Choose your own change - You didn't start the fire (it was always burining...)

CYOTF

You didn't start the fire (it was always burining...)

added by Handle Taken 8 years ago A

At first you shake off your misgivings and strike the tinderbox, but of course it doesn't light the kindling right away. Ordinarily you'd simply keep trying but for some reason you can't shake the feeling that this is a bad idea. You try to tell yourself that a fire would protect you from the cold and help dry you out. You tell yourself that there is no logical reason not to start a fire. Still you can't bring yourself to strike flint against steel again. The longer you pause the more ambivalent you are about it, adding reasons like being spotted by bandits or the fire catching your clothes while you're sleeping add to the instincts. Finally resigning yourself to a cold night in the woods you sigh and lean up against a tree, your arms folded in front of you and knees drawn up against your body. Thoughts plague you as you sit underneath the tree: getting sick, being noticed by animals or bandits, freezing in the middle of the night. Even with all these thoughts sleep eventually takes you.

***

A figure emerges from the shadows, wearing dark and modest, but still very comfortable clothes. He'd followed the figure since spotting him leaving the town and walking towards the forest. The traveler was difficult to see at first, and he followed him based on that alone. Now on closer inspection he could see that this was a poor man, probably not carrying much worth stealing. It probably would have been best to simply leave the man to his own devices. The fool wouldn't last long in these woods anyway, he didn't even have the good sense to light a fire to keep the heat or wild animals off.

Still, if that was true, what would be the harm? If it wasn't him, it would be the cold, the bears or the wolves. Something would get this mad wanderer. Plus he was a stranger to the town so no one would miss him. He unstrung his bow and drew back an arrow. He aimed for the chest and paused long enough to shake off more of his doubts. He let the arrow loose and watched it fly past the man, not even managing to hit the tree he was leaning against. That was odd. His aim was better than that. He reached for his quiver and drew another arrow but it dropped from his hands. They were cramped for some reason, inflexible. I couldn't be the cold, he'd paid good money for his gloves. He tried to pick up the arrow, but it dropped from his hands. As they pressed against the ground in an odd way. Something was wrong. He pulled off one of his gloves and gasped.

His fingers were smaller, his nails black. On closer inspection he could tell it wasn't frostbite. His nails were long and black, like an animals. His hands had an unmistakable traces of grey fur growing on them. He breathed heavily for a moment, hyperventilating as panic began taking him. It was the woods. He'd always dismissed the nonsense of cursed woods, of pixies, brownies and will o' the wisps, but he couldn't deny this. He felt his bow drop from his other hand as his other hand shrank, and his other glove fell from his hand. He could feel an itch as the fur continued growing up his arms. Panic seized him and he turned and ran back towards the town. As he ran he felt his clothing getting looser, his feet pulled out of his boots as the fur continued spreading across his arms. His body became rotund as fur grew from his belly and back. He continued shrinking and wound up tripping on the legs of his breeches. His head shrank away from his hood. He was now surrounded by his clothing.

He wiggled his way out of them and walked naked out from the useless clothing. He stood up, but his stance was awkward. His feet were small and clawed and his legs were rounder and coated in fur. His face pushed out into a muzzle and his ears shifted. He fell to the ground and squealed in pain, his voice coming out in an odd animal noise. He felt a tail, small at first but getting larger. All he could do was double over and squeal in pain. The pain of changing bones and itching skin as his coat of fur got thicker. Suddenly it was over. He looked back at his body. He wasn't human anymore. The ringed tail behind him told him that these woods, these damn woods had turned him into a racoon. All's not lost, he said to himself, the strange lady that lived close by...she can change me back. He tried to remember where she lived, but he couldn't call forth the memory. He set off aimlessly searching for her place. After wandering for an unknown amount of time he passed the river. Fish,, he thought to himself, this is where the fish are. The witch can wait until I'm less hungry.. He became aware of how hungry he was. He shuffled closer and reached into the river. It took some time before he was able to catch one, but eventually he did manage to nab one. He pulled it away from the river and after it stopped flopping he devoured it.

Where was it he was going now? He couldn't exactly remember, and wasn't sure if it mattered. After pondering it for a moment he decided it didn't matter. He shuffled off to find a good den to spend the night.

***

You awaken the next day with the sun poking through the clouds. Your night in the woods was surprisingly comfortable. You stand up and stretch, rubbing the back of your neck as you shake out the kinks. You push the hood of your cloak away from your head and look around the woods, feeling surprisingly warm considering how wet you are. Seems you were surprisingly lucky to last through the night with a full nights sleep. Still you're hungry, so you're still not out of the woods yet, either figuratively or in a literal sense.

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You didn't start the fire (it was always burining...)

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