The Mist

It rained. The journey had begun in dazzling sunshine, although few had noticed because of their grief. But as the day progressed the sun disappeared behind a bank of formidable, black clouds. The day began to take the form of the melancholy thoughts of the exiled. They travelled through dense forests, the green canopy overhead blocking most of the rain that continued in a heavy downpour, the dark, green moss underfoot cushioning their steps. In the distance, they heard the call of hunting birds searching out their prey. Small forest creatures scampered away to either sound as they passed through. Strange plants glowed in the near darkness, giving an eerie feel to their surroundings.

By midday the rain had ceased. Small droplets still dripped from the leaves high above, and the forest sparkled in the brilliant noon sunshine. They soon reached a shaded glade to rest in. The clearing, with its bright green grass gleaming with raindrops, lightened their spirits slightly. It’s enchanting feel let them forget for a moment the world they had left behind, and look towards a world that might await them. But the moment passed, and the dreary march through the damp, murky forestlands, continued. The day passed uneventfully, and by nightfall they had completed their journey through the forests on the border of their homelands. They camped that night in an open field, a few miles below the forests. Over the horizon they could see a dim outline of the mountain peaks to the south, and the farmlands to the west. It was south they were headed, intent on moving as far from the invaders as possible, to a new place, unknown to all but them, and fortified by the steep mountains that they would have to pass through.

But it will not be easy. And even there, we may not escape. But I sense that our future lies in that direction, and that direction alone, so that we have no choice but to attempt navigating the deadly cliffs and jutting peaks. Almost as if they were part of a huge game played by celestial beings, their route through life preordained, and unavoidable. It is not a good feeling, to wonder whether you actually had any control over your life. But it is one that, I suppose, must be accepted if I am to safely deliver my people without falling prey to doubt and fear. I must face all feelings and resolve them to stay strong. For if I am not strong, all hope is lost...

"People of the hills! Listen to your druid! You seek answers, yet you will not listen. Be wise, and take my advice. Stay calm and all will be well!"

They had reached the mountains two days earlier, after traveling across blossomy plains for the better part of two weeks. A young child had fallen ill from eating an unknown fruit and still had not recovered. The people were ill at rest, whispering among themselves, saying that evil spirits possessed the mountains, and that this was a sign to keep them from entering. Of course, it was fools nonsense, but the people were nervous in these foreign lands, and felt the ill fortune all the more for it.