A Fortunate Meeting

Written by Thyme

Tyme didn’t know how long it had been since they fled the cult of chaos, but it hadn’t been long enough for the effects of whatever they took to wear off completely. They remembered their retreat being frantic, messy, something about their life on the line? 

How long had they even been in that cult? They couldn’t remember. Days, months, years?

The edges of their vision were hazed over with a sort of blurry kaleidoscope effect, every movement of their eyes sent abstract patterns swirling into their focus. Their head throbbed as a relentless reminder, and their sense of time was completely shot, minutes felt like hours, or maybe it was the other way around? Trying to move made them feel like the world was doing somersaults, and the only stable, truly real things were the damp mud they were lying in, and the clear, cool creek their hand was dangling in. The water smoothly running between their fingers, a futile attempt to wash away the fog that held them down so thoroughly.

It was starting to get brighter out, the sky turning from a deep indigo to a rosy pink that clung to the underside of the clouds above them. Birdsong started up, cheerful, ignorant, almost out of place, and the wind began to rustle through the trees. The damp mud seeped into their clothes, fur, and quills, and the cold had begun to burrow into their core. They attempted to move again,  just to get their hand out of the water, and it didn’t budge, their muscles felt too heavy.

Their thoughts began to spiral as they began to desperately fight off sleep,

Well, this is a stupid way to die, isn’t it. Stuck in the mud like a fish out of water, can't move, can’t fight, easy prey for anything that might find me tasty… Maybe if I look sick enough, they won't eat me. Too much of a gamble for a simple meal?

The battle was unbeatable. The fog in their head grew heavier and heavier, and the feeling of water drifted away, only leaving the tingling feeling of being numb as they faded into nothing. At some point, they could have sworn they felt pressure, like someone lifting them out of the mud, accompanied by the faint sound of a heartbeat reverberating in their head. A soft humming seemed to wrap around them as they drifted off again.

They opened their eyes to find themselves in a… cottage, if it could be called that anymore. This place appeared to be a testament to time and the relentless embrace of nature. Plants had made this place their home long before whoever lived here moved in. Vines and roots weaved through the dirt and wood like threads, moss carpeted most of the ground, and fought against the ivy for wallspace.

 Two large broken windows, having long lost their panes, let air flow freely through this room. The constant breeze carried the quaint sound of unseen windchimes and rustling leaves. A heavy-looking quilt, made of mismatched fabrics and countless patches, was draped on one of the windowsills, one of the few signs of someone actually living here.

The most noticeable feature of this room was a surprisingly healthy-looking birch tree that stood in the corner. It had definitely grown through the structure, leaving a rather large, ragged hole in the ceiling where it had pushed through, filtering the afternoon sun into an almost surreal green, dappled light that filled the room. The air had a distinct dampness to it, cool and heavy, like it had rained not too long ago. The moisture intensified the smell of soil, which fought for dominance with the scent of something; it was sharp and a little sweet, perhaps ginger?

Tyme took in their surroundings slowly and deliberately, taking their time without forcing sudden movements. They were far less nauseous than they were what felt like moments ago, but the world still spun just a little too much when they turned their head too quickly. The abstract blur was almost gone, but their head still throbbed behind their eyes. 

They took a quick moment to assess themselves. The mud that had been clinging to them not too long ago was gone, and their fur, which was usually matted from the rigors of travel and general neglect, was shockingly fluffy and almost meticulously clean, smelling faintly of moss and lavender. They also appeared to be shirtless and dressed in a pair of pants that they has never seen before. A ton of questions flooded their head. 

Where were their clothes? When did they get those scars? Why weren't they dead yet? Had someone bathed them?

This realization drew their attention to another sound, just quieter than the chimes and breeze. The sound came from a doorway that loose Ivy had obscured. Humming, familiar but unfamiliar. They had heard that voice before, quite recently, but the context had been lost in their recent fog. 

The humming got louder, now accompanied by the light tapping of footsteps. Soon enough, a face popped into view, one of a cute, bright blue bunny, with dark, intelligent blue eyes, and a wide, friendly smile that could throw any wary person off guard. She appeared to be holding a steaming bowl of an unfamiliar soup.

“Hey! You’re awake!” The bunny beamed at Tyme, her enthusiasm almost boundless and genuine, “For future reference, sleeping out in the open like that is a great way to get yourself eaten, you know, lots of hungry folk out there!” The bunny talked in an almost ridiculously out-of-place sing-song voice. 

“Wh-” Tyme tried to form a question, to ask anything, where they were or who she was, but a wave of nausea hit them before they could get a word out, causing them to clench their jaw and just growl instead.

“Oh, that does not look fun~” The bunny approached calmly, her smile softening as she sat gently on the edge of the cot Tyme lay on. “Here, this might help?” They scooped some of the soup up in a wooden spoon and patiently held it to Tyme's mouth. Tyme reluctantly opened their mouth, allowing this cute bunny to feed them.