The feeling of a prisoner who touches a wall...
Who: forestpride and rathersolitary
What: a chance meeting and marked despair.
When: backdated to before the draft announcement.
Where: easternmost edge of the forest.
Summary: In which Snufkin comes up against an invisible wall and is at a loss. San can empathize.
Rating: PG
Eight days ago, after thoroughly exploring the pathed-ways of the forest, Snufkin set out to leave this strange village. You can never know if these sorts of rumors are true, for certain, unless you go to see for yourself. Seeing for yourself is really the main part of living.
Securing a map and supplies was much easier than it ought to have been, in a kidnapping-town with too much magic. The terrain was easy enough to travel, and the forest-- despite rumours of giant wolves-- full of easygoing creatures (if a bit too chatty, in general).
Then the forest stopped. It didn't stop looking like a forest, or appearing to go on; it just stopped being a forest, in which one could walk on until coming to something new and different. There was a Thing in his way.
Snufkin kicked it. He poked it, with his pipe and then with a stick. After a moment of thought he took a running start and was knocked over by it. He threw rocks higher up, to see if he was perhaps not reaching the top of it. Then he began the long walk alongside it.
He walked for seven days-- a hand or a stick scraping the Thing all the while. Every now and again, he gave it a good hard crash with his shoulder.
Nothing.
He sat, one evening, and built a fire next to it. He stared at its nothing and smoked his pipe, until the sun rose. After that, Snufkin packed his things up snugly again-- and began to walk back through the forest again.
What: a chance meeting and marked despair.
When: backdated to before the draft announcement.
Where: easternmost edge of the forest.
Summary: In which Snufkin comes up against an invisible wall and is at a loss. San can empathize.
Rating: PG
Eight days ago, after thoroughly exploring the pathed-ways of the forest, Snufkin set out to leave this strange village. You can never know if these sorts of rumors are true, for certain, unless you go to see for yourself. Seeing for yourself is really the main part of living.
Securing a map and supplies was much easier than it ought to have been, in a kidnapping-town with too much magic. The terrain was easy enough to travel, and the forest-- despite rumours of giant wolves-- full of easygoing creatures (if a bit too chatty, in general).
Then the forest stopped. It didn't stop looking like a forest, or appearing to go on; it just stopped being a forest, in which one could walk on until coming to something new and different. There was a Thing in his way.
Snufkin kicked it. He poked it, with his pipe and then with a stick. After a moment of thought he took a running start and was knocked over by it. He threw rocks higher up, to see if he was perhaps not reaching the top of it. Then he began the long walk alongside it.
He walked for seven days-- a hand or a stick scraping the Thing all the while. Every now and again, he gave it a good hard crash with his shoulder.
Nothing.
He sat, one evening, and built a fire next to it. He stared at its nothing and smoked his pipe, until the sun rose. After that, Snufkin packed his things up snugly again-- and began to walk back through the forest again.