Don't make me forget.
She was eight years-old and innocent when she first saw Randa. Her eyes were full of gold and honey, and sunshine cascaded through the amber folds of her hair. A basket full of lush strawberries dangled on her tiny arm as she skipped lightheartedly through the lavish wood that separated her from the tidy brown cottage she called home. It was a day like any other. How could she know, that today, she would be face-to-face with Mother Earth herself?
She stumbled upon Randa quite by accident, and surely Randa was nearly as frightened as she. But oh, she was beautiful. Her fur was full and vibrant, as green as the leaves of a tree. Her eyes were wary, and they darted to and fro with the wildness of one of her forest creatures, but she did not bolt. She stood, fur on end, quivering with the barely contained desire to flee.
Maybe it was because of her innocence that Randa allowed the child to draw closer. Her beauty was enchanting, and the girl was consumed by the desire to touch her. If only once, she could touch her, she would feel like magic for the rest of her life, even when she was old and withered and gray. And so she crawled, slowly, ever so slowly, towards the wolf with crisp green leaves and freshly bloomed flowers in her fur, her basket of strawberries left behind and forgotten.
Randa trembled beneath the child's outreached hand. This close, the girl could smell her now. She smelled of cedar and pine, of wood and honeydew, and the girl could imagine Randa, curled up beneath a wizened old oak tree, nestled in peacefully with the deer and rabbits and songbirds who were her friends. With another breath, she and Randa would be touching, and then she could carry some of that beauty with her, for all time. Just one more breath, just one more inch forward.
It was not to be. With a look that seemed almost regretful, Randa fleeted away in a flash of graceful gold, leaving the child reaching out into empty air. The child's heart sank, and a single tear crept down the rosy plain of her cheek. She fought hard not to weep, but to have that much beauty yanked away. It was hard for her young heart to bare. Had it been too much to ask, to have only a little of what Randa's creatures had? Why could this, she would not call her wolf, for she was obviously more. Why could this being, why could Mother Earth, not love her as she loved any of her woodland friends? Why was she scorned? What was her crime?
The answer seemed to swirl like a hazy mist inside her mind. She could hear Randa's voice, whispering quietly, the peaceful, gentle tone dulling the sharpness of her words. A calmness drifted over the child as she listened.
You have committed no crime, my dear, for you are young and innocent in your thoughts. But your people are not my own. Your people ravage my lands and take my friends from me for nothing more than sport, for nothing more than your own amusement. I have found you humans to be unusually cruel, much like the Stone Orcs of old. You may not rest with me.The child's eyes fluttered as Randa paced slowly back into view, her golden eyes swirling with power. Those eyes seemed to call to her, to beckon her, and she knew she could not fight the immense force within them. Her mind felt funny, fuzzy.
No, don't make me forget, I don't want to forget you.You will forget. But I will remember. I will remember you came here with innocence, that you did not seek to possess what was not yours, but rather, you wanted only to share in it. To have only a piece of my beauty to call your own. And perhaps I will consider it, for maybe it is not too much to ask, for only a piece of me. It is the best I can leave you with.
Then, with a flash of green, Randa departed, leaving only silence and blackness to blanket the child's mind.
She awoke to see rich oranges and purples painting the sky, the colors of twilight. How did it get so late? Startled, and knowing her parents would be in a right frenzy, the child hopped up from the cold forest floor, shook the tiny leaves and twigs from her hair and dress, and turned to find her basket of strawberries.
She approached it slowly, for something was strange about it. Something within it seemed to glow. There was a subtle half-halo of gold dust that floated just above the twine of its brim. It was odd, but not frightening, for the child sensed something familiar about this particular glow, this particular beauty. Within the basket was a golden flower, laid gently atop the strawberries, so extravagant and beautiful that it must have been grown by Mother Earth herself. She could only stare, and wonder.
Save us from the Orcs.
The forest is teeming with chaos.Birds chatter in a panicky frenzy, flitting from treetop to treetop in a mad dash to escape. A mother rabbit hurries her babies along, trembling with fear and desperation. Ashes swirl in the air, weighing down the butterflies as they flutter quickly away. High overhead, a hawk seizes with the smoke in his lungs. A doe cowers beneath the blade of an axe, poised to strike. All around, there is pain. The forest screams with it. As one, every living creature in the wood cries out for help.
Help us. Save us from the Orcs.Her lush fur shimmers with the grassy, earthen hues of the woodlands, and her eyes are gold like sunshine dancing across the forest floor. She moves with the awe-inspiring power of the earth, both calm and impenetrable, never faltering in her steady advance toward the attacking Stone Orcs.
The doe's watery eyes widen as she catches sight of Randa, drifting evenly into position behind the orcs. Every fiber in the terrified doe's body seems to tremble as she arches her slender neck and huffs in Randa's direction, a quick, urgent plea for help.
Randa does not hesitate. With a quick burst of energy from her coiled muscles, she leaps, launching herself like a graceful arrow toward the nearest orc. The orc catches only a fleeting glimpse of green flying towards him before he is sent sprawling face-first into the cold ground, his cruelly curved axe clamoring into the thick brush just beyond his reach.
Light as a feather, Randa lands on her feet, then darts between the orcs and the injured doe. The second orc looks down, staring stupidly at his fallen companion, who sluggishly struggles to find his feet. His black, beady eyes then turn to Randa, standing protectively before the doe, guarding her as a mother would guard a child. Power radiates from her, shimmers softly in the air around her like a golden cloak, both beautiful and frightening. He blinks.
The doe has disappeared. Simply vanished. Randa pierces the orc with her fierce golden gaze, and he falters.
Slowly, a question forms in his hazy eyes.
Smashing forest is fun. But fighting her...
is not. Not worth it. Leave?Grunting his disappointment, the orc lowers his eyes and, with a heavy thud, his axe pounds to the ground. Randa bares her teeth and watches him warily as he backs away, his massive hands held up in a gesture of surrender. The forest foliage soon swallows him up, and Randa's eyes gleam triumphantly, as she is left with only one orc to face.
Her downed foe growls and groans, slowly and clumsily regaining his ground. His quarry has long since fleeted away, out of sight and out of the fray, far beyond the orc's gruesome grasp. Randa yearns for the first orc to follow his comrade's lead, to take his leave and disappear into the depths of the forest, never to return. It would be the smartest decision he's ever made.
But intelligence has never been the strong suit of the orcs, and this one seems particularly stupid. With a bellow of rage, he lunges at Randa, who sidesteps easily. Fury and frustration blind the orc. He roars and advances again, but he moves almost comically slow, trudging forward no faster than molasses, far to sluggish for the agile Randa.
Magic wells within her once more, and the orc finds himself frozen in mid-attack.
Leave my forest, you beast, she calls. Only the orc's eyes move, widening in response to the command in her voice.
Yes, Yes. Let me go. I leave. Sensing his acquiescence, Randa huffs, pleased that the battle is over. Smiling inwardly, she lets the spell slip, and the force of the orc's unused momentum sends him failing forward. Randa flicks her tail and bounds away, leaving her fallen foe sputtering disgracefully, spitting out a mouthful of dirt.
Her battle was a victory, but the damage done by the Stone Orcs is devastating. Randa surveys the remains of this tiny corner of the wood with a heavy heart. Trees lay on their sides, stripped of bark and their dewy leaves. A songbird cries from the pain of its broken wing. The smell of burning wood lingers like a malignant cloud in the air. Randa hangs her head.
I have a lot of work to do. With that thought in mind, she drops her nose to the ground, searching through the smog for the scent of the injured doe.
Glade Kora
hinia
odduckOasis, 2 by 
