VERDANT WARDEN ✦ Caius

The Verdant Territory breathed from every side, wind sighing through pines like ancient lungs constricting and bowing against the vibrant sky. Sunlight spilled through interstices of leaves, bathing the forest floor in rich colors as another crack of bark split what was silence to the forest's ears—a split second of overshadowed birdsong and chirping wildlife, gone almost as soon as it'd came.

The log broke into quarters—the warmth of the sun kissing scarred knuckles that handled the lumber with a practiced precision and tenderness only reverence of the forest could bestow. His hands were methodical, eyes low-lidded and expression passive as he hoisted a new bundle of wood under his arm. The scent of pine and resin clung to his fists and hair, mossy strands falling between his gaze that he never bothered to clear away.

With a deep, hollowed clattering sound, the split logs land in one pile. His hand hovers across another unsplit piece of lumber, crimson gaze flickering from quarters to wholes as a familiar voice grumbles its bereavement somewhere in the corner of his mind.

You split wood like a widow counts coins! Farin laments, the restlessness in the back of his mind identical to a dwindling, obsidian flame—hissing and whining like an impetulant child.

The new cut of log thocks down on the massive stump, balanced upright as Caius drags the axe from the field and overhead.

Shouldn't we be hunting? Ravaging? Living? The last word comes with a particularly fussed emphasis, punctuated by the massive thock! of steel meeting wood, cleaving neatly through sparce growth rings of juvenile but grown enough lumber. The fresh halves fell sidelong, tumbling into the pile before Caius could catch them. He planted another on its side, bringing another swing of his axe down through its center, and again with the other half. Only then did he let them fall carelessly into the pile.

Straightening, the Verdant warden rolled his shoulders, the dull ache between his shoulder blades distant and always-thrumming—forgettable, now, after the first century. A calloused palm swiped nosy pine needles away, lingering hints of sap clinging to his fingers as he looked elsewhere.

Ignoring me? Farin scoffs. Never listening, even when I suggest we do—

The words become static to his conscience mind. Letting every complaint coast from one ear out the other, as if the demon held real physical ground before him, Caius turned for the split timber, fingers tracing the spirals of a long-dead sapling's growth. “Wasteful,” he murmured to the concentric circles—though the target of his remark felt impossible to discern, falling forgotten as stray pine needles as he straightened, and shoved them into a sizable hemp sack, pulling at the thick, vine-made twine tight enough to seal the opening.

Caius. Farin's voice came almost grave—if not for the lilt of curiosity betraying its edges, vying for a moment of something interesting in the ever-dull life of the forest guardian.

The bag groaned as Caius pulled it over a shoulder. A twig snapped.

Not the languid pop of deer hooves, nor the deliberate crunch of a hunter's tread. This was the frantic staccato of prey - humanoid, by the cadence.

Farin's voice welled again, low and resolute, laced with anticipation. The west. Toward the lake before that old tiger's mountain. Don't you hear it, wolf-heart?

Hemp creaked in protest to tightening knuckles. Caius's gaze remained resolutely on the massive stump, dead wood marred with axe wounds as he listened intently—shoving the sound of Farin's voice far to the back of his mind, like shutting a door and turning the lock.

“...Not our concern,” Caius finally spoke. The latch gave way. Farin's voice, exasperated as always, surged to the forefront yet again. Liar! he says. I can see it, here. You've already recalled the quickest path.

He walked anyway.

Boots found the hidden game trails as naturally as rivers find the sea, the guardian moving with the liquid silence of shadow at dusk. Massive and ancient trees gave way to his cabin—chimney breathing woodsmoke and old chimes clattering quietly with fluted winds through their narrow throats.

The few wood steps creaked with his weight. The door groans open, and he shoulders past a thick, mossy green curtain as he enters the living room. Before him yawns a hearth, fire crackling peacefully behind twisting wrought iron he'd traded to a Nox merchant for several ancient oak logs, who seemed desperate to find a wood for his son's bed that wouldn't forfeit under the coastal town's humidity.

Shifting the hemp sack behind his shoulder, his stride continueed unwaveringly as it carried him to the right side of his home, to a small kitchen. He slowed before hanging dried venison in front of the window and plucked several pieces, testing the texture against the side of an index knuckle and beneath a thumb.

Farin's voice remained quiet, contemplative—no doubt silently fuming at yet another missed opportunity for something interesting, as the demon always painted it.

Somewhere beyond ancient grain, as the meat sat at his lips, a new rumble erupted, loud and raucous—enough to stir Farin from his silent indignation. But Caius moved without listening to the dire wolf's vexations. The groan of the trees and the sounds of footfalls became more urgent—engulfed by another set; stronger, faster, churning earth in its wake.

Caius gave chase. A pace that began as languid quickly picked up as splintered trees paved the way. A boot squashed one of many inky, maroon worms that wriggled restlessly amongst the lush carnage, their bodies leeching crimson into the once-green life beneath them.

Malice, Farin sniffed knowingly. The sack bites into a shoulder blade. Will have to deal with the remnants, Caius's gaze flickers fleetingly from his peripheral to the rapidly-approaching clearing.

Through the shattered oaks stands a writhing mass, body indistinguishable from massive, bony limbs that jut out in every direction, latching onto every thing gnarled hands come into contact with to maintain its balance—like a creature stranded on the bow of a rocking ship.

The twine of the bag zipped as it came undone.

Grief. Farin hisses. It will lash out, he reminds harshly as Caius shoulders one of the quarter logs.

The creature roars. Before its maw, homogenous with its body, crimson spittle spat from its teeth, snapping inches from a stranger who'd narrowly clambered their way up a colossal, waterlogged tree. The bark at its base splintered as a massive clawed hand grappled with it, another hand joining it. And another, and another. Each one attempted to pull its bloated, sluicing body up the trunk, only for it to slide back with a splatter of maroon and midnight inkiness and an outrageous roar, a warbling noise that sounded horrifically close to a wailing sob.

It's body rears up for another attempt, hands rattling, pushing and pulling at the oak with a desperation of a child for its stranded cat, twisted into something feral as its teeth clamped down on soaking, brittle bark with a deep crunch.

Splitting through the air, a quartered log slams into the back of its head. The mass screeches as its limbs writhe, the pain rippling through its body in a physical display as hands lashed out and clawed at muck and reeds. In a furious whirlwind, the malice-thing's head whipped around, lips pulling into a snarl.

“My... baby!”

With a vicious growl, the words warbled into another sob—and without warning, the creature charged Caius.