He wakes to the last burning embers. The morning air is turning from cold to a soothing breeze. For a moment his body is void of pain. Nothing wrong. He pops up and as he turns to look where Adnilia slept, the cursed pulse hit him anew. Like an old injury, his new burden brings him back to reality.
“She is gone”, he ponders to himself. He did not even hear her leave, nor did he see her pack. That tea sure kicks like a mule. He gives a smirk as he finds humuor in his own thoughts.
Time to go
He noticed a small parcel, wrapped in leaves between him and the fire. It is kept shut with a long feather and the ants just found it. He clears of the workers and opens up the gift, taking care to keep the feather.
As the leaves fall off, he finds fresh fruit, dried spiced meat and a container with some dried leaves. “That must be that magical tea.”, he finds himself muttering aloud.
It was very thoughtful of Adnilia to leave him this, but could she not lead him to the main road perhaps. Why did she have to go without saying goodbye? Perhaps her father sent people to fetch her. He goes through multiple scenarios in his head, while he starts to pack up and cover the embers with nearby rocks and soil.
He pulls his new friend, the walking stick closer and pulls himself up. Then slowly bends down and as he picks up Adnilia’s backpack, he smells something akin to a sweet rose, flowing through the air. As he breathes it in, he finds himself feeling lightheaded, but in a wonderfully free way.
The sweet scent of freedom
A sweet intoxicating smell fills the forest air and gives the young prince’s soul a rejuvenation. Through the thick forest growth he finds a path, that is almost opened up, just for him. No broken branches, trampled path or anything out of place.
With each step it feels like he is almost gliding, being part of the path. Every step towards this smell, feels like freedom, as if hope is entering my lungs. Sweet nectar upon my lips, fresh air filling my lungs as if I am breathing for the first time, I barely realized I was moving autonomously and as I pushed the last few branches out of my face a beautiful plant rose in front of me. It looked like a gigantic breed between a protea and a welwitschia, a plant the orcs call a wildfire. Beautiful and intimidating at the same time. Thick strong roots started to rise from the earth, pushing the main flower and leaves up, forming an arch.
“I must go in”, I find myself saying aloud. I drop my backpack, doff my armour and as I walk under the arch a thousand fireflies start swirling around me as I find myself falling into a lovely, deep slumber.
Leaves began to embrace his body, vines rolled around him and as the he was enveloped, the fireflies all flew away and the wildfire slowly drops down to ground level and took itself and the prince into the soil of the forest.
