The Streisand Effect [Spectra Fanfiction, book 2/3]

1 - Snowbound

'Thunk.'

'Thunk.'

'Thunk.'

The sound of an axe wedging itself into the sturdy wooden tree trunk echoed through the dense red forest. It was methodical and hit with purpose, a rhythmic pattern to it. The gaping fissure in the side of the tree grew wider and wider with each swing. Splinters flew everywhere as the dense white metallic axe head chipped away at the wood.

Over and over it swung, more and more wood being tossed aside and covering the snowy ground in little brown shards. The sound that the axe made as it hit the tree changed gradually. It became more hollow and empty as the tree came closer and closer to giving in. The sound of the wood splitting under the full weight of the tree on top signalled its demise.

A loud 'crack' rang out as the tree gave up, splitting at the thinnest point. It slowly lurched, tilting further and further until passing the point of no return and slamming into the white snow below.

The dahmak jumped out of the way just in time to avoid being turned into a carpet. He looked down at the fallen tree, taking a few moments to admire his handiwork. Where the tree once stood was now a lonely stump, barely sticking out of the ground.

Wiping a bead of sweat off of his brow, he holstered his axe and pulled the loop of kevlar rope from his belt. Tying a knot around one of the sturdier-looking branches that protruded out from the trunk of the dead tree, he swung around and hurled the rope onto his back, using his shoulder as a fulcrum.

Using all the energy he could muster, he began to slowly tread forward, pushing his way through the thick snow, log trailing behind him.

Marching through the snow, he had the opportunity to take in his surroundings once more.

The forest truly was beautiful, red and yellow trees sprouted from the ground like grass, covering the entire landscape in an autumn-like blanket. Everywhere he looked was a different shade of orange.

As the dahmak made his way back to his place of residence, something in the bright orange colour palette of the forest stuck out to him. Something that wasn't orange.

About thirty or so metres away from where he stood was a small purple shape, half buried in the ground. It had an oddly curvy silhouette and appeared as though it was slightly buried in the thick snow.

The dahmak raised an eyebrow slightly, his curiosity peaking. It almost resembled a rock with its organic design, however, the fact that it was a deep shade of purple convinced him that there was a very strong chance it wasn't just a rock.

It didn't look like a zarolow either. Zarolows had four legs and were covered in fur. They often hunted prey by laying in the snow for hours, but they weren't purple. Or that big.

The dahmak paused for a second to weigh his options. Sure, he could carry on home with his cargo and act like nothing was out of the ordinary. It was definitely the safer choice. However, there was always the possibility that whatever the purple thing was could be rather valuable. After all, purple was one of the rarer colours on Ipsimla. The planet was mainly just snow and forest.

He bit his lip slightly as he pondered. It was tempting to just ignore whatever it was. He knew better than to go meddling with things that didn't concern him. But again, the possibility of food or valuables was always present.

Architects knew he needed either of those pretty badly.

Finally, he made his choice. Keeping his eyes on the object, he removed the rope from his shoulder and slowly began to make his way towards the object. Reaching for his axe just in case, he peered over the top of a small ridge of snow.