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Part 4 - The Statue
The statue was a woman I had not seen before. Her hands were locked into fists, grasping at the vines that grew around her body. It was almost as though the vines were the ones responsible for turning her to stone. Her pose looked as though she was following the same path, and had stumbled, been caught by the vines, and frozen in place.
This was not something I had seen or experienced before. I asked the others to approach, but not to touch. "Does anyone know this woman?" I look to each of the people in our group. Anita has something to say, with wide eyes "It must be a trap.". She draws a dagger faster than I can say anything, but I grab her hand. Looking into her eyes.
"Don't touch it," I urge, not sure of the action of the vines. It is at this point that Damon takes this an invitation. He moves forward, and Anita's gaze, locked into mine, is a knowing one. She extends a foot and trips Damon. It's the third time the little man has fallen down in the last little bit, and he's angrier each time it happens.
Gerald is sensibly cautious, and places a foot on Damon's back as he lies face down on the forest floor. "I can smash the statue open with my hammer!", Damon whines, from the floor, struggling.
"We need to figure this out." I implored.
"Or we can cut her free." Anita looked ready.
"Or I can smash it with my hammer!" Damon wasn't going to do that from beneath Gerald's boot. And well, Gerald, - he was the only one who said nothing. He just smiled. That damn smile. That fish. I had to know.
We stood in a bit of silence for a few moments, all of us, with the exception of Damon, thinking. My thoughts were interrupted when I heard a bird of some sort. I let go of Anita's hand now that she had given up a little bit on the idea of cutting the statuesque prisoner free of the vines. It was an owl, emerging from the darkness. Its eyes seemed to glow. It perched on the statue.
It looked like it had something to say. Luckily, my communion with animals was one of the earliest skills I had learned as a child. The owl made a sound, and I reached out to it. "I can talk to it," I said to the others. "Be quiet."
Hello. The owl's pricked up at my greeting, and it turned with confused eyes.
You can communicate? It asked me. Jabbering out a sound that would mean nothing to the others.
Did you see a young woman? Human? I asked it. if the owl could make a sound of a yawn, it made it in its speech. Not really, I just woke up. Owls probably didn't drink coffee - so I didn't ask it an enquiry along the lines of breakfast, but instead reached into my pack and offered it some nuts.
It ignored them. How long has the structure you're on been in the forest? The owl preened, looking down with some alarm at the statue upon which it sat. It fluttered up, "This ... a is new one." Was it being intentionally vague? The Owl however, had not turned to stone by sitting on the statue, which suggested that it may be safe to touch.
For a bird, at least. For humans, that... would be another story. "Is this the first time you have seen a statue such as this in the forest?" The owl made a sound. It was a sound of affirmation,
"But never this close to the path."
"Where does it come from?" If the Owl could shrug...
"Probably from deep within the forest."
The others were getting restless, and I could tell. They wanted progress. We wouldn't sleep this night, not without finding the Blacksmith's daughter. Damon had wriggled free, and was holding his hammer, ready to smash the statue that was once a woman, and Gerald had no real intent to do anything about it. The hammer had more reach than the fish, after all.
"If we can't cut it - and we don't want to smash it, we could burn it", Anita suggested, brandishing a now lit torch that cast dancing shadows from its flame. "No," - we could start a forest fire, I thought, but... I couldn't stop her from lighting the vines aflame. "We - can't burn the -"
The flame took the vines, and the vines alone. A path of cinders quickly accelerated along its length, and lead off to the forest, creating a new pathway, which lit up the darkness like a hallway that was impossible to not follow. As it burned, it seemed to somehow not touch the rest of the forest. The Owl looked away from the increasing light, and mine watered.
The Owl flew away from the stone woman, and into a tree. The woman was no longer stone. The veneer of marble-like material cracked slightly, and she had flesh. Then, for the first time, she spoke.
## THE DRUID'S DILEMMA WILL CONTINUE
D R A M A T I S
P E R S O N A E
(so far)
The Druid:
A quiet protagonist-narrator, nameless, female. Lover of wild life. Interested in aquatic welfare.
The Drunken Cleric:
Damon, alcoholic, violent, full of vitriol. Concussed and dazed.
The Fighter:
Gerald, loves fish, gambling, and pumping iron. Fish 2, Damon 0
The Hooded Figure:
Anita, sly, calculating, mysterious. Quick.