The Land of Broken Roads

Night came before Dirt made it even halfway to the forest, which loomed monumental in the distance. That left him to sleep beneath the unsettlingly open sky. Father would give him more than one day, right? Socks wouldn’t be all better in just one day, and it was too far for a little human. He could hurry some more tomorrow.

His feet stung from a hundred tiny cuts caused by walking through all that grass, which could be sharp and poky where it met the ground. Bouts of sudden nausea came and went, and twice he’d vomited the disgusting fluid in his stomach—water and blood and hints of slime, all tasting far worse the second time. And to make it worse, he had nothing to wash the taste away or the burning it left in his throat. It dried out his lips, and then his tongue, and then he was thirsty but would have to wait.

It was the leftover fear that caused it, he decided. That fear rose like the whisper of the wind in the grass, a sound that came from far away and gently brushed past him on its way. He’d been watching carefully the entire time for minds, so he knew there was nothing nearby to be afraid of. The only living things that weren’t plants were little tiny animals he never caught a glimpse of and ran when they heard his footsteps. No giant tentacle monsters or sky-darkening wolves, but the fear of those things stayed with him regardless. It crept in for no reason from time to time, leaving him short of breath and wide-eyed, and that’s what made him throw up.

Now that it was getting dark, Dirt could just lay down anywhere. The grass came up to his chest in most places, and the trail he left closed behind him as he walked. Nothing would find him, but this was the first time he’d slept with nothing over him and this was not the night for that. Not after everything that happened today. He needed food, which he wasn’t going to get, and he needed to curl up safe in his nest beneath Home, and he wasn’t going to get that either.

As he finally gave up and lay down, he distracted himself from the empty sky by remembering that Socks was safe and would be taken care of. The pup hadn’t been afraid at all when Father took him; he’d been relieved. Socks was safe and they would see each other again. Hopefully soon. How long did bones take to heal? It had been days since that goblin punched him.

All those thoughts disappeared beneath a fresh wave of dread when Dirt noticed a tiny spot of light in the darkening sky. There were several of them, little points of light peeking out of the twilight purple. Stars was the word for them, but that was the extent of his knowledge. He was sure they were going to do something. He didn’t know what, but something. Something unpleasant, or sudden and unexpected.

Even if he looked away, he still knew they were there, waiting. Dirt scowled and started gathering grass to cover himself and keep warm during the night, pulling it up by the roots. Once he’d gathered enough, he curled up and lay on his side, resting the good half of his face on both hands and tried not to look up.

He couldn’t resist, though. A quick peek revealed there were more now, many more, and they kept coming. So far they hadn’t even moved, so he decided he was probably being silly and gently turned to his back to watch them for a while.

The next thing he knew, the sun was shining in his face and it was morning. Night had come and gone in an instant. He didn’t even remember falling asleep, or any of his dreams.

He was starving. Agonizing pangs of hunger twisted his stomach and his mouth was so dry he couldn’t even make spit to swallow and sooth his burning throat.

Water only appeared in the morning before the fog lifted, and there was no fog here. In a panic, Dirt shot to his feet, tossing aside whatever grass still stuck to him.

The sun wasn’t peeking over the horizon yet, but it would be soon. The forest rose high against the sky, and from here it looked like it might still be foggy inside.

But it would be gone with the end of morning and time was short. Dirt looked down at his body and could swear he was getting skinnier. With a resolved sigh, he started jogging.

Each footfall made the bruises on his ankles sting and the jostling shook the injured bones in his face, causing a deep ache that grew over time until the pain blinded that eye again. Dirt’s breath rasped and it felt like his throat might be cracking, but it would hurt worse if he quit. He had to keep running or he was just going to get thirstier.

Only then did he remember to look for minds, and he was glad he did.

Goblins. He knew them at once—Socks had done a good job showing him what their thoughts looked like. Simple, vivid, disjointed, and mostly focused on whatever was in front of them. There were several of them sitting together eating the raw flesh of some beast, which they found Grace only knew where. Perhaps it was another goblin. All Dirt could see was their hunger and jealousy of their portion. They hadn’t noticed him yet.

He hunkered down and the motion made his own stomach growl quietly. He had no idea how far away they were, but they must be somewhere nearby, since his senses didn’t go as far as Mother’s apparently did. And what he saw of the images in their minds showed the same tall grass, although they had flattened a big area for themselves. But there was nothing to indicate where they were in relation to him, or even the forest.

Dirt was confident he could sneak around them. But he was hungry, and they had food, and just leaving without even trying felt cowardly.

"My friend is a wolf,” he muttered to himself. “My friend is a wolf.” He should have courage. Socks would be as big as Father someday, and why would he want a little Dirt hanging around if he wasn’t good for anything? Dirt couldn’t fight, not by himself, but he could be smart and wise. After all, wisdom was the only thing he had left, according to Mother. Precisely what wisdom was, he couldn’t say, but he should use it.

He stilled himself, listening for any grunting or movement. The air was moving so gently it couldn’t be called wind, but he could see it caress the top of the grass and feel it whisper against his skin. Faintly, ever so faintly, he smelled them. The blood, the corpse, the goblins themselves. Guts had a peculiar scent, he now knew, and he recognized it. He hunkered down and crept quietly in the direction the wind had come, listening for any motions.

The goblin minds showed no alarm or alertness. They grunted and snarled at each other, communicating simple things like ‘that part is mine’ or ‘keep your distance while I eat’, or even just ‘I am still here.’

Following the scent on the wind, he had to travel farther than expected, but finally he heard them. Shortly after that, he found a trail through the grass and knew he was close.

Dirt paused, realizing that he was about to make a very stupid mistake. He couldn’t fight. They’d kill him as soon as they got a whiff that he was nearby.

His stomach felt like it was winding around itself in there. It was more than just normal hungry. Was there anything he could do? All he had was his weak boy body and his mind—not even a stick to hit them with.

Dirt watched their minds for a moment, dismayed at how fast they were eating. Wary, hungry, and jealous, that’s what they were. They had strong fingers, too, since they could tear the beast apart with just their hands. Dirt didn’t think he could do that, and he squeezed one arm just to see. Nope.

Could he scare them somehow?

Maybe he could. He gathered all the fear he could remember and considered it carefully. How it felt, how it tasted, how it twisted him and burned him up inside, stole all the strength from his arms and legs. The helplessness that went with it. He knew fear better than anything else. There wasn’t much in his short memory that wasn’t fear, or related to a time he was afraid. He felt it right now.

Then he screamed with his mind, as strong as he could, at the goblins nearby. FEAR! Just the emotion, raw and powerful and loud.

The goblins bolted, tripping over their own feet in their haste to flee. They hit the grass and just kept running and running, minds white with terror. They took no thought to staying quiet, either, stomping as they went, and screaming once they caught their breath.

Dirt stared in wonder, amazed it had worked so well. They had no idea what had just happened! Goblins couldn’t talk with their minds. It was all new to them. They didn’t know where the fear came from and because of that they believed it. They still hadn’t even slowed down, judging from their distant shrieks.

Grinning wide as he could without splitting his dry lips, he ran toward the spot they’d all fled until he broke into a now-empty clearing in the grass. It was all trampled flat in a circle about three times around as he was tall, and in the middle was a four-legged beast that had been reduced to almost nothing but bones and skin, not even a face to tell him what it was.

He knelt and lifted away the top legs, checking all over for any good flesh, and on the bottom of the lower back leg, against the grass, was a long, fat strip of red flesh that hadn’t been touched. Dirt quickly bent down and sank his teeth in, then started tearing it loose. It took several strong bites at the top and bottom, but he was able to peel it off.

Dirt stood, his heavy prize dangling from his mouth, and tasted the blood that dripped into his parched throat as he grinned from ear to ear. He felt like celebrating, so he waved his arms and turned in a circle, then jumped in the air. It might have looked very silly, but so what? A great victory all his own! And now he knew what to do about goblins!

He stepped on something round and hard, knocking it over. Looking down, he saw a hollow, dried gourd with a little water left in it. He’d spilled a bunch out. Dirt gulped down the few remaining swallows as quick as he could, trying not to think about what made that water taste funny. It was something, though. Food and a little drink! He might make it til morning now.

Dirt couldn’t wait to tell Socks, and the laughter in his heart sped his feet as he raced away. He was long gone before they dared come back, so far he could only barely see the lights of their minds by then.

He ran, jogged, or walked all throughout the rest of the day, nibbling on the meat as he went. The quivering purple flesh was tender and about as chewy as grub skin, and it tasted completely different, and pausing to have another few bites was a nice way to break up the day. This was what wolves ate, he realized. He’d seen a giant pile of bones near Socks’ den, and now he knew why.

Dirt came across no other goblins, or anything else interesting at all. Just grass, shorter in some places than others. Gentle wind. Flying bugs and tiny animals racing away from him. He was getting closer, but those trees were tall and deceptively far away. He was close enough they already covered a quarter of the sky and he wasn’t sure how much farther it was before he got there.

That night, he fell asleep before the first star came out. He woke in the middle of the night, too painfully thirsty to keep sleeping, so he got up and made his way in the dark. The sky overhead was black now, but blanketed with so many stars they all ran together in some places to make pools and rivers of light from horizon to horizon. He was too tired, hungry, and thirsty to spend much time appreciating it, though. It almost offended him just by being there.

He hurried through the remaining hours of night and into the early dawn. The trees were almost overhead now, filled with fog from the ground up to the tips of their leaves. The whole forest, all that empty space between earth and canopy, was full of thick fog. It made the forest look like a single tremendous wall. One thing, not many.

Desperate thirst kept him going. So much exercise hurt in ways that didn’t feel healthy. Like he was damaging himself by continuing. But he made it, just as the fog was starting to lift. Chasing all over to drink enough of the fading drops of dew took the last energy he had, and by the time they were gone, he’d only gotten half the amount he wanted. Despite that, he felt like he might survive now. The pain in his throat and chest were receding, and the rest of him felt better in a way he couldn’t describe.

This was not a small thing, he told himself. Running all that way in the grass with almost nothing to eat or drink. And after a big fight, and injuries. Dirt was small but he wasn’t completely weak.

“Stronger, stronger, stronger,” he said to himself, cheerfully, almost like a song. “I am getting stronger, stronger, stronger, friends with a wolf. Now, to find Home.”