Chapter Text
“Don’t go there lest you want to become part of the forest.”
That’s what they had said. But Dream was unimpressed. It looked normal.
The forest he stared at was supposed to be haunted by eldritch horrors—monsters and ghosts. Some nonsense. He didn't believe in monsters. Ghosts? Well, he believed in ghosts. Just not the whimsical ‘gonna possess you’ kind. The ones where he was from were much more… domestic, in a way.
He had known it was likely that it was all just a bunch of hogwash, but some part of him had been hoping that it was true. He'd been bored since his exile. Restless.
But no. There was no unnaturally thick fog, no feeling of being watched. No eyes watching him from the shadows. Nothing but the birds singing, sun shining, and breeze blowing. Really, what was he expecting? Some entity to come out and eat him?
Well, at least that would be exciting. He hadn't had a good adrenaline rush in a while.
With a heavy sigh—as if this was an inconvenience for him—Dream stepped into the woods with a calm confidence that came from knowing exactly how dangerous he was. His hand rested on the handle of his blade—a mere iron one that he’d found in some ruins a while ago. It was enchanted with sharpness, but it was already well used. He missed the familiar weight of Nightmare, but the axe had been taken when he’d left the SMP. He’d tried to resist—but it was to no avail.
It’s hard to fight back when everyone you knew turned against you. Even the ones you thought you could call friends. Dream had to swallow back bitter anger, forcing his thoughts away from the past and to the present.
The rumors about that forest were interesting. The nearest town—a small village by the name of Lianeath—was only a fifteen minute walk from the forest’s edge. They called it The Backwoods, and they were terrified of it.
According to them, the forest was alive. It breathed. They said strange creatures—no, not creatures, monsters lived in it. The Backwoods.
Ridiculous.
The forest was prettier than most, he had to admit. Bright, healthy and flourishing plants—animal calls and fresh, clean air. It felt almost untouched by man's hand…. Aside from the lightly beaten, overgrowing trail he was on. And maybe it was, to some degree. The villagers practically wet themselves just telling him about it.
Villagers 'plural' really only meant one or two. He'd gotten more than enough warnings from them in under one minute to peak his curiosity. He’d boarded Spirit and headed straight to the forest while talking to as little people as possible. It was silly, but he didn't want to spoil it for himself—even though he was pretty sure nothing would happen.
Flora and fauna surrounded him. Fluttering birds and scuttling squirrels barely caught his attention as he scanned the ground, dutifully searching for clues that just maybe something really was up with this forest. Tracks, bones, anything.
Ferns and bushes tugged at his legs as he veered off the main path, following a narrow deer trail that wound deeper between the trees. The other trail had looked like it was fading out anyway.
Dream wandered, not watching the time, mulling over the various warnings the villagers had given him. They had been strangely adamant about the wildlife he might find here.
Particularly the foxes—or, ‘The Foxlings’, is what they called them. They had said not to trust them, not to be lured away. Hilarious. What were the little creatures gonna do? Entice him with riches then bite his ankles?
Absolutely hysterical.
How insulting.
Did they think he was stupid? He was likely more capable than that entire village put together, and then some.
Leaflitter crunched beneath his feet as he ducked beneath a low hanging branch. Peering up, he caught the darkening sky though the canopy. The birds began to quiet, slowly being replaced by the persistent voices of crickets. He should head back. It would likely get cold tonight.
Pausing in a large clearing, he admired his surroundings before he left. The trees were tall and flourishing, their leaves brushing against one another, producing a whispering sound in the breeze. The setting sun illuminated it all, bathing everything in a warm golden glow…
Scuffle.
What was this?
A fox.
It stood in the deer trail that continued ahead. Still as stone. Staring directly at him.
It seemed in excellent health, its orange and dark brown pelt almost shiny. Its eyes were dark—beady and unblinking.
A cross fox. A rarer variant.
Dream stopped, his shoulders squaring. The villagers' warnings briefly flashed in his mind. Don’t follow foxes. Don’t even step foot in that forest.
‘Don't get weird,’ he told himself. ‘They're tall tales. They're all delusional.’
The fox took a step, then another, and turned—just enough to look back at him. It tilted its head. Then it trotted off into the trees.
He hesitated. And then he followed.
He didn't know why. Maybe he just felt the need to prove the villagers bonkers. He’d follow the fox, and nothing would happen.
Because they were. They were crazy. Or maybe he's just curious. After all, all myths stemmed from something...
The deer trail faded a while ago. The sky was dark, splattered with stars. He hadn't realized how far—how long he’d gone—until he stepped into a small field of black and blue flowers.
No birds. No breeze. Stillness.
Dream froze. His hand went to the pommel of his sword. The feeling of his fingers brushing the hilt of his enchanted iron blade gave him a semblance of comfort. His heart was starting to beat louder for reasons still unknown.
The air felt heavier. Tense with anticipation, as if the forest was holding its breath.
And just like that, the woods weren’t so pretty anymore. The static of silence blared in his ears.
The fox trotted off, leaves bouncing as it disappeared into the bushes.
Dream didn't dare follow it further.
Don't follow foxes.
And sure as hell don't get lost.