Day 1
And I’m…awake. I think. It’s been difficult to get here. Taken a while to fight through the fog in my head, but I’m there, or nearly.
I’ve grown accustomed to this room. It’s plain and simply furnished, with a bed, table and chair, all large enough that I fit. Upscaled from standard human size. Just like me.
I’ve begun to accept my new form, too. The Forest’s magic has changed me, changed all of us. They call us ‘humanoids’ for want of a better term – people who, like me, ventured into the Forest, and couldn’t get out. Over time, the Forest worked its magic on us, fusing our genetics with those of its own creatures, to make us its own creatures. I’m some sort of wolf-man – human frame, though considerably larger, and capable of walking on either two or four legs. My limbs begin more human, and end more wolf, with paws and claws that make it difficult to do things. My head is mostly wolfy too, with tall, pointed ears and a long snout, complete with sharp teeth. I have a tail too.
Tight around my wrist is the plait, stained and ragged, but not lost. The electric blue – Jessie’s blue – stands out against my fur, while Alys’ caramel-orange strand almost blends in with the grey and tan that surrounds it. It was this plait, I think, that drove the last of the Forest from my mind. The bright blue caught my eye, sending me hurtling down an alley of memories. And I could think clearly, finally. My family would be proud.
And so here I am, Day 1 of my new life. Not totally sure where here is exactly, mind you. Far away from the Forest, that’s for sure. I don’t know how they found us, and got out of the Forest again…that’s on my list of questions to ask when I get the opportunity. It’s not a short list, that’s for sure. How long was I in there? How did they find us? What will happen now? And so on.
A high beep, bolts sliding, door releasing. I have a visitor.
“Hello there buddy. You alright?”
I attempt at an answer. “Grreeyaath!”
There’s only one problem, and that’s that I cannot actually ask any questions. Because, as may be evident from that dismal failure, I can’t actually speak.
“A clear and resounding yes!” It was not clear, not at all, but the attendant seems pleased nonetheless. “And now, breakfast!”
They put a plate on the table and I shuffle over. They keep talking to me as I eat, about everything that’s happened since they last checked in on me, yesterday evening before they went home. About how the traffic was bad on the way back, but everything looked so pretty in the rain. About how they tried to teach their pet, Sandwich, to do a trick – I missed when they told me what animal Sandwich is, but it’s clearly not one that is renowned for its ability to do tricks. They try anyway though. It’s endearing, really. Their tales make their life sound so comfortable and cosy, and it makes me miss my own home, my own family. All that is gone now, of course, and there’s no possibility of having anything like that again, not now. Not now I’m like this.
“How are you feeling today? Clearer?” they ask as they pick up my empty plate. I nod enthusiastically. “Amazing! You have come on in leaps and bounds! An overnight miracle! This is good news indeed, and I am going to report it to the head nurse at once, and he can ask Mr Grandhallow to come in and see you!”
I sit there, mystified. Mr Grandhallow? No idea who that is. I’m not keen to meet him though. After so long alone, you’d think I’d be overjoyed to meet anyone and everyone. You’d think wrong.
People are an overwhelming cocktail of smells and sounds. Everything is here, probably everything out there too, in the city (I’ve gathered from my attendant’s chatter that we are just on the outskirts of one). Nothing is designed with humanoids and our sensitive senses in mind – even this building!
“I have to go now, but I’ll be back in a bit!” They turn to leave, and I bark a little, quietly, just to get their attention. “Yes?”
I hold out my arm. The plait is too tight, it’s hurting, and I want it off. I want to keep it though. It’s the most important thing I own. It’s also the only thing I own, but even if it wasn’t, it’d still be most important.
The attendant studies the plait, holding my paw carefully, then deftly unties it with their nimble fingers. Wish I had fingers. I hold my paw out, growling softly, trying to ask for it back. I only needed it off. They understand, and place it on my paw, “there you go.” I nod thanks, and they leave. But they’ll be back.
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