Sunflower - Chapter 36 (Patreon)

Gentle.

My friend, Burch, lowers herself down to the ground with a slow, gentle demeanor that is far different from the brash recklessness of her younger days.

It seems that in her years, she has practiced well the nature of the things I have taught her.

Grace.

Calmness.

Serenity.

— Gentleness.

In her hands is held a trinket, some odd bobble she had torn off of the corpse before we started our escape of the ooze’s cave.

We now find ourselves on the other side of it, having left the oozes behind.

They did not want to leave their cave.

Now we find ourselves on the other side of it, broken free from its encompassing engagement.

We find ourselves on a road that looks as if it has not been used in a very long time.

Funnily enough, here on this side of the cave, there was a sign warning anyone to not enter it.

It seems that the signmaker never made it to the other side.

An irony, perhaps.

As for Burch, she digs and she does so… gently.

It is not like when she hunted rabbits as a feral. Now, her fingers are curved inward and she kneels down, leaning into it as she scoops dirt out of the soil.

It seems that my friend has once again found something to bury.

Ah.

In my more youthful days, this would have been a trigger for me to ponder what it is that my friend Burch is.

After all, what kind of creature would dig like this?

A mole, perhaps?

The thought briefly wanders through my head, if my friend is a mole. But then I realize that she can not be such a creature.

After all, moles are very ugly indeed.

And they live in tunnels and holes, very far away from the sun.

So, it must be then, that my gentle friend is simply a person.

How simple a thing it is, no? Personhood.

— The attribution of a state of being to an entity.

Yet somehow personhood only applies to people.

I am not a person.

I am a sunflower.

Would it not be strange for a sunflower to be a person?

As such, I do not possess personhood.

Once the hole is deep enough for her liking, Burch takes the bauble she had harvested from the body and then sinks it down into the damp, cool soil.

It is a very odd thing to be planting, such a trinket.

I do not think that it will grow, personally.

But who am I to say for sure?

After all, I am a sunflower.

Burch gently pushes the dirt back into the hole and then gently pats its down, flattening it once more and then she gently rises up to her feet and finds a nice, big rock to mark the location with.

As she undergoes what she undergoes, I lift my gaze towards the sky and watch the sun, as it gently drifts through the lazy sky.

[Sunflower]

You bask in the light of the sun

+ 1 EXP

EXP: 279/825

(Burch) EXP: 855/2550 + [Personal Journey]

All of these faces we have seen, all of these dead.

They mean nothing to me.

I know not a single vapor of their essences. I know not the gentle touch of their hands or the soft candor of what their voices might have once been.

— But Burch knew these things and so, she takes her time and, I, meanwhile, fulfill my natural obligations to bask in the glow of the thing that washes all pain away; the light, hinting towards a gentle tomorrow to come.

__________________________________________________

They howl.

Midnight crests upon the world and the dark things creep through the shadows abound, cast by the lonely rays of weak, sparse moonlight.

A crescent moon gives us what little it can, but no more than this.

Burch runs in a quick jog through the forest as voices howl around us.

They howl from the tall trees.

They howl from the far outcrops.

They howl from all directions and their howls come together, filling our ears with nothing but screams.

Burch pushes past a large overhang and then jumps down to the side, pressing herself against a mossy rock.

(Burch) has toggled: [The thing in the woods]

Her body and form slowly meld away, blending into the creeping foliage we hide attached to.

The howling-men fill the night with their cries.

Rustling breaks the nearby section of the wood that we had just escaped from. A moment later, a group emerges.

They move as a pack, scouring the woodland. They are untidy, rough, mangy creatures more akin to the hobgoblins of a by-gone era than to any other creature to which one would attribute personhood.

— Yet, they are human.

Rusted weapons hang off of their worn, weathered bodies.

Their fabrics are loose and wild and frayed like the skins of animals, killed by a violent predator.

Their eyes are wide orbs, much like the bellies of spiders, as they try to decipher every ray of moonlight.

But here-in lies the curiosity.

Burch quiets herself as they pass us by, not steps away.

The hobgoblins, they were always alone. No other creature accompanied the hobgoblins on their march towards paradise, on their hunts.

— The curiosity, the hound, with scraggly, unkempt fur and flaring ribs sniffs the freshly trodden soil, taking on a tense, stiff stance and starting to growl as it stares our way.

The howling-men look.

It seems that nature has betrayed us this time. The hounds appear to be on the side of people.

A troublesome alliance.

Although, I suppose it is only fair, if Burch is allowed to have a sunflower.

Burch takes a tender step back as the dog continues to growl and the howling-men slowly begin to identify us.

I suppose I will take the initiative.

(Sunflower) used: [Sunkiss](Moonflower)

A concentrated, but weak, strike of magical energy leaves me and zaps the unfortunate creature on its long nose. It yelps in surprise, scrambling away.

The howling-men howl and rush us.

(Burch) used: [Minor Pulse]

Four of them fly back, one of them knocking his head on a tree. There is a loud crack.

We run as fast we can, before they can reorient themselves.

__________________________________________________

Who are the howling-men?

I can not say for sure.

Perhaps Burch knows the truth, but she does not share it with me.

My friend looks around herself and then, seeing that we are alone, places her hand against an already large tree, feeling for something in its wood.

I do not quite know what.

But she seems to find what it is that she seeks and then begins to climb up it, high into the thick branches of the tall thing.

It seems that this is where we will rest for the night.

I wonder, will the tree be upset, come morning? It will be quite the turn for it to have its sunlight stolen by a sunflower.

Haha.

No. That would be cruel. A cruel joke.

I am a bullying sunflower.

Do not worry, tree. We will share the sunlight together. You, me and my best friend, Burch.

Burch leans back against the trunk and nuzzles herself into a groove.

(Burch) has toggled: [The thing in the woods]

We rest and listen to the howls coming in the distance.

__________________________________________________

Our rest was cut short.

Three hours have passed since we found our place to sleep.

The howling-men are here, short one dog, which seems to have run off into the wilderness.

One of them however, is being carried. It seems that the one Burch knocked against a tree struck his head very hard.

He appears to be damaged in some way and, while he is able to be kept mobile by the other four, he is hardly able to walk on his own, let alone stay awake.

His glazed eyes drift in and out of wakefulness.

We watch as they move off into the darkness.

Burch falls back asleep a little later.

__________________________________________________

The sun has come to bring us a beautiful new day, free of any howling.

Burch climbs down from the tree.

I gently stroke it with a petal, letting it know that I am grateful for it letting us sleep in it.

We are strangers, after all.

It is unusual to let a stranger sleep on you.

I suppose.

Looking around the area to see that it is indeed safe, Burch then resumes our journey.

We walk for a time, following in the direction the howling-men had gone, as it is the one we need to move towards too.

Our day starts off a little unusual, however, as we break into a clearing.

There, spread amongst the rocks, are the remnants of a human corpse.

Its skull has been cracked open violently with a large rock, presumably to get at the insides like the flesh of a nut. His femurs and bones have been snapped open, like a stick cracked over a knee, to suckle out the soft marrow.

A howling man lays there, far more than dead. His body has been grotesquely cannibalized in one of the most violent spectacles I have ever seen.

All except for two eyes, plucked clean out of his head. They lay gently set to the side and stare up towards the sky, as if having been positioned to stare at the sun for the rest of their days.

— Perhaps the howling-men are not so bad after all?