Rimwick

The Wind Tree

I start walking- well, hiking through the snow- when I feel a wet nose nudge my leg. Roman. The Wolf.

"What do you want?"

He turns, pointing his body towards the woods but angling his head at me.

"You want me to come with you?"

He pushes his head towards the trees.

"Alright. We'll team up but I'm in charge, got it?"

Roman licks my leg and I follow him through the forest. What would be really great is to do this on my own, but I don't want to get lost in the huge winter forest. At least he seems to know his way around. Besides, I kind of like Roman's sass.

He leads me to a spot where the snow drips from the branches like water from a faucet. It's darker out here, the breeze parting the night in spooky rivulets. I hug my jacket tighter around myself as Roman aims his long nose at a particular tree. It's bark is ashy black, a very different color from the tan shade that adorns most of the forest, and odd, lacy ridges run across the edge of the leaves. All of this, however, is secondary to the tattered gray string tied around a branch maybe six feet above my head. It's not exactly a ribbon; it's more of a piece of yarn, drifting along with the lazy pattern of the breeze.

"Just get the ribbon?" I ask. The word 'ribbon' floats through the air and bumps the tip of my nose. The cursive calligraphy curls itself into the shape of the string tied to the tree, then flickers out into the air and vanishes.

Roman nods and pushes his head towards the strangely dark tree.

"Alright," I grumble. "I'm going."

I set my boot against the base of the tree, preparing to climb up it, but as soon as my fingers brush against the bark a sudden wind whips up, propelling me backwards with it's impetus. I skid against the snow, letting go of the tree... and the wind stops.

"What the...?"

Okay, so it's definitely not the strangest thing I've seen here. The wolf boy and the girl made out of smoke are so far taking first prize in the weird department. But I'm getting a little sick of all this unexpected magic.

I touch the tree again, with my boot. No wind. I try it with my finger, and a storm picks up from nothing, throwing me backwards again.

Standing up and brushing my pants off, I address Roman. "Did you know about this?"

He doesn't say anything.

"Will you try touching the tree?" I ask.

He whimpers, backing away.

"Quit being such a baby."

I grab his ear- yes, the ear of a wolf, like I'm some big mama canine- and drag him to the black tree. As soon as he touches it, we're both blown backwards.

Roman the Wolf glares at me, which isn't nearly as intimidating as it should be. I ignore him.

"Ladder!" I touch the word, and a wooden ladder forms, shimmering in the air. It's hazy, like a hallucination. When I try to stand on it my foot slides through the color. The image shrivels up and disappears.

"Some power you are. Okay, next plan. The tree... I can put my boots against it. But not my fingers. So maybe..."

I sit down on a boulder. The surface is slick with snow, but it will work temporarily. Shivering in the cold, I yank off my boots, and then my socks, slipping them over my hands. Then I take the socks off because I forgot that I have to tie my shoes back onto my feet. I do so, replace the socks, and stamp through the snow to the tree.

It works. If I'm careful not to let my bare skin brush against the bark, I can climb without a wind blowing me back. Roman howls in approval as I begin to ascend the tree. Reaching the branch, I slither across it and grapple for the ribbon. It's no use. I can't untie the string with my trapped hands.

Carefully, I peel of the socks and gingerly start to untie the string without letting my cold fingers touch the tree.

"Got it!"

I grin as Roman growls happily beneath me, then reach for the socks I perched on a tree branch. My movement is too cursory and my fingers fumble, slipping as they grab at the cotton fabric and brushing the branch instead. It's only one, brief moment, but it's enough.

All around me, the wind picks up. I'm clinging to a lifeboat branch in the middle of a cyclone, whipping furiously back and forth in the sea of raging air. I can't see, can't hear, can't feel anything except the churning tornado.

And then, a tunnel parts. It's the eye of the storm- all around me, the wind howls violently, but right in front of my face a summer breeze blows steadily. With it come words, glowing like the ones I say, but much brighter.

The winds are changing, Keeper.

Then the tunnel closes and the storm blows me out of the strange, ash colored tree.