Tale of the Tinkerwood – Part 3

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Oct 212011
 

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He awoke with a start when a fly buzzed by his nose. It was morning! When had he fallen asleep? The rain had stopped sometime during the night and the sun was now shining brightly.

He squirmed out of the log and looked down at himself. He was a mess. He was caked in mud from the waist down and bits of bark and moss were embedded in his fur from his time in the log. He tried to brush off what he could, but he would need a good bath when he got home.

Home. He’d been so sure he would never see it again last night. He thought back to the events of the night before. Had it all been a dream? He looked around for evidence that it had actually happened. It didn’t take long. There in the mud where the monster had stood were footprints. They were misshapen and seemed to match the monster’s uneven pace. They came from the northeast to the closest point to the log and then turned away towards the west.

There was no way he was going to follow the monster, but he relatively felt safe in backtracking to see where the metallic beast had come from. Carefully he made his way along. The mud was still quite thick in places and progress was slow. As he walked he noticed that there was no vegetation here, no grass, and no trees. It was a wasteland. He imagined that when the ground dried, it would be cracked.

The desolation stretched ahead of him. A forgotten piece of lore flashed in his mind. Long ago, to the south of Bree, there was a colony that had fallen. Nobody remembered its name now, but so the story went, nothing would grow there anymore. For a time, the surrounding colonies used this place as a dumping ground for broken items. But strange events were said to have happened there and now everyone was afraid to go near.

Everyone except for tinkers that is. More than one fur had reported seeing a tinker heading in the direction of the dumping ground. In each story, the tinker was invariably broken in some way or its spring-core was noticeably winding down. The romantic notion was that they were heading towards the place where all tinkers go to die.

Tinkers. Was the monster he’d seen the night before a tinker? It seemed impossible; a tinker that size was beyond even the most skilled of crafters. Beyond him at any rate, and he considered himself to be among the elite. Though if not a tinker, then what? A moving metallic construct like that had to be mechanical. While he hoped to never again encounter the beast, it tickled his curiosity.

He walked on. There were no discernable landmarks to gauge his location, but he was sure he was close to the dumping ground. He was walking on an incline now. Beyond this ridge then?


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Tale of the Tinkerwood – Part 2

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Oct 142011
 

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A long night? Try endless! Would it ever end? With as cold and wet as he was, the minutes seemed like hours, the hours like days.

The hollowed out log was not as large as he might have liked. He was crammed in with no way of turning around. To make matters worse, there was a long crack along the top of the log. Water continually seeped through, ensuring that he would remain wet throughout the night…if he didn’t freeze to death first.

At least twice, he felt himself dozing off, but the crash of thunder, much too close for his liking, brought him reeling back to his miserable reality. Sleep would remain as impossible to achieve as keeping dry it would seem. He squirmed about in the tight confines of the log, trying to reach a paw into his pocket for the sweetbread he’d brought with him. At least he could eat, though the moist bread brought little comfort to him.

It was hours into the night, when he had reached his lowest point, that he heard it. The most ear-splitting screech one could ever imagine hearing. Only it wasn’t his imagination. It was not unlike the pained howl of metal being torn apart. He tried to convince himself that it was only thunder, that his sleep-deprived mind was playing tricks on him. It failed to reassure him.

A quick flash of lightning made him blink. Was there something moving in the distance? He strained to focus through his goggles. The chemical compound that allowed him to see in the dark had been steadily washed away by the rainwater that seeped beneath the goggles. He would need to create a better seal next time, he told himself. If there was a next time.

The night sky turned white with another intense but brief burst of lightning. The moving object, whatever it was, was closer than before! He could make out its grotesque outline now. It was twice the height of the tallest fur and lean. There were many sharp angles, and few if any curves. It possessed gangly limbs that allowed it to amble about, though its gait was unsteady, as if it would collapse upon itself at any moment.

The ground shook as each heavy, clumsy step brought it closer and closer to his hiding place. He tried to crawl deeper into the log, lest the monster, for that is what it had to be, find him. He could see now that it was made of metal, though it had rusted through in placed, adding to its terrible countenance.

When it was but a few steps away, the metallic monstrosity reared back and let out a blood-curdling screech, revealing it to be the source of the terrible sound he’d heard earlier. He was sure he would die this night, if not by the monster’s sharp talons, then surely of fright. His heart beat so hard and fast, he was sure the monster would hear it and find him.

But the monster did not find him, for it altered its path then. He did not blink once as it slowly limped away with its uneven gait, afraid that if he did so, it would somehow draw the monster’s attention and bring it back. The quakes lessened the farther it got, until finally the ground was still. He remained still in his sanctuary. The rain continued to beat down on the log, but it was no longer the worst thing about this night.

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