusty Path once, will always want to go there again...

Well, unless they get killed three times in a row in the town's ruins, like me...

[Tired Old Man]

4305109

Frankly I worry more about snipers the most. Those little trolls know how to end a good expedition early.