Eyes in the Dark
Down towards the Wound the three dinosaurs walked.
The trip down was longer than any of them had anticipated. Even Cera with her former knowledge of the place hadn't planned on a two-day descent, and for a couple of large dinosaurs traveling with a relatively inexperienced child, it didn't take long for challenges to present themselves. Fyn himself had almost fallen to his death three times by the time the second day came around. Cera, the more surefooted of the two large dinosaurs, was suffering in her own way; her cough kept her up the first night, and persisted throughout the second day, and while she reassured Fyn that it was just the exertion getting to her, he could tell that the strenuous, near-vertical descent was getting to her regardless of how hard she tried to play it off.
Equally troubling was the lack of water. No one had expected to find any traveling down a sheer rock face, of course, but no one had anticipated being stuck on that rock face for two days, either. Fortunately the rock was solid enough that several puddles had collected along the pathway down, but while they filled their purpose, providing the dinosaurs with just enough hydration to go on, the water that came from them was gritty, with a strange, dry taste to it, and the puddles themselves were few and far between. Food was just as unappetizing, if not more so. They trio contented themselves on the first night by snacking on roots and dry plants growing from the rock face. The food was bitter and unappetizing, causing even the travel-hardened Cera to retch. On the second day, they avoided food altogether.
Yet despite the hardships the path forced upon them, Fyn remained alert and eager at all times, his eyes always traveling towards the dark smudge on the horizon. Each time he found them again, he reminded himself of his goal, and each time he reflected on his journey, the weight of his steps seemed to grow a little lighter, the creases under his eyes a little softer, his demeanor a little kinder.
Which, given Cera's increasingly sour mood, was probably a good thing.
"Fyn!"
The Longneck snapped his head up. He'd been talking with Cura, who had insisted on walking rather than riding between Fyn's sails today. Cera's frustrated bellow snapped him out of his conversation, and he rushed over to where the Threehorn stood, angrily eyeing a large boulder in the middle of their path.
"Oh," Fyn muttered nonchalantly, "well how about that?"
"Yes, 'how about that' indeed," Cera grumbled. "I don't know about you, Longneck, but it's been three days now, and I for one am ready to get off this wall."
Fyn nodded. Last night hadn't been any better than the first, and with the land below so close now, it was almost tempting to just jump and take his chances with the fall.
Almost.
"So if you'd give me some assistance with this boulder," she said, nudging the unmoving rock with her frill, "I'd really appreciate it."
"Sure, I'll see what I can do."
Fyn squeezed himself as close to the wall as possible, to avoid crowding Cera. The boulder in question had fallen from above, likely during the mudslide, leaving a significant scar in its wake as it had fallen down the wall. Now it was thoroughly nestled in the middle of the path. Almost as tall as he was and twice his width, it didn't look like it would be going anywhere anytime soon. Perhaps with the two of them working together, that would change.
The Longneck put his shoulder against the edge of the rock, and nodded to the old Threehorn by his side.
"On three, then," Cera said, "one, two, three, push!"
The two dinosaurs groaned and panted as they put their weight into the push, fighting against the unmoving boulder as they strained, slipping as they tried to maintain their grip. Despite their best efforts, the boulder barely budged, and before long Fyn fell back, gasping for air. Somewhat less composed, Cera gave the stone an angry roar, throwing her shoulder into it before retreating, blowing a blast of hot air from her nostrils.
"Stupid rock. If we can't move it, we're out of luck."
Passing up the opportunity to echo Cera's own habit of sarcastically replying, Fyn offered, "perhaps we could just climb it?"
"How?" Cera asked, inspecting the stone's smooth surface, "I can't climb this, and you can forget little Cura getting over it."
"Right." Fyn's shoulders slumped, his brief show of optimism promptly dashed.
This can't really be a dead end though, can it?
"We'll just have to go back up and look for another way down," Cera said, turning her back on the rock. Fyn's eyes wandered up the trail. There had to be something more, something they were missing.
And with a start, he realized that there absolutely was something.
"No, Cera. I think I can make this work."
The Threehorn raised an eyebrow, fixing the Longneck with her most skeptical expression, the one she usually reserved for Littlefoot and his crazy schemes.
"Oh?"
Fyn nodded. "Maybe. I just need to head back up the trail a ways."
"I'll come with you. We'd be heading back that way anywa-" Cera stopped, coughing so hard her whole body shook. When she was done, she cleared her throat, opening her mouth to speak again, but Fyn interrupted her.
"You should stay here, rest up a bit. I'll go ahead and find what I need. If it doesn't work, we'll all go back up the path together."
Cera narrowed her eyes. "Fyn, I'm fine. Just a little shaken from our fall the other day."
"No you're not. Listen to yourself! That cough sounds terrible. The last dinosaur I trusted on his word died before we made it to safety. I don't want to see you suffer the same fate because of something we could have prevented."
"Wouldn't feel right, just sitting here," Cera countered, "I don't want to be a burden."
"The only way you'll be a burden is if you come with me, Cera. We need to take care of this quickly, and the last thing I need is you hurting yourself. You're a huge part of this group, Cera, and if you get hurt, we'll all suffer for it. So for Cura's and my sake, at least, please stay here."
Cera's face registered no emotion, but inwardly she was beaming. This was the Fyn she'd wanted to see, the one Zaura had probably been working on ever since they'd left their grove. It still hurt to think that doing her part meant sitting beside a rock and waiting, but the hoarse, ragged breath coming from the depths of her throat informed her that Fyn was probably right. This was for the best.
"Fine," she said, settling down on her belly onto the warm stone, "I'll wait here. Just hurry up and get back here. I don't want to spend another night on this stars-damned rock."
Fyn smiled at her, "on that, we both agree."
…
Cura had been following him since he passed her by on the way up the path. Fyn could tell by the quiet pitter-patter of young Longneck feet trying and failing to match his longer strides behind him. He'd told her to stay put and keep Cera company but, as he'd reminded himself many times since then, she was a child, and children seldom did what they were told.
They were moving farther and farther away from the rock in the middle of the path, but it could hardly be helped. Fyn was looking for something specific- a root, perhaps, or some sort of sturdy stick. But his attention was now divided between searching for what he needed and listening for Cura's footsteps and debating with himself whether or not to continue indulging her little game, or to put an end to it and send her back to Cera.
A few paces later, he opted for the latter.
The orange Longneck stopped in the middle of the path, and the footsteps behind him shuffled spastically for a moment before they, too, fell silent. Slowly, Fyn brought his long neck around until he was face to face with the little blue Longneck, his eyebrow raised in a sly, inquisitive manner.
"That's strange," he muttered to himself, "I didn't think there were supposed to be any other Longnecks on this trail. I know there was one traveling with me, but I could have sworn I told her to stay with Cera. No, this must be someone else's child."
Cura frowned, unhappy to be reminded of her duties, and probably doubly so to have been caught in the act of breaking the rules.
"Tell me, little lost Longneck youngling, what are you doing up here, so far from shelter, food or water? It's quite a dangerous predicament you've gotten yourself in, trapped on this rocky path."
"Fyn!" Cura gave her guardian an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes, and immediately Fyn turned serious.
"Don't you roll your eyes at me, little Miss. I get enough of that from my sister already." Fyn winced as an electric pang coursed through his heart. He hadn't meant to remind himself of Zaura. Lately, keeping her from his mind was the only way he could focus, but even that was becoming harder to do as the days went on.
"I thought I told you to stay back with Cera."
"I don't want to, Fyn!" she pouted, "Cera's all grumpy today."
"And so are you," Fyn retaliated, "from where I sit, I don't see a difference between the two of you." This only seemed to make the young Longneck even poutier, and Fyn had to hold back a smile.
"Well it is different," Cura protested, "I just wanted to do something. We've been traveling on this wall for three days now, and if I don't have something to do, I'll have to listen to my tummy rumble."
Fyn chuckled, reminding himself that the Longneck in front of him was, despite her relative maturity, still a kid. She was right, too. All of them were hungry, and having something to do certainly helped to keep one's mind off the present. He regarded the young Longneck with an amused half-smile before shaking his head at her.
"Alright, fine. Come on, then, and don't fall behind. We've got a special mission to accomplish."
"What sort of mission?" Cura squeaked, bouncing up beside him, her happiness returning to her in a fraction of an instant.
"Single file please, Cura," Fyn reminded the little Longneck who was teetering dangerously close to the path's edge.
"Oops!" she giggled before falling in line behind Fyn. "Anyway, what are we doing?"
"Looking for a stick, or a decently firm root," Fyn answered.
"What for?"
Fyn smirked. "Wait and see."
They continued up the path, Cura skipping as she kept up with Fyn's strides. The Bright Circle hung high in the sky, at its highest point for the day. Soon it would begin its descent, marking the end of their third day on the wall. One more day without a good source of food or water. Fyn set his mind to the path ahead. There was no way he was planning on subjecting the others to another day up here. The plan had to work, or they'd all suffer for it.
Ahead, something caught his eye- a long, brown protrusion from the rock wall. As they neared it, Fyn realized what it was. It was a gnarled old branch, sticking out from the rock wall like a clutching, withered old claw. A few pale green leaves still clung desperately to its outer branches. That was a good sign. It meant that the branch was still alive, more or less. A live branch would be stronger. At its base, it was almost half as thick as his leg, too. Fyn wasn't about to hold his breath, but it certainly seemed as if he'd found what he was looking for.
"Is this it?" he heard Cura ask, and nodded.
"I think so. Stand back, Cura. I'm going to see if I can take this down."
Cura obliged, backpedaling quickly as Fyn reared back on his hind legs, bringing his front legs down on the branch. The dry wood groaned in protest, but Fyn bore down on it, clenching his teeth as he pressed down against it. Its roots were firmly planted into the wall, but he could feel it giving ever so slightly, and that spurred him on as he continued to push.
"So," he growled to Cura as he fought the branch, "how's the Farwalker's life suit you? Is traveling through the Scar everything you'd hoped it would be?"
"Oh I love it! I get to stay up late every night!"
Fyn exhaled sharply, a laugh cut off by his own exertions against the stick.
"Out of everything, that's why you like being a Farwalker?"
The little Longneck nodded assuredly, and Fyn grinned.
"Well, to each their own, I suppose."
"Hey Fyn?" Cura piped up, and Fyn turned towards her.
"Yes, Cura?"
"I miss you in the Valley with the red sky."
Fyn stopped mid-push to focus on the Longneck. She seemed subtly crestfallen, as if holding back the urge to cry.
"You mean you still Dream about it?"
Cura nodded. "Almost every night since we left. You mean you don't?"
Fyn shook his head. "No, I guess I've just been…" he paused, letting his voice trail off. What had kept him from his Dreams? It seemed every night now was just that- a chance to sleep and rest up for the next segment of the journey to come, but they also were a time to reflect, a time to think about his sister, Sol, Rear, the ones he'd lost so recently. It kept him from sleep most nights, wondering if he would ever see them again. Wondering, much to his utter displeasure, if they were even still alive. He tried to tell himself they were, that his concentration should be focused entirely on his journey alone, but every time he closed his eyes he saw their faces. Perhaps that was what was keeping him from the red-skied Valley. He supposed he couldn't say with any certainty until he could try again with a clear mind.
"I guess I've just had a lot on my mind, Cura. That's all."
"Well, do you think you could come back? It's scary being in that Valley alone."
It felt as if someone had reached into his chest and given his heart a good twist when Cura said this. Despite everything, she'd found no difficulty in focusing on their current goal. Who was he to deny her? Why not at least try? Fyn sighed.
"I can certainly give it a try. Maybe once we get down into the Wound, I'll-"
There was a loud "snap!" as the branch suddenly drooped down, carrying Fyn with it. The Longneck crashed to the ground, but when the dust settled, the branch remained where it was, a little more bent than usual, but still firmly rooted into the wall.
"You've gotta be kidding me," Fyn said, spitting dirt out of his mouth.
"But it's almost out!" Cura pointed out, back to her usual, chirpy self.
"Yeah," Fyn nodded, nudging the branch with his shoulder, "But look- it won't bend down any farther than this. We'd have to bend it back up, and with how loose it is now…" his voice trailed off and his eyes grew distant, and Cura could tell that he was starting to think things through. He always looked like this when he was trying to work out a tough solution to a problem.
"Okay," he said, nodding to himself, "okay, I might- maybe- have an idea. Cura, see if you can find me a good-sized rock. One that I can pick up."
"A rock?"
"Yes, a rock. Can you do that for me?"
Again, the little Longneck gave him an affirmative nod. "I'll be right back!"
Fyn returned to the branch, which now bent down at a deceptively defeated-looking angle. Now that it was easier to reach, he was able to place his foot down on the branch, pinning its farthest end to the ground. By the rock wall, he could see a gap where the bent branch jutted out from the stone. It was exactly what he'd been hoping to see.
It didn't take long for Cura to return, rolling a rock almost the size of her body towards Fyn. The stone was oblong and quite smooth, the perfect shape for what he had in mind.
"Great, Cura! This is exactly what I need. Now, let's see if this actually works."
Fyn clamped his mouth down around the stone and lifted it up above the branch. For such a small stone, it was surprisingly heavy, and when he finally dropped it into the crack between the branch and the wall, he was eager to relieve his aching jaw. The rock slotted in almost perfect, nestling into place between the frayed wood and the hard stone. Fyn gave it a quick pat with his foot, making sure it was firmly in place, and then backed away, admiring his handiwork.
"How's that going to help?" Cura asked, examining Fyn's work curiously.
"Well, if I approach that branch from underneath, that rock will keep it from being pushed back into the wall. If I do this right, that might be all we need to finally break that branch free. That or I'll just break my back trying. We'll see."
"Well don't hurt yourself."
But Fyn was already under the branch, sliding beneath it on his belly. Once his delicate sails were clear of the overhanging stick, he began to push himself up. The resistance the branch provided was strong, stronger than he'd anticipated. It must have been an old plant, one with roots grown deep into the wall, enabling it to stand resilient against decades of storms, rockslides, and probably the odd grazing dinosaur. And here he was, ripping it out of its place for no other reason than to further his own journey. In all, maybe it was a fitting end for the old branch, giving its life to help a group of travelers on their way.
Or, perhaps, a stick was simply a stick.
Fyn bit down as he pushed up against the creaking wood. Cura stood off to the side, her face creased with concern. The rock was doing its work, buried deep within the crack now, almost concealed as Fyn brought the branch closer and closer to level. Then, as his legs began to straighten, and Fyn began to wonder if he was going to run out of room to lift himself up, a loud "crack!" rang out. Fyn immediately dropped to the ground with a loud cry, his face contorted with pain, groaning and rolling around as the branch fell down behind him. Immediately Cura rushed to his side, her eyes wide with panic.
"Fyn! Did you hurt your back? Are you okay? I'll… oh no! I'll go get Cera!"
But just as she turned to leave, the Longneck's pained cries turned to peals of laughter, and Cura turned back to him, confused to see the large Longneck rolling around, cackling to himself.
"Fyn? Fyn, what's so funny?"
The pout on her face only caused Fyn to laugh even harder. He was barely able to choke out his answer between his whooping guffaws.
"Gotcha!"
"Fyn!" Cura let out an exasperated growl, kicking the Longneck in the side with all the force of a Skywater drop.
"You totally fell for it!" Fyn gasped, snickering as he tried to collect himself. This only served to make the little Longneck even angrier, but eventually even her facade broke, and the two of them shared in the exchange of giggles. It was a rare moment of levity, and the two embraced it, forgetting for a moment about their hunger, the losses they'd faced, and the long journey ahead.
But in time, those realities found them again. Their laughter died away, their smiles faded, and the two Longnecks found themselves staring out over the Wound once more, so close now and yet still inaccessible. Fyn picked up the stick and sighed, beckoning to Cura, and without another word, the two Longnecks started off back down the path to where Cera lay waiting for their return.
…
Thrum, thrum.
Chizel opened his eyes. For what felt like the thousandth time, he was unable to sleep. Normally he wasn't troubled by dreams during daytime naps, but today, he'd seen the shadow, the same shadow that pursued him relentlessly every time he fell asleep at night. The same shadow that caught him, waking him in a cold, shivering, pathetic state.
It was the shadow of the dead. The shadow of a Sailneck. His shadow: Arden's. He'd tried everything from visiting the bone-site again to meditations, even to deliberately starving himself, but nothing kept the Dreams away. Even now as he lay in the cool shade of a long-abandoned glade, deep within one of the Great Valley's many forests, he could not escape his pursuer.
It had to be more than coincidence. He hardly understood Dreaming as a concept, but he would have been a fool not to have seen the value of it. If he was being visited by this Dream each night, it had to mean something, something particularly important, perhaps even something imminent. And if he was being warned by something beyond his understanding, then he owed it to his crew to get to the bottom of it.
Thrum, thrum.
There was another reason he'd chosen this spot. Even here he could feel the vibrations through the ground. The Device was close by, hidden, performing its work tirelessly day in and day out, its thrummings a constant reminder that each day brought them closer to their ultimate goal. Its presence comforted him, though not nearly enough to shake the image of the Amargasaur's shadow from his thoughts.
Thrum, thrum.
Chizel closed his eyes, letting the vibrations course through his frame, faint tremors that radiated throughout his body, and breathed deeply. The image faded, receding back to the dark forest of his mind, the borders of which he traversed every night. It was gone, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would return. It always did.
The spiked Longneck left the glade behind, shaking himself free of dirt and debris from where he had lain. The volcanic ash was thick today, and the sun was clearly visible through it- a red orb hanging above the Valley, casting an almost disdainful gaze down on its inhabitants as if judging them, silently whispering that they did not belong.
Which is true, he admitted to himself, but then, we're not the only ones that don't belong, aren't we?"
Chizel looked back towards the glade, shivering once more, and left it behind, heading towards the lake in the middle of the Valley. He would not be returning there for a while, at least.
The large dinosaur stopped at the lakeside to drink, lapping at its cool waters as he reflected upon what he'd seen. Time had given him the opportunity to look back on the unsettling imagery of his Dream without the burden of apprehension, and here, his thoughts grounded by the cool touch of water upon his tongue, he finally had the chance to face his problems with an analytical eye. Finally, he was in control again.
He was missing the message, that much had been clear from the onset. Whatever the Amargasaur's shadow was trying to tell him, he was either ignoring it or looking at it the wrong way. Probably both. But then, to understand what the shadow was really trying to tell him would require facing it. And though he would never admit it to any of his underlings (as if he'd ever tell them of his Dreams in the first place), that thought scared him more than anything he'd faced over the last two decades.
"But why does it scare you?"
The thought came from nowhere and caught him completely off guard. He'd thought it had been obvious. Clearly it was the specter of Arden, pursuing him for some unknown purpose. It was the only explanation. He'd never encountered another Amaragasaurus in his time spent here.
But what if it wasn't? What if, perhaps, that wasn't the only explanation? After all, his own kind had thought they knew all there was to know, too, right before-
Thrum, thrum.
"Perhaps it would be wise to entertain a different notion," he spoke quietly to his reflection. But what would that mean? Feeling the tingling beneath his feet, Chizel inhaled again.
And then it came to him. Here, with the vibrations underfoot, he felt peaceful, clear-minded. Maybe that was his key, the key to approaching his Dream with a clear and open mind.
Maybe he needed the Device.
At the very least, he assured himself, to sleep beside the source of his comfort could provide him with the chance for some real rest, free of the Dreams that harrowed him, but with luck…
"With luck, I'll be able to finally focus, to see what I'm dealing with, exactly."
Above, a tall peak shaped uncannily like a Triceratops skull belched smoke. Standing in its shadow, Chizel turned to face it, peering up towards its peak. As if answering his unspoken thoughts, he felt as if the thrums had grown slightly more pronounced.
"Yes. Tonight, I'm getting to the bottom of this."
But first, there was work to be done. People would whisper amongst themselves, undoubtedly spreading rumors about how their team leader had gone mad, napping up there with the Device. No doubt someone like Yal would use this to his advantage, if he knew what was going on. But if he wasn't around to notice…
Chizel smirked to himself as he turned away from the Triceratops peak. He would return later, tonight, and then he would finally face his fears head-on, regardless of what he might see. Until then, he had a nosy Gallimimus to deal with.
I'm sure I can think of one or two mundane tasks…
…
As expected, the Threehorn was moodily tapping a beat with her toes when Fyn and Cura returned. It almost certainly hurt someone like her to sit back and watch while someone else did the hard work, but the lack of audible coughing upon their return told Fyn that his decision had been a good one.
When they finally arrived, Cera breathed a sigh of relief, followed by a moment of confusion when she saw what Fyn was carrying between his teeth.
"A stick? What good's that going to…" she stopped, shaking her head. She'd learned long ago from another Longneck never to question what went on in their elevated heads. As strange as their ideas sometimes were, they had a way of working out.
"Yeah, what exactly is it going to do?"
A little blue head popped up from between Fyn's sails, and the Longneck chuckled.
"Come on now, Cura. I told you to wait and see, didn't I? Trust me, you'll see soon enough."
"What can I do?" Cera asked. Fyn moved in beside her, planting the stick firmly between the boulder and the rock wall.
"First things first, I need you to push this in as far as it will go. Make it good and tight!"
Cera smiled. Finally a task fit for her. With a grunt, she pushed her armored forehead up against the stick, her legs treading dirt as she wedged it in deeper. Once she was satisfied with her efforts, she retreated, shaking the stars from her eyes.
"Okay, what now?"
"Now, you start pushing the boulder out towards the ledge-"
"But we already tried that, Fyn!" Cura piped up.
"-and I'll help out," Fyn finished, ignoring Cura as he placed his foot on the stick. "Ready?"
The old Threehorn nodded. "Ready."
"Alright then. Push!"
Fyn bore down on the stick, pushing it in towards the wall as Cera pushed the rock out in the direction of the ledge. He could feel the wood creaking beneath his feet, threatening to splinter, and Fyn began to wonder if his plan had been anything more than a waste of time at all.
Then it gave, slowly at first, but then more noticeably as the huge stone began to move. Crawlers that had gathered beneath it in the short time it had been sitting on the path went scurrying away, seeking new places to hide as their cover was moved steadily closer to the edge. Fyn could see Cera's eyes light up as she felt herself making progress, and the steady, excited breathing of Cura on his neck was proof that she, too, was amazed. Spurred on, he pushed harder, bending the stick almost to the rock wall itself. Feeling the sudden surge of force, Cera squared her shoulders and shoved, and with a loud rumble, the boulder tilted, balancing on the edge of the path for a moment, before toppling over and rolling down the rest of the way towards the ground below with a mighty roar. Panting but satisfied, the three dinosaurs rushed to the edge of the path to watch it fall, trailing a cloud of dust behind it until it finally came to rest among a larger pile of displaced earth, likely formed by the landslide. Fyn nodded silently to himself as he caught his breath.
"Well how do you like that?" Cera whispered between gasps.
"It worked!" Cura cheered. Fyn felt her crawl up almost atop his head, but before he could warn her to get down, her face was already leaning over into his.
"How did you know that would work? And where did you learn that trick?"
Fyn lowered his head to the ground, afraid Cura in her excitement might fall, and shook the little Longneck off. He couldn't help but stand a little taller, proud of his accomplishment.
"My mom taught me, and she learned it from my dad."
"From Arden?" Cera asked.
Fyn nodded. "Yeah."
"Locs and Tempa... " the Threehorn chuckled to herself.
"Huh?"
"Oh it's nothing," the Threehorn said dismissively, "come on. I'm sure there's a plentitude of something to eat down there, and I for one am not going to stare at it any longer."
"A plentitude?" Fyn said, uncertain, "you sure?"
Cera stared him right in the eyes. "Fyn, compared to this barren rock path, a dry bush would be a plentitude."
"Good point. Let's get going then, shall we?"
Cera smirked. "We shall," and then just before turning to follow Fyn as he led the way down the path, she added, "nice job, Longneck."
…
As the Bright Circle began its journey down to the horizon, the three dinosaurs finally made their way off the rock path. When they finally reached the ground, the younger two were ecstatic. Cura even cheered. Cera simply watched their antics with an amused, knowing smile, waiting for the two of them to focus again, and as soon as they did, they were off again.
By the pile of stones at the bottom of the wall, Cera diverted from the group, taking a quick peek into the rubble. A few small carrion Flyers had descended onto the pile and were eagerly picking at something inside. Cera let out a faint whistle and nodded to herself.
"Really did a number on that Sharptooth, Fyn," she called over to him, peering into the pile.
"It's dead?"
"Oh it's definitely dead. Popped like a ripe Tree Sweet when it hit the ground from the look of it."
Fyn's orange scales took on a slightly greener hue than usual at this.
"In any case, I don't think this one will be following us," she concluded, making her way back towards Fyn.
"Why would you have any reason to believe it would? You said it yourself, it's dead."
A dark smile crossed Cera's face and her eyes turned skyward as if remembering something.
"Let's just say I've been fooled by 'dead' Sharpteeth before. That's why I always double check nowadays."
Fyn shuddered as one of the Flyers emerged from the rock pile with a strip of flesh between its teeth. One of the others attacked it, squabbling with its rival over the pink meat, a spat which quickly devolved into a flurry of wings, claws, and screeches. Fyn turned away from the sight, but frowned as his stomach grumbled. Despite the unappetizing implications of what he'd seen, his stomach couldn't be dissuaded from its own protests.
"We should really think about finding something to eat now that we're down here."
"Oh? Thinking about trying Sharptooth are we?" Cera joked. This time it was Fyn's turn to scowl at her.
"You know what I mean," he muttered, wincing as his stomach growled again, this time loud enough to catch the attention of Cura, who giggled to herself before her stomach, too, gurgled.
Cera sighed. "I know, Fyn. Just trying to make some light of this. There should be something to eat farther into the forest."
She nodded towards the dead trees ahead of them with her nose horn, and Fyn peered into the space between the skeletal branches. It was hard to believe that anything was growing in such a desolate place, but Cera had been here before. If she was convinced…
"Okay, then. Let's go."
…
By the time the Bright Circle was at its lowest, Fyn was debating with himself over whether or not wood was really as unpalatable as it appeared. Green food was scarce, alarmingly so. He'd assumed after leaving the rock path that the little herd's troubles would be over, but the farther he, Cera, and Cura trod into the dead forest, the more they began to realize that the situation down here wasn't much better. The few patches of green food they could find were hardly green at all, browned and crisped as they were by exposure to the hot, dry air. Perhaps once they had drawn their shade and sustenance from the concealing foliage, but now only a few stragglers remained, feebly clawing for what little shade remained as they withered down to the roots.
It was a wholly unappetizing sight, and it wasn't much better for the rest of the plant life in the area, either. Everything had taken on the ruddy tan color of dust. Even the three dinosaurs were coated by a fine layer of it, whipped up by the breeze as it whistled between long-dead branches. Cera was right: the Wound was a very fitting name for the place, a thought which remained at the forefront of Fyn's mind as he moved on in search of something to eat.
When the sky took on the deep orange glow that signaled the end of the day, the three dinosaurs finally halted beneath the dry branches of a large tree, exhausted, sore, and beaten.
"Let's call it here," Fyn announced, dropping onto his belly beneath the tree as he rested on his front legs. A loud "whoosh" of air announced Cera's exhale as she too fell to the ground.
"You'll get no argument from me," he heard her say.
Cura remained upright and alert though, frantically poking her head into the sparse, dry bushes that dotted the landscape, scrambling up tree trunks with her front legs as she peered into their barren canopies, and desperately searching through clumps of dry grass. It was obvious to Fyn what she was doing, but he didn't have the heart to tell her to stop. She wanted something half-decent to eat, and he couldn't blame her. He, too, felt the ever-widening pit in his stomach crying out for something, anything to fill its void.
Her eyes watering, Cura returned to Fyn, tugging at his legs.
"Come on, Fyn!" she squeaked, "we can't stop here. There's nothing to eat! We have to go on!"
"Cura, please settle down. We've been walking all day, and it's time for us to stop for the night."
"But we can't stop here!"
"We don't have a choice," Fyn countered, nodding towards Cera, "look, Cera's tuckered out too. We need rest, or we'll run ourselves into the ground."
Cera narrowed her eyes at Fyn's apparent pointing-out of her personal weakness, but lowered her head, sighing. Fyn was right, after all.
"But we can't quit now. What if there's green food just around the next bunch of trees?"
"Cura, that's what we said five bunches ago. There comes a point when we have to stop, and as your herd leader, I'm making that call now. Besides—" he looked down at one of the dry clumps of grass between his feet "—there's plenty of food here."
Cura wrinkled her nose and turned away from the plant.
"That's not food, Fyn! That's dead."
"Oh really?" the Longneck lowered his head down into the clump as Cera watched on. The dry brush scratched his face as he felt around. It was certainly parched, but it wasn't dead. Not quite yet, anyway. There was still some sustenance to be gained here. Satisfied he pulled his head back up, grinning at Cura.
"This isn't dead. These stalks aren't brittle enough, see?"
"But Fyn, I don't want to stop here. All of this is dry and chewy, and I bet it tastes terrible, too!"
Fyn's spines bristled, and he straightened up slightly, raising his neck until he was towering above Cura.
"Stop this right now, young one!" he barked, his voice raising in volume, "I used to think you were mature for your age, but now I'm beginning to see how wrong I was. You're nothing but—"
Fyn paused. Cura was shaking, glaring up at him through wide eyes, and when he turned around, even Cera seemed ready to uncoil and lash out at a moment's notice, like a Belly Slider waiting to strike. What was he doing? They had spent three days scaling down the edge of a cliff, and now that they were at the bottom, now that they were finally back on course, everything was coming apart.
Through no one's fault but my own, he thought, and almost immediately the anger faded from his face. He couldn't keep up the facade, but he also knew that he had no choice. Truth be told, he wanted to listen to Cura and keep going, but Cera needed rest, whether she admitted it or not. Cura wasn't going to like that decision, but she'd have to deal with it all the same. But to deal with it meant going another night without food.
No, not without food. The thought came to him suddenly. Somehow he'd let himself fall into Cura's view of the world. There was plenty of food around, dry and tasteless as it all may be. He and Cera could eat here, at least for a night, and as for Cura…
As for Cura, the beginnings of a plan began to take root in the Sailneck's mind. Before Cura could get another word out, Fyn plunged his face back into the grass, clamped his teeth around a clump of the stuff, and pulled it from the ground, chewing vigorously. The stalks were dry and bitter, flaking away in his mouth, but he could still taste the vaguest hint of greenblood within them. He was right; they hadn't been dead.
Just close to it.
Fighting the urge to grimace as he broke the stems down into smaller, more manageable pieces, Fyn managed to force a grin down at Cura, and when he finally swallowed, he did so with what he hoped looked like satisfied aplomb.
"Delicious!" he crowed, craning his neck down for another bite. Cura stood watching him, silent and in utter bewilderment as the Sailneck snacked on the dry grass. Behind the Longneck, Cera watched with interest. She wasn't sure what Fyn's game was just yet, but it was clear there was a method to his madness. With Longnecks, there almost always was.
Fyn moved on to one of the larger scrub bushes. This time, there was no hesitation. With a strange, almost discerning expression, he broke a twig free from the brush and began to chew on it, separating its leaves from the wood until it was stripped completely. Once he was done, he spit the stick out and nodded thoughtfully.
"Hmm, yes. A distinct crunch to that one. Most exquisite, and the flavor of the stick complements the leaves very well."
Saying any of that with a straight face was difficult, but Fyn did an admirable job pulling it off, even with the hot, bitter taste of the leaves coating his throat. Cura was genuinely stupefied now.
"Well go on," he said, leaning down towards the little Longneck, "this whole forest is a feast of flavors and textures. See for yourself! Try something!"
Cura shook her head and Fyn retracted his neck, chuckling. "Very well, I see we might have to find a different treat for a palate as refined as yours. I'll keep searching. Cera-" he turned towards the reclining Threehorn, "would you join us?"
Cera was about to roll her eyes, but stopped the gesture mid-roll, watching as Cura's eyes fell upon her. She wasn't quite sure what Fyn was getting at, but she was confident enough that she could play along. Beside her sat a dry bush with a few shriveled-looking tree sweets. She was familiar with the type, but this one had clearly seen better days. Holding back a sigh, she snapped a few off the bush and began to chew before swallowing hard.
"Mmm," she said, winking at Cura, "very good. Like a tree sweet but… crunchier. Great, uh…" she looked up to Fyn who was nodding encouragingly at her, "...texture? Yeah, texture to this one."
Fyn turned back to the little blue Longneck. "See? There's a lot of stuff here to try. I'm sure something will appeal to you."
"Fyn, I don't know what you're doing, but none of this looks good."
Fyn lowered himself down to Cura again.
"That's because you're looking at it the wrong way. When you look around this forest, what do you see?"
"That's easy," Cura replied, wrinkling her nose, "gross stuff."
"Ah, but that's because you're only looking at what you expect to see. When I look around this forest, I see food everywhere. Different shapes, colors, textures, tastes… it's not hard if you use that powerful imagination of yours. It's like Dreaming, but instead of sleeping, we're wide awake."
"I don't know, Fyn…"
"Come on Cura," Fyn said, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. "Shut your eyes with me, and when you open them, don't look at your surroundings the same way. Imagine a feast, and you will have a feast."
The young Longneck shut her eyes, breathing in just as Fyn had done. When she opened them again, Fyn was looking down at her expectantly.
"Well?"
Cura didn't answer him right away, instead walking cautiously over to the first bush Fyn had picked from. She sniffed it tentatively, and then with a little nibble, broke off a leaf. There was an immediate flash of disgust on her face, but it disappeared quickly as she shut her eyes again, chewing thoughtfully. She grimaced as she swallowed the snack, but managed to keep it down as she turned to Fyn raising her eyes to the sky in clear contemplation.
"Tangy," she said at last, adopting what Fyn could only guess what a young Longneck considered to be a "refined" accent, "but it melts in your mouth. Definitely worth another bite or two." With a little less hesitation she took another bite, and then another. And soon enough, she was eating.
Fyn broke off another stick for himself, imagining a verdant forest of food surrounding him, food he and his friends could fill their bellies with before the next leg of their journey began. It wasn't easy to picture, but the smiles on the faces of Cura and Cera told him they were seeing it too.
"You know," Cura said through a mouthful of brownish grass, "this isn't so bad after all."
"That's the spirit, Cura," Fyn said, smiling as he stripped his branch clean. "That's the spirit."
…
The three dinosaurs slept where they ate, too tired and sore from their journey down the cliff to travel any farther. The sour taste of the dry food coated the inside of Fyn's mouth, but he ignored it, contented by the fact that Cura was, at the very least, eating again. Tomorrow, he hoped would yield some better food farther along their journey. At the very least, perhaps they could find some more company, additional bodies between them and the Sharpteeth that no doubt prowled these lands. At first it had been hard depersonalizing others in this way, but traveling with Cera had given Fyn a whole new perspective on company. Even those who could not be befriended stood to serve as more heads, more objects between him and the ever-present jaws of death, more chances to live another day in the great gamble called survival. There was safety in numbers, and right now, numbers were not on the side of the small Longneck, his young companion, and the old Threehorn.
He missed Zaura. Sol, too. And now that he began to think about it, he wondered if the feeling extended to Rear, too. How many disasters had she prevented without them ever knowing it? Though he'd never felt her presence before, the loss of it was all the more evident now that he knew she was gone. Their group was split right down the middle, and though one side was decidedly more fragmented than the other, both, he felt, were next to useless without the whole. The thought gnawed at the pit of his stomach, threatening to drag him back into the dark forest of self doubt and loathing. The urge to blame himself was strong as always, but he had to fight it. Whether he believed the whispering voice in his head or not, he had to ignore it, or he knew he'd never get to sleep. And he had to sleep. Cura was counting on him.
I wonder if I can go back, he thought, hovering somewhere on the verge of consciousness and unconsciousness, his vision fading to grey as his eyes, fixed on the stars above, began to droop.
I wonder if I can-
The pang of loss within his gut began to fade, receding back into the murk of his mind as another image, a single color, replaced it: red, as red as spilled blood.
I can-
The image began to take shape, clouding as if underwater, and gradually clouds began to form from its roiling depths.
I-
Thrum thrum.
He was back, and yet he wasn't back at all. Everything was there— the red sky, Cura, the black earth, the rock bridge, the countless whispering voices— but there was something else, too. Somewhere beneath the surface of it all was something else demanding his attention. It was a sea of noise, random sounds ebbing and flowing like the tide, bringing new voices with each swell. For a moment he stood at the edge of the cliff, facing the place where he knew a certain young blue Longneck was watching, and tried to focus on the whispers that surrounded him.
"Fyn."
He caught his name among the hushed tumult, and suddenly his world began to swim before his very eyes. It felt as if someone had reached inside his head and tugged his mind forward, pulling it before him, attaching it somehow to the Dream, and beyond that, everything around him, that was…
It's the void, he thought, blessed with a sudden return to conscious thought. And as far as he knew, he was correct. It was indeed the void, the same one he had glimpsed on the threshold of pain and death, and the same one that had haunted his first Dreams. He didn't belong here. None of them did. The void presented a world without Fyn and yet, paradoxically, here he was.
Fyn shook himself, suddenly aware that the red-skied Valley was fading, traveling farther and farther away from him, becoming a sliver of an image, a glimpse through the trees. With a start, he realized that he was losing the Dream, losing Cura. He had to go back.
He crawled through the miasma, cocooned by an eggshell of his own design. The voices were louder now, but he paid them no heed, crawling forward through the viscous dark. With each lurching step forward he felt the hold grow stronger, dragging him back towards the place where he knew he did not belong, and with every passing moment, the image before him grew larger, clearer as he clawed towards it.
He stood on the verge, heaving himself up and over the cracked edge of the void. The tension was unbearable now, threatening to pull him apart as he fought for the false world he had left behind. The voices screamed at him, cursing him, but he blocked them all out. The tension swelled—
And then snapped. Fyn blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, he was back in the red-skied Valley. He was aware that Cura was calling to him, but he could hardly hear her. The voices were back, fainter this time, but back. But at the very least, he was free.
He walked through the motions, approaching the little Longneck and entering the cave just as he'd always done, but this time it was as if he was swimming through a dark mire, almost as if he was watching someone else take his steps for him. And when they entered the glowing cavern, it was all he could do to hold the voices off. He dared not try to understand them, out of fear of returning once more to that dark embrace, but they were impossible to ignore completely.
Once more, the dancing crystal lights ran down the walls of the cave in vibrant rivulets, their colors mingling as they created a picture on the flat wall. This time, no scream interrupted him, and he knew why. His sister was long gone now, out of reach, out of sight—
The voices swelled again and Fyn bit down on his tongue.
The lights created an image of the valley, the same Valley they stood in now, but this one was lush, vibrant, its verdant fields dotted by Leaf Eaters of all kinds. Flyers soared overhead, cutting crisp paths in the blue sky, framed majestically by the roaring, burning sun. On the far side of the Valley, a great waterfall spilled out over a deep blue lake, its mist creating a rainbow. It was a paradise, one without a single Sharptooth in sight, and though Fyn knew he couldn't place exactly what he was looking at, his mind told him—
Great Valley.
—and he was convinced it was so.
The two Longnecks watched as a lifetime played out before them, watched as five young dinosaurs grew, touching the Valley, leaving their own marks, their legacies, as they matured. They saw uprisings, disasters, and the healing moments that came after. They saw the five become seven, and then five again. They watched as the dancing colors grew farther apart, retreating to their own kind, and then come back together under a darkening sky, a sky that, inexplicably, spawned a rainbow without rain. A great rumbling was .heard, but the aura of hope remained, a bright shimmer that hung around the remaining colors huddled together as the very sky itself began to fragment—
And then it all changed. Colors ran together, changing from their bright greens, yellows, tans, and blues to a deep red. Something was wrong. Somehow, Fyn and Cura felt it; this was not what they were meant to see. The voices beneath the surface grew louder and Fyn shrunk back in pain. He and Cura exchanged a brief, worried glance, the only real communication they had shared in this Dream, and found themselves suddenly drawn back to the sight ahead of them, as if some foreign force was moving them beyond their control now.
It took a moment for Fyn to realize what he was seeing as the image solidified, coalescing into a form that made any sort of sense, but once it did, he felt an electric shiver run down the length of his spine. It was a pile of stones, lying motionless beneath a rock wall, one scarred by their descent. He knew the pile, and he knew the wall. Most importantly, though, he knew what lay beneath it. He tried to turn away as the stones atop the pile began to shift, but he could not. The voices began to grow louder still, and he bit his tongue again, trying to drive them out.
A head emerged from the pile, piercing yellow eyes set deep within a broken face. Shining white teeth emerged jaggedly from the shattered skull as it fixed its eyes on Fyn. The jaw hung awkwardly as it freed itself from the pile. All around it the pile seemed to grow as the thing that lay crushed beneath it began to stand. Rocks fell, revealing more of the Sharptooth's smashed, caved-in body. Blood ran from numerous wounds, both from the fall that Fyn knew had caused its death, and from those left there by the scavengers that had feasted upon it. Fyn was transfixed, unable to look away. Somewhere, Cura was doing the same, but he was barely conscious of her presence now, only aware of the grotesque sight ahead of him and the voices once more screaming in his ears. The corpse began to speak, and despite the cacophony of sound, its words, icy and sharp, cut right through. It spoke in what Fyn could only assume was Sharptooth, yet the meaning was perfectly clear to him.
"We do not belong, but still we thrive."
"Fyn!"
The call tugged at him, beckoning him towards the void, but Fyn resisted.
"She watched us, the one who called the shattered sky her home."
"Zaura, no!"
Sol's voice cut through the murk, sending Fyn's mind reeling as he tried to maintain his focus.
"She sleeps, but speaks still—"
The horrific apparition suddenly faded, materializing into a face he knew all too well. It was the face of his sister, bloodied and beaten, barely recognizable. Her eyes glared at him through scarred lids.
"You could have prevented this, Fyn. You—"
"—Could have remained silent, Arden, and all this might never have—"
The face began to contort, becoming something new, and in the middle of it all, it shifted once more, back into the face of the dead Sharptooth. It stood much closer now, its piercing yellow eyes fixed on Fyn.
"He is here."
Suddenly Fyn felt another presence, one he hadn't felt before but was certain had been there for a while. Something behind him. His spines stood up suddenly at rapt attention, and he whirled around quickly. Beside him, he saw Cura do the same.
There was a rainbow in the dark, one beneath which two cold, shining eyes peered out at him.
…
Fyn woke suddenly, jerking upright with a startled gasp. The image of the eyes and the rainbow held on for just a moment longer before they faded from view. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, but he wasn't fast enough. The voices were already long gone. For a moment he simply sat there, bolt upright, his breathing quiet but rapid, but when he heard the sound of shifting earth beside him, he worked up the motivation to turn, wondering in some small way if he would come face to face with the grotesque image of the dead Sharptooth again.
Fortunately, it was only Cura that greeted him, but Fyn could see from her wide eyes and heaving sides that she, too, was unsettled. In silence they regarded one another, reflecting on the odd Dream they had shared before Fyn finally spoke up.
"Did… did you see that too?"
Cura nodded.
"And the voices… did you hear those?"
Cura tilted her head, puzzled, and muttered a hushed "no. What voices?"
Fyn's mind raced. She hadn't heard the voices. Despite them sharing the Dream, she didn't seem to know what he was talking about. What did that mean? Were the voices somehow only meant for him? He didn't know that was possible.
"But, uh, I did hear Zaura. At the end. And I think I saw something too."
"A rainbow?"
Again, Cura nodded. So she'd seen it too. That part of the message, at the very least, was meant for them both. But something about it nagged at him. The rainbow and the eyes… they hadn't felt like part of the Dream. He'd felt a presence in that cave with them, something different, alive somehow like they were. His mind returned once more to the strange face in the dark, and to the Sharptooth's words that had preceded it.
"He's here."
The Longneck shivered. Something about tonight's Dream had gone horribly wrong, of that he was certain. Fyn only hoped it had been a fluke, perhaps one brought on by their less than fulfilling dinner or days of exertion and starvation. He shuddered to think what it might mean otherwise.
"Maybe we just shared a bad sleep story," Fyn said to the young Longneck in what he hoped was a reassuring tone of voice.
"Are you sure?"
No, he wanted to say, no I'm not sure. Quite the opposite in fact.
But aloud he said, "Yes, Cura. I'm sure. Now I know it's hard, but I want you to try to get some sleep, okay? We've had a long last couple of days, and I think maybe that's to blame for what happened in the Dream tonight. It'd do both of us a lot of good to get some rest now."
"I don't think I can."
"Yeah, I know. Me neither. But we have to try, okay?"
"Okay," Cura said, nodding one more time as she curled up in her sleeping spot. "Goodnight Fyn."
"Goodnight, Cura," Fyn mumbled, his eyes traveling upwards towards the same stars he had watched as he fell asleep earlier. There was something else he couldn't shake from his thoughts, the words his sister's face had spoken to him, framed in the red glow of the crystal lights.
"You could have prevented this, Fyn."
And then the Sharptooth's words—
"She sleeps, but speaks still."
Sleeps.
(Not Zaura. Surely not. I would know, wouldn't I? Isn't that what they say about siblings? I should know if she's… she's…)
The eyes peered out again at him from the dark recesses of his mind, the eyes that did not belong. He anticipated but still was not ready for the third shudder that racked his body. Fyn turned his eyes away from the stars, and as he lay down to try to return to a sleep that seemed very far away now, he saw that his sails were flushed bright red.
Sleep eluded the Sailneck for the rest of the night.
…
Chizel awoke gradually, the light of the morning sun's rays outside the cave coaxing his eyes open as his waking mind whirred to life. He was thinking before his eyes opened, reflecting on everything he'd seen.
He remembered the color red, bright lights dancing within a dark cave.
He remembered shapes, no— ideas of shapes, mingling with ideas of sound.
He remembered the young Camarasaurus, her gaze locked firmly onto the strange images flickering across the cave wall in front of her.
But most of all, he remembered the thing that sat beside her, and the face which, for the briefest of moments, met his own. It was the face of an Amargasaurus, but not the face of Arden. No white mark adorned his nose, and this face was much younger. Younger and yet somehow familiar. Perhaps even related.
It was the face of the shadow that had pursued him for the last few months.
And it had been terrified.
Rising slowly to his feet, he turned to the oblong black shape behind him, pressing his head against its smooth surface.
"Show me how to Dream," he said quietly.
And from somewhere within the shape, there came a deep, rhythmic thrum.
Welp, here we are. I know this is late as all getout, and thusly I'd like to apologize. As those who know me can attest, finals week and the weeks leading up to it were jam-packed with work, and between that and returning home for Christmas, I didn't find much time to write. But I managed to knock out the rest of this chapter regardless, and having done a bit of reading over the holidays, I'm feeling rather refreshed and ready to go. Of course, I've made this claim a lot lately with nothing to show for it, so I suppose only time will tell. Originally part of this story (the "imagine a feast" bit) was supposed to be used in an excerpt for a Thanksgiving prompt challenge. Of course, it's a bit late for that now, but I decided to keep it in anyway. As for the rest, well, I hope I've been able to deliver an intriguing development to Fyn's story. His is the arc I had the most trouble working with during planning for the rest of Book III, but I think what I have now should allow his story to stand strong beside Zaura's and Sol's own endeavors.
Anywho, that's all I wanted to touch on. I'm just glad I got the chance to publish one more chapter in 2017. Here's to a new year, one that will hopefully be full of writing. While I can't say for sure that this story will conclude in the next year, I have high hopes that we'll get pretty darn close. Until next chapter, see you later and happy 2018!