Day 154,

Speak of the sprite and it shall appear.  Or, write of it anyway.  And it seemed most intent to make up for lost time.  At my expense, as always.

It was a rare clear day for the season.  “Clear” being a relative term; still constantly overcast with the occasional distant rumble of thunder, but only lightly raining for a few minutes total spread throughout the day.  At first the day followed the routine Maiko and I have somewhat settled into: breakfast, then tutoring (which she hardly needs at this point in my assessment), a light lunch, then out to the stream and spring for me to do laundry while she catches dinner.

It was at this point, standing in the stream in swimwear and scrubbing a shirt against the broad, flat stone I’d designated “the laundry rock,” that I caught a glimpse of a familiar pair of glowing orbs on the other side of the water beneath a pair of protruding branches attached to no tree.  I started at the sight, but not as much as I once would have.  I said something along the lines of “long time, no see” and turned to greet the nature sprite only to have it pull its usual disappearing act, leaving leaves fluttering in its wake.

This behavior continued for several minutes, with the sprite appearing at or just outside the edge of my vision and staying perfectly still and silent until I looked directly at it, whereupon it would disappear once more to reposition itself ever closer.  Once it got close enough it changed tactics to moving the laundry basket with the cleaned clothes whenever I let it out of my sight.  Or, if I watched that too closely, the pile of dirty laundry.  It proved difficult to constantly keep both in my line of sight while also cleaning.  With this thusly taking longer than normal it briefly crossed my mind to wonder why Maiko hadn’t returned yet, but I was ultimately too distracted (and that distraction quickly growing into irritation) to give it much thought.  I later learned that a couple of villagers had found the spring and started making their own attempts to fish, necessitating that she hide.  By the time she gave up to go back downstream to try her luck with the sea, I had already relocated away from the stream.

Relocated, for it was once I finished with the laundry that the real trouble began.  As I placed the last damp garment back in the basket along with the remainder of the soap bar, two gnarled, wood-like (actually wooden?) hands snapped out and took hold of the sides of the basket.  A brief tug-o-war ensued that ended with a suddenness that indicated it had merely been toying with me and served as a reminder of the nature sprite’s strength.  As I reeled back, catching my balance, the spritely thief leapt across the stream and held out the basket toward me with that old mocking laugh.

For a moment I thought it was about to dump the contents into the stream and leave me to chase after the current to gather them up, but after a few more moments of it gesturing toward me with the basket I realized what it had in mind.  With a sigh I began fording the stream.  Fortunately it was shallow there.

From the start, I had no expectation that I would actually catch the sprite, but it was clear that unless I played along enough to satisfy it I wouldn’t be getting my laundry back.  And thus began our chase through the woods.

No natural creature could have moved so nimbly through that terrain whilst carrying that basket, especially not without dropping a single item from it.  And certainly not one with antlers such as those.  

Thankfully, my own passage was not entirely natural either.  If ever there was a doubt about the pale ring’s status as an artifact (for I keep it and the brass bracelet worn at all times), today has displayed such thoughts from my mind.  My own steps were with a speed and surety I hadn’t believed I’d possessed.  Branches and fronds pushed aside at the slightest touch with little more resistance than sheets of paper.  Protruding stones and roots that should have pressed painfully into my sandals felt like ought but pebbles.  Or perhaps some,  or even all, of that was the sprite’s doing.

Still, even with such supernatural aid I was hard-pressed to keep pace.  Most times I had only its laughter to follow, maybe a glimpse of its leafy cloak if I was lucky.  The worst were the times I did catch up, given the momentary hope that my quarry had had its fill, only for it to bound backwards through the foliage once I was inches away from being able to reach the basket.

It didn’t take us long to reach the main cobblestone road, and then to cross it into the island’s interior.

A brief geographical aside for any who might read this, perhaps some future outsider.  As I’ve mentioned  before, this island is split roughly in half, with the southern portion being inhabited and the north being covered in thick jungle traversed only by hunters and crystal collectors.  The southern half of the island has its own forest of course, encircled by the loop of the main road.  From that loop, with the Village at its southernmost point and the Blossom Field at its northernmost, nearly all of the farms and dwellings of the outskirts are on the coastward outer side of the road.  I’d never really thought to ask about that until today.  While I’ve seen several branches off the main road into the interior forest, the only ones I’d ever taken were to the ruined cathedral  and the lake of stars.  I now imagine the others go to similarly remote or abandoned locations, if they go anywhere at all.  For as I learned today, while the southern woods extend on both sides of the road, the interior is thicker.  Darker.

And yet, in the moment, that barely registered.  Somewhere along the line my irritation had turned to exhilaration.  This running, this chase, pushing myself to limits further than I believed I had, and moving through the forest with an ease of belonging.  In retrospect, I think this may have been a taste of what the nature sprite had beckoned me to join in on that day we were both overcome with the rhythm.

At one point it began to rain again and the sprite abruptly changed course.  I soon found myself back at the ruined cathedral.  With the jungle less thick in that spot I had a clear view of the laundry thief and for a moment I thought this was our destination.  Instead, it merely ran a lap around the perimeter, just close enough for me to once again catch traces of that chanting I’d heard what feels like a lifetime ago now, even if it was just a few months.  Then again, I suppose that is a lifetime ago for me.  

Was this so I could hear the chanting?  So the sprite could hear it?  A taunt to the spirits within?  A taunt to me?  A nostalgic nod to where it first took notice of me?  Whatever the case, the chase continued, westward and northward, further toward the center of the center jungle.

At last, after what might have been minutes or hours (surely minutes, I don’t have that kind of stamina, no matter how long it felt like) I stumbled into a sudden break in the treeline.  A glade, open to the grey-clouded sky above.  And my laundry basket in the center.  The incongruent sight brought me to a halt, realization that I’d nearly forgotten why I’d been chasing the nature sprite through the woods dawning on me along with the realization of how exhausted I was.

It was obvious that the basket sitting unprotected in the open was bait, even if I was in no state to fathom the nature of the associated trap or prank.  Not that I was allowed the time to contemplate.  Perhaps sensing my hesitation, the nature sprite was suddenly beside me, seizing hold of my wrist and pulling me after it into the glade.  Several steps in it gripped me with its other hand, sharp-pointed fingers leaving marks on my unprotected flesh as it spun me around in something like a dance, circling the clearing.  When it released me I was sent reeling toward the opposite end of the glade I had entered from, still spinning from momentum as I fought and failed to keep my balance, landing on my hands and knees.  Fortunately, it was my off-hand that took the brunt of the fall and whose wrist remains sore.

And then the laughter started.  Or perhaps it was cheers.  Or mutterings of outrage.  Or rumblings of hunger.  All of the above would not be a poor guess.

From all around me, hidden behind the treeline showing naught but a multitude of glowing spheres came the noises.  Caws, yowls, barks, hisses, groans, pops.  A cacophony of voices, some nearly human, some nearly animal, but none quite either.  Amid them was that terribly familiar droning growl.

As I backed toward the center of clearing, holding my sore wrist with scraped palms I realized the brass bracelet, my lifeline to my friends, no longer adorned it.  Both it and the ring have always shown an abnormal resistance to coming off accidentally, and as I looked around on the ground for it in growing panic I saw a glint in my peripheral vision.  The nature sprite was holding it between finger and thumb.

It dawned on me just what kind of position I was in.  Alone.  Exposed.  Defenseless.  Exhausted.  Deep within woods no one ever goes.  Deprived of the thing that would alert others if I was in danger and lead them to me.  Surrounded by wild, intelligent, inhuman beings all far stronger than me.

In that moment, I was very afraid.

With a flick of the wrist, the nature sprite sent the bracelet tumbling through the air to land neatly on top of the basket.  In a near-blind panic I started scrambling, lunging for the basket.  The bracelet.  The thing that might call for someone to save me.

It was useless of course.  Either the nature sprite would move the basket, or it would move me.  Or suddenly appear in front of me so that I would leap into its open arms.  More of that parody of dance.  More indecipherable noises from the half-seen audience.  Strangely (in retrospect, for I was barely cogent at the time from panic) whenever the volume of the noises reached a peak the sprite would grip both my shoulders, sometimes from the front, sometimes from the back, draw itself up to nearly its full height, pull me in close and begin shrieking over my head back at the onlookers.

How long this went on, I can’t say, only that the noises ceased all at once with the sound of a tree being pushed aside.  Not a branch, but an entire tree.  I say this for I had heard the sound before.  And then another.  And another.  And the groan of the first tree shifting back into place.  And another.  And so on, slowly drawing closer.

At this new sound I snapped from limply slumped against the sprite’s rough chest to rigidly tensed.  My fear, numbed by exhaustion was granted a fresh edge at the approach of the Wandering God.

I had already closed my eyes when the nature sprite lowered me to the ground and released me.  I used what strength I still had to adjust myself so that my face was pointed toward the ground in a semblance of bowing.

The sound of moved trees stopped.

The sound resumed on the other side of me.

The noises did not resume.

There was no touch of the sprite.

I opened my eyes when the rain returned.

It was dark now.

I felt my way to the basket.

It had flowers woven into it.

No.

Growing from it.

Found the bracelet.

Slipped it on.

Pulled the bundle of laundry from the basket.

Bunched it up and hugged it to me.

Something to hold.

Waited.

Slept?

A light in the trees.

Maiko.

Did I cry?

Basket was rooted to the ground.

Left it.

Have another one, even if it smells of fish.

Leaned on her the way back.

She never got a message of danger.

Noticed I was gone.

Went looking.

Lost the link.

Barely a trail to follow.

Afraid to get help.

Kept looking for me on her own.

Got home.

Ate something.

Don’t remember what.

Went to bed.

Barely slept.

Couldn’t sleep.

Had to get this out of my head.

Nearly morning now.