The Second Forest III
Devon crashed through the surface of an emerald sea, the myriad sparkling gems washing away from him in a tinkling cascade. The vibrant spectrum flooded his eyesight as the second forest rolled out before him, spanning the horizon in both directions. He stumbled and swooned and would surely have toppled were it not for the firm hand on his shoulder.
His eyesight followed that limb up to the owner’s face, and an homage to the stranger stared back at him. This being was majestic and righteous and seething with purpose, where the stranger had been uncertain and aloof. They were so different, and yet, he knew them to be the same. His name was Tammer.
“Tammer,” Devon said, words and symbols weaving in his thoughts, “You worked your will upon me.”
The proud man smiled in response to his name, and said, “Nay, Bore Lord. The will was your own. I merely served as guiding star in the twilight.”
Devon staggered forward, his legs foreign and fickle beasts with whom he would need to reacquaint. He gazed at his ropy hands and forearms. They responded to his bidding but he could not claim ownership in his mind. “The memories,” he whispered, “They’re not my own.”
“They are indeed, Bore Lord,” Tammer chimed in, “They’ve merely forgotten you. But all will become clear again at forestheart.”
“I saw the second forest,” Devon continued to ramble amidst the brambles, the wooded curtain drawing nearer.
“Many a time, indeed, Bore Lord,” the musical voice said, “Ready so you were, and smashed the door down you did! Though, you could have just knocked.”
“I…didn’t know how.”
A fiery explosion echoed behind them, muffled and gruff, and a bit of fingertip went sailing through Devon as they walked. Memories flashed for an instant as he shared space with the scorched flesh: a taste of cotton candy, the heat of a wifely breast, chewing at the birth of a son, a handshake of grief at the passing of blood, the jingle of keys to a home and a car. A car. He stopped, and thought to turn around. But the second forest was almost upon them.
Forward his legs carried him, and he asked, “Why do you name me Bore Lord?”
“That, good sir,” Tammer replied, “Is a story for another time.”