Information


Glen has a minion!

He is the Grynnee




Glen


The Custom Common Experiment #549
Owner: helix

Age: 2 years, 1 month, 1 day

Born: September 19th, 2017

Adopted: 1 year, 8 months, 2 weeks ago

Adopted: February 2nd, 2018

Statistics


  • Level: 1
     
  • Strength: 10
     
  • Defense: 8
     
  • Speed: 10
     
  • Health: 10
     
  • HP: 10/10
     
  • Intelligence: 0
     
  • Books Read: 0
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Unemployed


The spirit in the valley


i. A G A I N I N T H E F O R E S T

Sometimes, I dream in the day-time. I dream of him, and he comes back to me in pieces.

The first -- a field littered with bluebells, and all around it, forest -- dense and unyielding. Its beauty intimidating and unforgiving. Hostile. The trees stare at me starkly, and tear through my soul in search of some dark secret.

To my left, he plays in the yarrow. He's picked handfuls of white flowers, set a crown atop his head. Little Glen, Little Glen, what are you the king of? I ask. Everything, he says. Everything?

Yes, he says. Even you. I laugh. But I laugh through gritted teeth.

The second -- he and I at home, awake late at night. Mama comes home and picks Little Glen up, holds him close to her breast, like a cub. Her eyes watchful and suspicious. Protecting him. From what?

He clutches her tightly, little fat hands tangled in her hair. To him she smells like iron and rust. He hands her a flower that he found in the meadow. (Don't you think Mama would like this? I had asked. He took it, stuffed it in his pocket with grubby hands.) She smells it and closes her eyes and a smile plays at her lips. To her it smells like sunshine and freedom.

Mama, I say. I made you this. I hand her a wolf I've whittled out of bark. (It took me three weeks to get it that perfect.) She takes it and frowns. Mica, are you okay? She asks. What do you mean? I say. This wolf, she says. Why is this wolf so angry?

Why is he baring his teeth?

Don't you like it? I say. She frowns. I snatch it away from her. Later, I crush it under my foot. It breaks into tiny little pieces that I keep in a glass box. (My papa gave me that glass box, before Mama told us he got taken away to a place where he could get better.)

The third -- Little Glen sleeping peacefully at her side. She stirs slightly and her eyes flutter open. Mica, why are you standing there? I don't know, Mama. Go back to your room. Can't I sleep with you too? You're a big boy now, Mica.

Quick, before you wake him. Shh. Back to your room.

In my room, the glass box sits in the only sliver of moonlight that has found its way through the curtains. I take out the pieces of the wolf and I squeeze them tight in my hand, so tight they bite me and drink my blood. To them it tastes dark, like poison.

The fourth -- Little Glen disappearing ahead of me into the trees. They stare at me more angrily than before. Wait for me, I call. His laugh bubbles up through the trees, softens them. For once they are not staring at me. Try to catch me, he calls. I run after him. The glass box is tucked under my arm. It wants to be buried, put somewhere far away.

I wonder if the trees know where I will bury it. At the thought, their eyes focus back on me. They scowl at me, bare their teeth at me. Why are they so angry? Mama would ask.

And now -- how did I get here? How did I get into this forest? I can't be here. Haven't since I was a child. Am I in a dream? I place my hand on the bark of a tree and it is rough. I'm awake. Which way is out? My breath is short.

I stumble into a clearing. In it, a shallow grave. I step backward and a branch breaks. But it was far away. The trees -- something about them is hostile, murderous. What did you do? They scream. Something is stalking me, watching me.

The fifth -- Little Glen gasping for air. What happened that day? What happened to the glass box?

What happened to Little Glen?

I shake my head. No, no. No. I rub my face. Wake up. Wake up. No dreaming. No memories today. No more dreaming in the day-time.

But I can't stop.

The fifth -- Little Glen gasping for air. Around his neck, my hands. No! I scream. The trees know. I can see that they know. Who is watching me?

Little Glen gasping for air. My hands around his neck. The light goes out of his eyes and I put him into the shallow hole, with the glass box. When mother gets home I will put her here too. I will bring her here to be with Little Glen right where she wants to be.

I run back to the house. Something is following me, I think. I look behind me. Nothing. And then I see it, a looming form in the corner of my eye. A wolf. Why is he so angry? My heart jumps in my chest. Little Glen? I cry.

I close my eyes. Wake up, wake up. No dreaming. (But I am awake.) I can't remember how I got here.

He comes back to me now, no longer in pieces. He's snarling, his breath hot on my face. The trees are watching, contented, for once.

random ideas
+ maybe dad gave him his glass box before he was 'taken away' (because the dad was crazy too)
+ story happens in the autumn, red trees in the forest (mention)


thank you so much User not found: foxet for adopting Glen out to me! c:
FREAKING AMAZING ART by User not found: church

Pet Treasure


Wooden Scrying Bowl

Grave Reminder

Pet Friends