The dawn chorus had started.
Hundreds of birds throughout the Falwood had awoken to the cresting sun. They blinked, and ruffled their feathers. Seeming to grow two, three times in size, they shook off the night’s dust and dew, and smoothly set their feathers back down, shrinking once again. A few quick breaths, a hop and a jump to the edge of the branches, and then a song.
Such a song it was. A great, tangled cacophony with no direction nor synchrony. Chaos born from the ordered songs of individuals. Strict patterns falling over one another, each one broadcasting a simple thought:
I am here.
Light grew steadily, and the birdsong did not waver. Now new creatures began to stir. Squirrels crawled from their nests and skittered across bark. On the forest floor a deer lifted its head, and two small heads lifted beneath it. The dappled fawns gazed at the illuminating world, all of it still new and unknown to them. Deeper still, snakes wormed up from the leaf litter and all manner of beetles scuttled below.
This was the edge of the forest, the shallows of a vast sea of leaves. A scant few leagues from light brush and prairies, and from human settlement. A rhythmic sound now, mechanical in contrast to the lilting forest noises. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. One human had waded into the woods.
A strong man, with sweat on his brow and a song in his heart. His axe bit deep and true into the tall oak’s trunk, and it punctuated the chorus with every hit. He was no stranger to these parts, and he knew just how to find the best wood. Settlements were growing every day, and they were hungry for materials. Well then, he would give them the best (and charge as such).
There were dangers in these woods, to be sure, but the creatures at the edge were but minnows compared to the legends of the deep woods. Nothing a strong axe and a firm shout could not disperse. But harvesting the minnows with abandon spilled blood, and blood drew sharks from the deep.
A bobcat watched from the boughs of a nearby tree. Amber eyes traced the shining axe back and forth, and watched the splinters it cut. After a time there was a loud snap, then a pop, then a flurry of breaking wood and crashing branches as the mighty tree was felled. It landed with a heavy thud that reverberated through the forest. The man, panting, dragged his axe and himself to a nearby log, and sat. He wiped his brow, and took a swig from his canteen. Fine work. Fine work.
|Why do you harvest the trees?|
The man gave a start at the voice. Choked a bit on his water, doubling over and sputtering. When he lifted his head, the bobcat sat before him. He yelped in surprise, and lifted his axe. He glanced left to right, but could not find the source of the voice.
”Who’s there?” he called, trying to stay composed. ”Show yourself!”
|I am here.| said the voice. The bobcat cocked its head to the side.
He couldn’t figure out which direction the voice came from. It seemed to speak from no direction at all, from within his own head. It sounded somehow familiar.
”Come into the clearing where I can see you,” he said again, agitation showing in his voice.
|I am here before you.| the voice said again. It was… his own voice? His own voice, thinking words in his head. But he hadn’t thought them, no, they had been put there.
The bobcat stood as the voice spoke. It turned to look at the fallen tree, and then turned back to the axeman. |What will you do with this tree?|
The axeman blinked once. Twice. Three times. It… was the cat. Speaking in his voice? He looked around. No one appeared to be nearby. He narrowed his eyes, and spoke with quiet suspicion.
”I’ll cut it up, and sell it.”
The bobcat stepped closer still, and sat once again. It gazed at the man for a long time. Unblinking. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the felled oak.
Finally, the voice said, |You are not a beaver.|
The axeman did not know what to say right away. ”No.” he said. Quite truthfully.
The bobcat took another moment to think. |But you take the trees.|
”…Yes.”
|Why|
Now he was growing agitated. ”I sell them.”
|What is sell|
”I give it to people for gold.”
|Why|
”So they can build!”
|But you are not a beaver|
”No I’m not a bloody beaver!” he shouted. He put his hand to his head, feeling hot sweat. What was he doing? Arguing with a cat? Was this really happening, or had he felled the tree on himself and now dreamed while he died?
The bobcat cocked its head and continued to stare. Another minute passed. |I have felt the forest retreat. The edges are being removed. Have you taken all those trees?|
”No,” he answered. ”There’s hundreds of men takin’ wood from the edges, have been for generations. Most don’t come so deep.”
The fur on the bobcat’s neck bristled just a touch. One tree was inconsequential, the Falwood had millions. But to make the edges retreat… thousands had fallen. That was too many. That would not do.
|Where do the men come from|
”The camp, mostly,” the axeman answered. ”The lumber camp,” he clarified. ”They stay there before going home to sell.”
|Show me|
”What? No,” the lunacy of the situation had become too much. ”Listen here, I’ve got to take this tree home and it ain’t going like this. Now if you don’t mind leave me be while I chop—“
He was interrupted by a sharp sound of rushing wind. The bobcat jerked and twisted, and its body was taken in a blur of motion. In the blink of an eye it grew four fold, its fur darkened, its body lengthened. The gust subsided, and he stared into the amber eyes of a panther. It was dark as a moonless night and it rumbled deep in its throat as it stepped towards the axeman.
|Show me|
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Several hours passed as the axeman lead Fauna through the woods, back to the lumber camp. Scores of tents dotted a rough field, and hundreds of tree stumps stretched around it. Makeshift lodges had been crudely put together from unfinished planks, and the smell of food and drink hung heavily around them. Smoke from their fires wafted lazily into the air, and the mechanical sounds of great saws and creaking cart wheels filled the air. There was no birdsong here.
A low rumble emanated from Fauna’s throat.
”Well,” said the axeman, ”here we are.” He looked nervously at the panther beside him.
Fauna looked back. |You have helped me, axeman. Thank you.| They surveyed the camp further. |You may go|
Awash with visible relief, the axeman walked hurredly away, still sweating heavily.
|Man| the voice spoke suddenly. Fauna’s amber eyes locked with the axeman’s blue ones. |Do not return to the forest|
He nodded shakily, and continued towards the camp.
A quick gust of wind stirred the earth at the edge of the forest, and the panther was gone. In its place, a small black cat walked quickly and silently into the camp.
Hundreds of birds throughout the Falwood had awoken to the cresting sun. They blinked, and ruffled their feathers. Seeming to grow two, three times in size, they shook off the night’s dust and dew, and smoothly set their feathers back down, shrinking once again. A few quick breaths, a hop and a jump to the edge of the branches, and then a song.
Such a song it was. A great, tangled cacophony with no direction nor synchrony. Chaos born from the ordered songs of individuals. Strict patterns falling over one another, each one broadcasting a simple thought:
I am here.
Light grew steadily, and the birdsong did not waver. Now new creatures began to stir. Squirrels crawled from their nests and skittered across bark. On the forest floor a deer lifted its head, and two small heads lifted beneath it. The dappled fawns gazed at the illuminating world, all of it still new and unknown to them. Deeper still, snakes wormed up from the leaf litter and all manner of beetles scuttled below.
This was the edge of the forest, the shallows of a vast sea of leaves. A scant few leagues from light brush and prairies, and from human settlement. A rhythmic sound now, mechanical in contrast to the lilting forest noises. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. One human had waded into the woods.
A strong man, with sweat on his brow and a song in his heart. His axe bit deep and true into the tall oak’s trunk, and it punctuated the chorus with every hit. He was no stranger to these parts, and he knew just how to find the best wood. Settlements were growing every day, and they were hungry for materials. Well then, he would give them the best (and charge as such).
There were dangers in these woods, to be sure, but the creatures at the edge were but minnows compared to the legends of the deep woods. Nothing a strong axe and a firm shout could not disperse. But harvesting the minnows with abandon spilled blood, and blood drew sharks from the deep.
A bobcat watched from the boughs of a nearby tree. Amber eyes traced the shining axe back and forth, and watched the splinters it cut. After a time there was a loud snap, then a pop, then a flurry of breaking wood and crashing branches as the mighty tree was felled. It landed with a heavy thud that reverberated through the forest. The man, panting, dragged his axe and himself to a nearby log, and sat. He wiped his brow, and took a swig from his canteen. Fine work. Fine work.
|Why do you harvest the trees?|
The man gave a start at the voice. Choked a bit on his water, doubling over and sputtering. When he lifted his head, the bobcat sat before him. He yelped in surprise, and lifted his axe. He glanced left to right, but could not find the source of the voice.
”Who’s there?” he called, trying to stay composed. ”Show yourself!”
|I am here.| said the voice. The bobcat cocked its head to the side.
He couldn’t figure out which direction the voice came from. It seemed to speak from no direction at all, from within his own head. It sounded somehow familiar.
”Come into the clearing where I can see you,” he said again, agitation showing in his voice.
|I am here before you.| the voice said again. It was… his own voice? His own voice, thinking words in his head. But he hadn’t thought them, no, they had been put there.
The bobcat stood as the voice spoke. It turned to look at the fallen tree, and then turned back to the axeman. |What will you do with this tree?|
The axeman blinked once. Twice. Three times. It… was the cat. Speaking in his voice? He looked around. No one appeared to be nearby. He narrowed his eyes, and spoke with quiet suspicion.
”I’ll cut it up, and sell it.”
The bobcat stepped closer still, and sat once again. It gazed at the man for a long time. Unblinking. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the felled oak.
Finally, the voice said, |You are not a beaver.|
The axeman did not know what to say right away. ”No.” he said. Quite truthfully.
The bobcat took another moment to think. |But you take the trees.|
”…Yes.”
|Why|
Now he was growing agitated. ”I sell them.”
|What is sell|
”I give it to people for gold.”
|Why|
”So they can build!”
|But you are not a beaver|
”No I’m not a bloody beaver!” he shouted. He put his hand to his head, feeling hot sweat. What was he doing? Arguing with a cat? Was this really happening, or had he felled the tree on himself and now dreamed while he died?
The bobcat cocked its head and continued to stare. Another minute passed. |I have felt the forest retreat. The edges are being removed. Have you taken all those trees?|
”No,” he answered. ”There’s hundreds of men takin’ wood from the edges, have been for generations. Most don’t come so deep.”
The fur on the bobcat’s neck bristled just a touch. One tree was inconsequential, the Falwood had millions. But to make the edges retreat… thousands had fallen. That was too many. That would not do.
|Where do the men come from|
”The camp, mostly,” the axeman answered. ”The lumber camp,” he clarified. ”They stay there before going home to sell.”
|Show me|
”What? No,” the lunacy of the situation had become too much. ”Listen here, I’ve got to take this tree home and it ain’t going like this. Now if you don’t mind leave me be while I chop—“
He was interrupted by a sharp sound of rushing wind. The bobcat jerked and twisted, and its body was taken in a blur of motion. In the blink of an eye it grew four fold, its fur darkened, its body lengthened. The gust subsided, and he stared into the amber eyes of a panther. It was dark as a moonless night and it rumbled deep in its throat as it stepped towards the axeman.
|Show me|
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Several hours passed as the axeman lead Fauna through the woods, back to the lumber camp. Scores of tents dotted a rough field, and hundreds of tree stumps stretched around it. Makeshift lodges had been crudely put together from unfinished planks, and the smell of food and drink hung heavily around them. Smoke from their fires wafted lazily into the air, and the mechanical sounds of great saws and creaking cart wheels filled the air. There was no birdsong here.
A low rumble emanated from Fauna’s throat.
”Well,” said the axeman, ”here we are.” He looked nervously at the panther beside him.
Fauna looked back. |You have helped me, axeman. Thank you.| They surveyed the camp further. |You may go|
Awash with visible relief, the axeman walked hurredly away, still sweating heavily.
|Man| the voice spoke suddenly. Fauna’s amber eyes locked with the axeman’s blue ones. |Do not return to the forest|
He nodded shakily, and continued towards the camp.
A quick gust of wind stirred the earth at the edge of the forest, and the panther was gone. In its place, a small black cat walked quickly and silently into the camp.