An Old Place

He couldn't breath while laying face down so he sat up. He felt cold and wet. A green sludge pulled leaves as he left the ground. They were rotten, at the top layer and broken down into soil just below. A pungent smell rose from where they had left; he twisted his face in disgust.

He sat on the upper lip of a deep, dark, and stagnant pawn; breathing with the whole of his body. 'So much cold.' He felt that it had set into his bones and marrow. Each shiver felt the rattle of a matchbox, simply not enough. He wanted fire.

Damian stood wobbly on the banks. As he did, he finally saw, or notice, how dark his surroundings were. And there were so many trees. They blocked out the sun. No birds sang, so he thought it must have be night, or nearly. 'Where are the crickets?' He thought it much too silent for night.

The amount of light in the forest would be enough to measure as twilight outside of it, even still, he had saw the pawn's darkness. Such a vivid dark that it stood out against the dead leaves and carcasses on its banks. Damian walked away its still waters. A bubble the size of a bolder stirred away from its depths. As it popped a croak came from it. Damian ran.

His teeth were locked together as he looked over his shoulder while running. His eyes widened as he saw the creature's. Its eyes seemed useless. They were pale, white, and reminded him of animals that slept and woke up in caves. As more of it left he water, he saw that it was a frog. And he wished to see no more. Turning his sight, he hobbled away from the incline.

The leaves were swathed and met each other often. So often that patches of light were a rarity. He searched for them, and they were noticeable in the dark.

As he got further away from the pawn there were more leaves. So he heard their crunches beneath his bare feet. As he went on there were more and more patches of light.

He slowed, when the feeling beneath his feet changed. He saw pine cones on the ground.

They were scattered about. Some were gnawed on, and he found it odd that it could be so quiet, if creatures were around.

'I should keep moving.'

The forest began to diversify with tall pines shooting between increasingly sparse openings, as swathed trees gave way to their wide sturdy cousins.

Damian paused, before he figured that pine cones definitely weren't fruits, and they weren't very big, to begin with. He looked up to see the sun in this new world. Its light was a yellow, pale colour; and it was earlier in the day then he had expected. Which made it odd, that in such volumes it could be so tepid. He needed warmth, badly. To the left on the horizon he saw a rising haze, and squinted, and saw that it was smoke.

As he walked towards the source, his feet had began to wear-out on the pines. He looked down and saw that his feet had turned blue; and he began to worry, when he saw that his legs were too; and so were his hands, and arms. Damian saw that he was blue.