Terakiel found that his thoughts were most active when he finally laid down to sleep. He spent the better part of the day trudging forward through the mist-laden forest, concentrating solely on the path ahead of him and banishing ruthlessly all idle thoughts. As he drifted on the edge of consciousness, however, it became virtually impossible to maintain the energy required to quash those thoughts. It was night. Although the mist choked out most sources of light, it was still possible to tell the difference between night and day. The expected sounds of chirping insects and the calls of owls were notably absent. It was perfectly silent in the darkness of Lakara and so Terakiel was left with his thoughts.
His eyes were firmly closed, though it mattered little. He knew what was right in front of him, what was behind him, and what enveloped him on all sides. It was all the same--an endlessly repeating pattern. There was no variation in the trees and brush of this part of Lakara. It was anyone's guess what strange otherworldly plane that Terakiel and his companions had wandered into, but Terakiel himself was perfectly ready to be out of it. The ghostly moth had advised him that he was close to other humans--although had declined to explain any further. Just as mysteriously as he had appeared, he was gone and the cold and bedraggled young man was alone once more.
Perhaps if he slept and regained his energy, everything would make sense when he awoke. The twisting, nonsensical layout of Lakara would reform and reshape itself into a coherent path and Terakiel would find himself walking straight into a community of friendly villagers, all perfectly willing to feed and clothe him. It had been a long time since he'd spent time with another willing human being. He'd brought Aisen and Casnie to Lakara against their wills. Even though it'd been an accident, he was still the cause. Although they'd been his companions, he imagined their primary goal must have been to return home. There was no telling where they were now. Terakiel felt a sudden, intense pang of guilt and his eyes shot open.
It made little difference. He could make out little more than indistinct shapes dancing in an almost imperceptible breeze. The mist obfuscated most details even in the daylight. At nighttime, it was all he could do to recognize what he was looking at as reality. Is that what this was? This was reality? Terakiel had to admit that the goings on of the past several days resembled nothing so much as a nightmare. He wondered if perhaps his intent to sleep was misguided. It might have been a better idea to concentrate on waking up.
How wonderful that might be, he thought, to wake up back in Tombolin. None of this would have happened. His father would be alive and he wouldn't be some malfunctioning conduit for dangerous arcane energies. He wondered if it would have been possible to spend an entire lifetime without discovering what he really was. One emotional outburst had loosed destructive energies and caused a tragedy--but what if he had had more control over his emotions? If he had somehow composed himself, would any of this have happened? It was a dangerous path, he realized, to invest so much energy in dwelling on what he had done, but he couldn't help but consider the possibilities. The impenetrable silence of Lakara had a way of drawing out his darkest thoughts.
He was dimly aware of the dully smoldering remains of the campfire he'd made earlier. The meager light it gave off was oddly comforting to him. It was the only light he had that seemed to pierce the mist. Contemplating the warmth and light of that fire, he finally found the embrace of sleep, blissfully unaware of how his environment was shifting around him. When he awoke several hours later, the fire had been completely extinguished. Only a few wisps of smoke remained. The mist, however, was gone. Although his surroundings were as he remembered them when he first fell asleep, there was something that was tangibly different about them as well. In the distance he was certain he could see a visible change in the pattern of the trees.
Although Terakiel had been beginning to lose hope, the moth had led him in the right direction. He was sure of that now. There would be humans nearby.I might not be out of the woods yet, but something has changed. He rose to his feet with a yawn, stretching out his weary muscles as he did so. He set off in the same direction he'd been traveling, but this time with renewed purpose. It finally felt like he was getting somewhere, like he was making progress. For days it seemed he'd been cursed to walk an endless loop. He could only hope that these other humans were as benevolent as the moth.
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