Wild

Chapter 18

'Ok that's it. today is the day. I'm going to talk to George.' Dream set down the whetstone he was holding with a little more force than necessary. For two day now absolutely nothing has happened, it was infuriating! It was like everything was in some kind of limbo state. Wilbur seemed to be waiting for George to do something and George had decided the best thing to do was ignore everything. So that left Dream to try and keep himself busy with pointless tasks while he waited for the nonexistent other shoe to drop. Usually he was fine with a little bit of peace now and then, but this wasn't peaceful at all. It felt like he was constantly on edge, waiting for something to happen.

He was sitting in the garden again today. There was something calm about this place, like a bubble of peace against the strange tension in the house. It's why he seemed to always end up back here everyday, sitting in his favorite spot. There was this patch of moss that grew under the shade of a leafy bush near the center of the garden. It was always cool under its cover, the shade allowing the soft moss to grow undisturbed. But this also lets another kind of plant grow, mushrooms! Sturdy mushrooms of red and brown grew out of the moss in clusters.

His favorite was a soft red mushroom that grew taller than the others by just a bit, casting its own small shadow under its ring. He liked to sit on the mushroom top with the small whetstone block he brought with him, and just sharpen his sword for hours. Sometimes he dozed off in the cool shade, with the birds singing away far above. It wasn't uncommon for George to show up either, spending almost as much time as Dream in the garden. He never saw Dream, hidden away under the leaves as he was. But Dream saw him, would see him sit in the center of all the wild plants and just keep picking away at the weeds.

After the first couple times Dream had stopped his nerves from showing up when George was around. He could see George was there the same as he was, just enjoying the peace of the quiet garden. So he learned to enjoy the company, even if the other didn't even know he had company.

So here he was again, sitting on the mushroom and sharpening his blade. George had shown up a few minutes ago, picking at the weeds like usual. Dream barely looked up from his sword when he felt the familiar vibrations in the ground, or the shadow that passed over his spot. He didn't need to look up to know George was there, he had been around him long enough to recognize his presents.
But today he just couldn't get back to his absent minded task. No, today his patience for the tension was wearing thin. So he decided today was the day he was going to talk to George. Somehow this decision didn't bring him as much trepidation as he thought it would.

Dream slipped the whetstone into his bag as he stood up on the mushroom. He could see George a little ways away picking at the ground, having that same faraway look in his eyes. Good, that means it'll be easy to get to him without being spotted early. Dream carefully slid down the mushroom and landed on the soft moss with a quiet thud. He slowly made his way over the uneven ground, stumbling whenever the ground squished down further than expected. He sighed in relief when he made it out of the moss and into the flickering light under the bush. He could see the wall of leaves far above his head, with the soft green leaves glowing with the sun's rays. The light flickered through the gently shifting leaves, casting a splash of speckled shadows over the ground.

Dream looked away from the glowing leaves above, looking instead at the shadowed path in the underbrush. The ways of traveling through the garden were way less laid out then the houses, being more improvised than planned. That's why it was such a risk to travel through overgrown areas, you never know what's hiding under the leaves. He put a hand over his sword on his waist, sending the dark path a cautious look. The moment he entered the underbrush he felt the change, like he entered an entirely new world.

He couldn't see far ahead of him at all with the thick roots and vines covering nearly everything. There were tunnel-like spaces between the roots that he walked along, paths something much bigger than he made. He liked to think things like field mice or the occasional rat made the paths, something less intimidating. The sun barely penetrated the thick plant cover, leaving it in ominous dim light. He found himself stumbling on oddly angled roots far more than he usually would. His steady pace through the roots was only slowed when he noticed how dark it was getting, much darker then it was supposed to be. In fact; this path should have ended a long time ago.