Night fell over Oldroot, and the procession glittered in its full potential. The forest floor dazzled as if Esûne’s sky had been condensed into a town.
In a tall willow overlooking the town square, two young Gnomes sat in a window, watching the river of swaying lights and listening to the solemn singing.
The Willow was the home of the Mariponas, a long line of beekeepers in Oldroot. Binky's bedroom chambers sat on the third floor, where she and Twigbart had been told to stay until the Rite had been completed. Which could have meant one day, maybe five. The thought made Binky so itchy.
Twigbart, son of Lute, sang along under his breath. Binky, daughter of Alen, didn't know all the words, but hummed the melody under her breath.
"We're alive to witness this," Twigbart broke his singing. Binky raised her eyebrows, snapping out of a daydream. It was indeed a strange time to be alive. New Eras didn't always happen within one Gnome's life.
Twigbart sighed a sigh that was meant to be acknowledged by others.
"I don't know what it all means."
Twigbart was a nervous wreck who never had to lift a finger. He was dressed in fine white spider-silk and red-dyed pants, the Diplomatic favorite. Long ago did the Diplomats work with outsiders, before the Falconian Era. Now, his silks were glorified pajamas, as the only diplomacy that happened did so within the bark of the Elder Tree. "Diplomacy" nowadays usually involved petty disputes between neighbors over tree ornaments and untrained housepets.
“I don’t think it means anything, except that it is happening,” Binky
Binky was itchy on the inside. Under the cloak of night, while the rest of Oldroot mourned in the streets, an opportunity presented itself. It was the perfect time for Twigbart and herself to do some good ol' truffle hunting. When she pitched him the idea, he rolled his eyes.
"This is... a really bad time."
"Truffles have always been there for us during the bad times," Binky put on her best nice voice, "Come on, we won't go far. Just past the Beehives."
Twigbart's eyes flickered over to her, involuntarily.
She smiled, "We could try the honey on our wayyyy—"
Twigbart scratched his neck. "I don't know. I'm not in the mood."
"Okay. Cool beans. I'll let you mope," she was already unraveling knotted bed sheets from her Go-Bag and securing them to the bed frame. She tossed the free end out her other window, climbed over the window sill.
Twigbart kept his back to her.
"Last chance...?"
"I'm not going, Bink."
She crawled over and scaled down the tree. Her feet hit the forest floor.
She made her way through the Beehives. Only the young worker bees were still awake, and they hovered around her as she passed. She guided them to flowers during the day, so they often got excited when she came around.
"Just passing through. As you were," she whispered.
They settled as she passed; a few stragglers realizing she wasn't going to the flower path dove back towards the hives. The buzzing and singing and crying slowly fell away behind her, and the quiet wilds of the Outskirts opened up before her.
The Great Arlindale Forest stretched for hundreds of miles, but the Illusion only covered a three-mile-by-three-mile square. Plenty for a town of Gnomes, but certainly not enough for one Binky. The Outskirts were the wiggle room of untouched nature outside the town where one could enjoy solitude within the Illusion.
The trees ahead began to warp and twist. Some felt touchable, very close, and some yawned away. If you held out your hand towards these trees, it would be like reaching into a painting: nothing was really there, but your mind registered its existence. It was fabricated and flat, but felt three dimensional, especially from the other side. Binky felt her brain betray her, her eyes not understanding, her tummy roiling. It was nausea-inducing if you stared for too long, a desperate signal for "turn back now!"
This was the edge of the Illusion.
Binky lowered her gaze and took a deep breath. She waved a bioluminescent mushroom around the forest floor, searching for bunny holes that could take her to the other side. She pressed a foot onto a pile of leaves, and it gave. There you are.
A panicked crunch-crunch-crunch of fancy shoes running through leaves approached her. She turned as Twigbart, out of breath and frustrated, pulled up his hood.
"I don't like this," his whisper-yelled, "but it doesn't seem right for you to go alone."
"Thanks, Twiggy. Now keep it zipped, buttoned, and locked. Oldroot may be preoccupied, but the Watch always has ears and eyes open."
Binky pressed herself through the bunny hole, Twigbart struggling behind her, and popped up on the other side. She pulled Twigbart out, and he brushed at his silks.
She allowed herself to look at the Illusion behind her—it appeared to be a forest. Inconspicuous, uninteresting, your run-of-the-mill wooded forest. Even the sounds were uninteresting—a "hoo" of an owl, leaves swaying against leaves, squirrel chatter. It was strange to see civilization disappear. It made Binky's heart drop a little. It was a good Illusion.
She motioned for Twigbart to follow her. She propped a red bioluminescent mushroom at the hole. With every twenty or so steps through the Arlindale Forest, she'd leave another mushroom, until behind them was a nice, dim guide back to the bunny hole.
Truffle hunting is still difficult for Gnomes, but does not require a dog or a pig (although Binky would quite enjoy a hunting companion that didn't swear under their breath the whole time.) Gnome noses are closer to the ground, and can keenly smell due to years living amongst the forest. It was necessary in Ancient Eras to be able to distinguish poison mushrooms from edible mushrooms that look similar. This proved very useful in finding tasty treats as well. The Arlindale Truffle has a distinct pungency, complicated and mouthwatering, so one must learn to follow their nose, not their eyes.
Only the sounds of Binky's deep inhales and Twigbart's handwringing accompanied them. They walked without speaking for about an hour until Binky caught a trail.
It was not a fruitful discovery. Four pea-sized truffles sat at the roots of an oak tree. Some smart animals with exquisite palettes must have found the big ones first. Binky picked the lonely fungi and split one, handing half to her anxious friend. They sat silently under the oak tree and savored every morsel.
The Arlindale Truffle relies on animals to reproduce. It cannot spread its spores through air or water, so it must be eaten and... well... re-dispersed. Binky attempted to cultivate some within Oldroot, but it proved to be too delicate a manner for Gnomish hands. Only Nature Herself had perfected this symbiotic relationship between fungus, plant host, and animal distributor. Therefore, the Arlindale Truffle is truly a rare, wild specialty, it's delicious flavor being its one hope to reproduce.
Binky and Twigbart sat and enjoyed the flavors that lingered in their mouths. Twigbart even smiled. Binky patted him on the shoulder and cocked her head towards the red mushrooms.
"See, not so bad. Let's head back," she whispered.
Now Binky; as you, dear reader, probably gathered; was prone to mistake-making due to her heightened confidence. The Arlindale Forest is as vast as it is intricate, and one wrong step can be detrimental. Little did she know, in her Truffle-induced bliss, that on the way, she had missed a burrow. This time, her steps were not as careful, and she tripped over that burrow, causing it to cave in. This would have been no problem if the homeowner wasn't home—but indeed, she was.
The dirt rolled and shifted. Twigbart let out an "Oh dunk..." as a giant badger, five-hundred pounds of fluffy anger, rose out of her collapsed home. A growl rumbled as she pulled one giant paw out, then the other, claws as big as Binky's head.
Popping it's head out of the dirt, sniffing the air behind her, was a baby badger. Binky immediately knew the situation she had just created—she destroyed the home of a mother and her child. And Mama Badger had all the right to be angry.
"Twiggy, run!" Her voice carried in the silent wilds. Twigbart waited too long though, weighing his options, and Mama Badger charged him.
Binky finally got to her feet and turned, pulling out the only weapon she had: an uncapping knife, used for harvesting honey from hives. It looked like a palette knife with ridges on one side.
Mama Badger already had Twigbart in her mouth. He squirmed and fought. She started to lumber towards Binky.
"I didn't mean to ruin your home—please put him down, and we'll be on our way, and never come back," Binky said, also reassuring herself. But Mama Badger snarled, and Twigbart whimpered as teeth pressed on his temples.
Binky felt herself begin to panic, tears welling up. Time slowed down and sped up at the same time.
Mama Badger stopped. She reeled back and sat. It was a very purposeful gesture. Her eyes flickered at the knife.
Binky felt a connection, a surge of understanding. Like when you finally understand an equation, or when you finally get the lyrics to a song because you're older, or laughing at a smart joke. The panic subsided, time stood still, her heart rate slowed...
A voice bloomed in her head—
Drop the knife, and I drop your friend.
Binky opened her hand. The weapon fell.
Mama Badger's eyes flickered to the left.
A whirring sound passed by Binky's ear, of something thin cutting through the air.
Binky's stomach dropped like a trap door.
THUNK—
Twigbart tumbled to the ground as an arrow sunk into the neck of Mama Badger. The connection ripped apart, the lights went out.
Binky covered her scream with her hand.
ns 15.158.61.23da2
