Exhaustion and Grasslands

The two practically collapsed once they made it to the outside world, even the fear of the incoming horde doing nothing to keep them pushing forward, either too injured or too exhausted to keep going.

Emio tiredly braced themself for a final stand against the creatures, mossy tendrils assuming their attack position, while Wanderer tried their hardest to crawl away from the well, their leg too injured for them to stand.

And as the first swarmling poked their head (or tail) over the rim of the well, luck favoured the trio, for the centipedes were creatures of the deep.

In the darkness from which the centipedes came, there was no need for eyes, instead their long antenna and loud snaps combined to allow them to see by the reflection of sound, not light.

And in the cramped, crowded caverns, this suited them perfectly, sound bounced and refracted to create a perfect image of the surroundings in their insectoid minds.

Yet when, in their rage, they breached the surface, they saw not their familiar, dark home, but nothing at all.

Their clicks and snaps were sent into the sky, never to return, what little bounced off trees or the ground was so unfamiliar that their primitive minds struggled to comprehend it, and it scared them.

In an instant, their heedless charge turned into a reckless retreat, each swarmling telling another to run, each too singleminded to question another’s orders. 

Emio, Wanderer and their Spirit sat in fearful anticipation for a long moment, each too scarred to hope that their enemy had retreated, yet when the roar of their pursuers died down to little more than a whisper, they each collapsed in complete exhaustion.

Emio’s small body fell to the ground, mossy tendrils stretching far and wide, their subtle glow visible in the light of the moons.

Wanderer followed in kind, laying motionlessly on the ground until the pain in their mutilated leg became too much to ignore and they set to fixing it.

Even Spirit had become fatigued by the chase, the magnitude of their worry and fear creating a weariness even in their incorporeal body.

And so the group rested there on the ground for a while, slowly watching the moons follow their path downwards.

As the night passed, Wanderer thought of the monsters in the cave, and how unwilling they were to stop Emio’s slaughter of them.

They knew that they should have, according to their oath, yet for some reason, Wanderer couldn’t find it within themself to care for the deaths of the terrible creatures, nor the eggs they crushed under their feet.

Perhaps it was because of how numerous the centipedes were, or maybe it was their single-minded aggression, perhaps even it was their apparent lack of intelligence, but even though they knew they should, the Golem could not muster anything but apathy toward the blind creatures.

“Does this make me bad?”, they questioned, even when they had directly hurt one of the monsters themself, their dread was only born of incidentally breaking their oath.

Perplexed, they sent their query to their Spirit, who had always been a faithful guide, and a moment later received their answer.

Their attitude toward the monsters does not band them as good or evil, their spirit explained, merely normal, most would have hated the centipedes for that they had hurt them.

Though the advice calmed their turmoil a little, Wanderer still felt dissatisfaction toward their own thoughts, and so they pushed them aside for the time being, as they had done so many times before.

Just as the smallest of the moons were about to fall under the horizon and surrender their domain to the sun, a soft creaking sound made its way to their ears, coming from behind them.

Curious, Wanderer managed to push themselves into a sitting position and took their first real look at the area.

It seems the group had gone a lot further underground than they had thought, because they were currently resting on the backside of a great mountain, which rose up behind them, the tip of the colossal tree just visible over it.

Additionally, away from the sheltered valley of the mountains, the landscape changed dramatically, where there was once lush pine trees and verdant grass was now nothing but shrubs and scraggly trees, the grass now a lighter, yellowish colour.

At the base of the mountain began the great sea of long grass which they spied from the treetop, stretching as far as it could before the great black sands began.

Yet just across from where they were sitting, clinging to the side of the mountain was a modestly sized shack, it was made of old wood yet Wanderer could see that it was well cared for.

It had a little garden next to it, with a clothesline a few steps away and a cart sat next to a dingy little stable, an anxious horse its resident.

Cutting through the grasslands like a gash against the earth was a long, strait path that lead into the desert, and presumably back to the human city they had seen from the treetop. 

It was only after seeing all this that the source of the sound became apparent to them, the door to the shack having been opened, a man cautiously walking out.

He was dressed in modest yet tough clothes, and while old, his body spoke of a life of hard work.

He had a pitchfork grasped between his shaking hands, slowly but surely approaching the group with evident fear.

Wanderer looked on with confusion, it was evident that this man was approaching to attack them out of fear, yes, but why would they not hide in their home instead?

Their question did not stand for long, peeking their head around the door frame was a young girl, a child of about six or seven, who was watching their guardian face the Golem down.

Perhaps the man had seen the shift of Wanderer’s head or had simply checked behind them, but the man noticed the child and without taking their eyes off the group, reprimanded them.

Unlike when they were being chased by the magi, Wanderer had time to attempt to decode the man's words, working off Emio’s visions.

The man yelled, “Carrere, not safe for wartigag chemfo, carrere quickly hide hemifo!”, working off the words they knew from Emio, Wanderer managed to pick out a few words and phrases, yet even if they could understand nothing of the intent behind the message was obvious, they were telling the child to hide.

Logically, Wanderer knew that people would be scared of them, that fact had established itself in their mind, yet still, it hurt them to be so harshly judged for something they had not done.

Instantly their mind tried to think of ways to calm the man, show him they were friend not foe, yet they could not speak their language, had no mouth even if they knew it, and any action toward them would result in further fear.

But like so many times before, their faithful Spirit provided an answer, and directed them to search their pouch for a gift.

Wanderer began scouring the satchel, which by some miracle had survived the chase, and picked through the items inside.

The books may make a good gift, but the Vessel wished to keep them, to learn the human’s language, and by extension, more about the world.

The next thing they picked up was one of the great blue shimmering coins, it was undoubtedly of value, even to Wanderer who had little use for money, its azure reflection entrancing the Golem.

Finally, they grabbed a handful of the silver and red coins and decided them to be their gift, they had plenty and were likely still of worth to the man.

Wanderer held out one of their hands, filled with shimmering coins and instantly the man tensed, hands held ever firmer on their weapon.

Yet the Golem kept their arm ever static, and slowly, and with extreme caution, the man slowly approached.

Taking a trifle of initiative, the Vessel moved their arm forward, swiftly yet gently.

Expectedly, the man flinched back, yet quickly resumed their cautious approach, before finally snatching one of the coins out of Wanderers hand.

The Vessel stood as still as ever, unflinching, until all the precious metal was gone, and the man backed away once again.

Yet now he had a different look on their face, one still riddled with caution and confusion, yet it lacked much of the fear and hatred it possessed before.

The man bowed once, coins still clutched in his fist, and backed away, stopping in front of the door to their little shack, and uttering a phrase, “Sestrio”, something Wanderer could only assume translated to thank you.

Before the man made their way back inside, Wanderer returned the bow, eliciting a bout of shock and confusion, delaying them a second before they closed the door and retreated inside.

A great deal of joy flooded through Wanderer, not every human was against them, even if started with a prejudice.

“They can be reasoned with!”, the very thought that not every man had to be a foe, perhaps with time, they could even turn around the humans view of them!

Thoughts brimming with joy, the Golem and their friends began their trek down the steep mountain path, starting their long voyage toward the black desert.