Black Sun Rising: Frozen Dawn (Part Two)

                                  Black Sun Rising: Frozen Dawn
                             



    I miss the green mountains of the South.

    The mountains here are so barren, so rocky and cold. The only animals that live here are mountain goats and various birds of prey, living off of the snakes and birds that hid amongst the rocks. There is almost no vegetation beyond the various grasses and scraggle brushes that grow in such a harsh environment; there are no trees of any kind, no vegetation to dissipate the frigid winds that constantly beat the mountains. The only shelter on these damn mountains is from  the boulders that dot the mountain tops; there are no caves or passes that are unfilled or inhabitable, even for an experienced wilderness traveler like myself.

    I miss the old days.

    Life was good back when I was a young lump- now that I’ve “matured” enough to be known as an experienced lump, I miss my misguided days.

    Back when I was young and stupid (instead of old and stupid, as I am now), nature was open to whoever claimed it. It was not uncommon for the woods to be filled with explorers and traveling men, whom I strived to be by running away from home and attempting to scale the limestone cliffs near our village- an attempt that would have worked much better had I accounted for the fact that limestone often crumbles and breaks when expected to support  a load. I fell a good 20 feet into a pile of deadwood and trimmed branches that had been put together by the woods guides. I broke an arm, got a few gashes to my name, and ended up having head problems for a good growing season.

    I wasn’t deterred.

    As soon as my wounds were healed and my arm out of its prison I was on the roof of my father’s barn, balancing on the narrow point of the roof and testing my skills at leaping and landing, even as dizzy and disoriented as my head may have been. I fell off plenty of times, crashing into my mother’s vegetable garden and ruining a good section of the crops, sliding off of the worn shingles and haphazardly landing on whatever lay beyond the edge of the barn roof.

    As I grew up I didn’t get any better at the art of adventuring. I continued to fall off of roofs, down hills, out of trees, and so on and so forth until the entire village was convinced that I wouldn’t live to pass the age of 20. They said that I would soon become the village fool, that even though I hadn’t been born a fool I was sure to knock myself into becoming one.

    I left home soon after those predictions became popular.

    I took offense that my townspeople thought that I was a fool because I didn’t follow my father into the working world as a farmer. Sure, I never took an interest in school or learning how to work the fields as generations of my family had before me. Sure, I refused to learn from any of the tradesmen that worked in our village. What no one else in the village understood was that I wasn’t just being an obstinate boy- I just didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone besides wandering and adventuring.

    School bored me, the trees, rocks, and wind didn’t care if I knew my numbers.

    The rivers, deserts, and animals didn’t care if I could farm a plot of land or make useful things out of wood, rock, and metal.

    One day my mother asked me to go into the forest and cut some wood for the stockpiles before winter sank in. She gave me a small backpack with a blanket and spare food, as well as a rope and an axe.

    I think she knew I was leaving.

    As soon as I got out of site of the cabin and onto the back woods trail, I never looked back. Instead I kept on walking, occasionally hitting a tree with the axe a few times to make it sound like I was doing my job, like I just had to go further into the forest to collect better wood. I walked for a long time, not stopping to rest for a good three days so I would quickly be out of reach of any search parties. The seasons lay on the fine line between fall and winter, and the forest floor was a medley of brown leaves and a thin layer of snow, still allowing me to trek through nature as a relatively untraceable being.

    My village was near the shore of the Southern Coast, a town that lay on the border of being a fishing town and a mountain community; the warm waters of the Southern shore were near enough to provide us with fish, while the forests and peaks of the mainland protected our Northern borders. The forests had always entranced me, called to me, and I wandered for days- by which route I do not know. Geography never was one of my strong subjects…or I should say, another subject I didn’t care for.  All that really mattered was that I keep an eye on the sun and moon so that I didn’t go wandering back into my old village just like the fool they all thought I was.

    The sun and the moon, that’s all I needed.

    That’s all I need now.

    Somewhere below me lays The City, civilization, as few would venture to call it. I enjoy exploring cities, albeit often less than I enjoy risking my damn fool life in the forests and mountains. Some call nature wild and rough, full of danger and disasters waiting to happen- I say just take a look at even a small city and you’ll see the same, but worse. If you leave well enough alone, nature won’t kill you; if you’re an idiot and go where you’re not supposed to be, circumstances will kill you but not nature itself. If you go to a city and mind your own business it still doesn’t matter if you’re a fool or a genius. If you find yourself in wrong place at the wrong time, circumstances in the city will kill you before you can even think to run.

    Don’t take me wrong, I enjoy a good foray into “civilization”, especially into the largest and most cultured cities in the world. Just don’t expect me to be anything but on edge- I feel safe in nature and at risk in cities, which is why I venture to them….I like to be afraid once in awhile, it reminds me that I’m not the be all end when it comes to survival.

    For right now, however, I think I’ll feel right at home in this particular city.

    No one remembers its name, so it is known far and wide around the country as The City. It used to be one of the wealthiest places in the world, back in the days of free trade, before all of the independent merchants were murdered off one by one. Once free trade stopped The City floundered and vagabonds took over; the place became a fusspot of hourly violence and riots, and all the authority in The City just up and left one night, not wanting to die in their sleep by way of a stoning or burning mansion. Its stayed that way ever since I can remember.

    People don’t usually go to The City unless they need something they cannot find anywhere else in the world or unless they’re just plain dumb.

    Lucky me, both reasons are applicable for my purposes.

    My reason for entering The City: a lust for adventure and a change of pace from these damn dreary mountains. My intelligence, as I have previously proven in my narrative, is not what most would call high.

    I sling on my heavy traveler’s pack and start down the mountain, kicking small stones down the steep slope. They bounce and leap down the side of the mountain, creating a small melody and continuing a good hundred feet before rolling off the edge of the cliff.

    The City is still a good thousand feet below me in elevation, so I still have a ways to go. It certainly doesn’t help that the trail ahead of me is steep and layered with loose rocks and shaky ledges…

    I break into a jog, partially running and partially skidding down the mountain.

    What’s an adventure without a little danger, after all?