10: Fanning The Flames

I needed the perfect stick, or multiple perfect pieces of wood, to be precise. I wasn’t sure how much I’d need, but that was my next step towards a goal of fire. I couldn't be sure my new storage pot would be enough to keep my food safe, so I hoped a fire might keep my tormentor in the night from returning.

The search began in the ruins, as usual, to avoid entering the forest. I found nothing more than twigs, potential kindling, instead of what I needed to actually make a flame. I started a pile of them to save for later.

I crossed back and forth in front of the statue, but every passing minute under his gaze sapped a little more of my fragile hope and confidence.

"Let me guess, you’d already have a raging bonfire? Shut up. Nobody taught… I never needed to know, okay? Stop… Stop looking at me like that!"

I hated that smug look on his face, always judging me. I even returned to the church to escape his sight, hoping for something to use from the pews I remembered lining the voice's dusty sanctuary. Unfortunately, nothing remained, just like the rest of the place. I had to accept the inevitable. Staying in the ruins was pointless if I wanted to find my stick.

"Where better to look for wood than the place that is wood? Perfect, right? It’s… obvious. Just… don’t find something that wants to eat… you."

The actual forest was different, more daunting than simply going to the garden. That area was still in the ruins, kind of, or so I convinced myself. The truth was, the edge of the ruins blurred from the forest's consumption.

I removed my shirt to bundle the larger sticks together. Most were flimsy twigs, dry and easily breakable. Other branches were rotting and covered in moss. I avoided those. The problem was, I didn't know what this 'perfect' stick even looked like. I hoped to just know by looking at it. After a few trips in and out of the forest, dropping off my bundles, I wandered in a different direction.

A smaller tree, partially uprooted, had toppled over and got caught in the branches of another. Maybe the blustering winds from the night before had been too much for it, something good from the haunting wails. Bells rang in my head. Jackpot! Wood. It just sat there, waiting for me to claim it. Easy.

"You’re mine now…"

I grabbed at the trunk, determined to drag my trophy back to the woodpile. I took a step backwards, and dirt slipped under my feet. Down I went, butt first, in slow motion until I was sitting. The tree was heavier than it looked.

If I wanted my prize, I had to lighten the load. I snapped off the smaller branches first, some of which still had fresh leaves. Perfect. I’d add them to my bed. Trip after trip, I stripped more away. When I harvested most of the breakable branches from the trunk, I tried to drag it away again. I took a few successful steps, or so I thought. Either I was moving, or just carving out the dirt with my feet. The ground rushed up, and I fell face first to the moist earth. The tree wasn’t going anywhere, but neither was I.

Still propped up at one end from the other tree, I straddled the trunk and dropped my weight down to break it. Aside from possibly bruising my tailbone, I heard something crack. Instead of hurting myself again, I climbed up and stepped on it like a balance beam. Bouncing gently, I applied more force each time. It let out another cracking sound, then another. I really got into the motion, pushing down harder from my knees to bend it more, and something let go. The trunk broke, rolled, and threw me off.

Thud!

Falling on soft dirt was infinitely better than stone.

The tree snapped in half, mostly. A strip of bark still connected the two pieces. I grabbed the top end, pulling and twisting until the bark tore off. The base and roots were still much too heavy, but I dragged the new piece a bit, wedged it between some thicker trees for leverage, and pushed against it. The trunk bent quite a bit before cracking, then finally snapped again. I had two great pieces thanks to my effort.

Things really were going my way, but I still needed to bring it to my pile. My hands couldn't wrap around the trunk, though, and the circumference was too wide. Awkward and too heavy to lift, I slowly rolled and dragged the thicker base of my prize back to the pile.

When I returned for the rest, the top of the tree, I finally had my perfect stick. It actually existed. I picked it up with both hands, holding it like a bat—no, like a sword. It would have been perfect for playing with when I was a kid.

Swish! Swish!

I swung it up, down, and side to side. It whipped through the air with each imagined strike. I made a clumsy twirl with my new sword, stepping into character, and abruptly swung it up to hold it horizontal with both hands. My right foot kicked back to brace myself from being knocked over.

"Ha! I knew that was coming before you even swung your blade. Quite obvious, if not pitiful. You’re too easy to read based on your… pathetic stance, I dare say. Do you honestly think you can defeat someone like me with such a weak attack? Absurd. You’ll regret ever challenging me to this… duel, if you can even call it that. This shall be the death of you, and I’ll be sure to leave you resting… in pieces." I pushed away the imaginary weapon I'd blocked and took a fighting stance. "Now, come at me!" I charged forward and swung my blade up from the side to strike my enemy—a tree.

Whack!

"Ganging up on me, huh? A foolish move, indeed." I spun around and struck another tree.

Crack!

"You’re formidable, I’ll admit, but none have lived to tell the tale after facing me, for I am the legendary… Kara Nosora!" I switched between the two trees, jumping back and forth to dodge their invisible attacks, striking back at the trees one after another. "Take that, you fiend! Haha! Overestimated your skills, have you? I warned you. Now, how about some of this—?!"

"Yirf!"

The fight was over. I fumbled with my sword—my stick—and froze. The squirrel-fox barked at me from above me, high in the branches of a tree I attacked, interrupting my impressive, imaginary, and pathetic sword fight.

"S-sorry…"

I dropped the tip of my stick to the forest floor and returned to the fountain at a quickened pace. Being caught playing around like a kid, even by my new furry acquaintance, left my cheeks warm. I avoided looking at it as I scurried away. I shouldn't have been goofing off in the first place.

Back at my woodpile, I finally got down to business. I scraped some of the bark and a green layer underneath it away on the edge of a rock, then took another piece of wood, rubbing it back and forth for friction.

Snap!

The piece I pushed against and ran along my 'perfect stick' broke. A burning smell came from the forming groove, but no sparks. It made a slightly pulpy, warm mess instead. I wiped that away and grabbed another piece, pushed it into the groove, and rubbed again. Many broken pieces later, the result remained the same.

"Why? What aren't I—Why won’t it work?!"

I tossed my perfect stick into the pile, scattering the collection of mostly twigs across the stone ground. My puddle of misplaced hope and optimism ran dry. All I achieved from my wasted effort were sore, friction burned hands and an aching back from being hunched over for far too long.