Lure

“Heath, wait for me!”

Maybe this was a bad idea.

It has been a full day since we departed Elrus, and the journey is already taking its toll on Caio. My young, eager companion is hardly accustomed to life on the road, and he has been struggling to match my pace. To be fair, the dense forest north of the capital city is hardly the best place to cut one’s teeth on rugged travel, and hiking through this heavy underbrush has me exhausted as well. Still, his company has been a welcome change and I can’t help but admire his determination as he continues to press forward.

Hours have passed since we last saw sunlight. The lush, emerald-green canopy above greedily lays claim to every beam, stray rays only intermittently breaking through to feed the voracious growth at the forest floor. This is a woodland largely untouched by man. Crowded, towering trees stand guard, gnarled and weathered branches outstretched like the wings of immense falcons, shielding this land from the avarice of mankind since time immemorial. Wading through this sea of foliage, one cannot help but feel like a trespasser, each step violating this unspoiled fortress of nature.

Though unwelcoming of man, an aura of tranquility and peace saturates the air. The melodic babbling of a stream in the distance, the delicate singing of birds high above…it is no wonder the Elran court sorcerer chose to make this place his home. Far from civilization, it is the perfect setting to focus on one’s research undisturbed…and if the rumors about this area are true, there is no shortage of uncatalogued, enchanted creatures to observe.

These woods occupy a strange place in local legends. Viewed with both reverence and distrust, they say this forest harbors more than mere beasts. Organized, intelligent societies are said to call this land home…beings who wish to remain hidden, only revealing themselves to those they deem worthy. Perhaps I put too much stock in such tales, but I can’t shake the feeling we are being watched. Rustling in the branches above, the fluttering sound of insect-like wings…could it be…?

“There it is!” Caio’s excited voice rings out, slicing through the quiet air and diverting my attention to the structure in the distance.

A small, cobblestone hut stands in a narrow clearing, gray smoke billowing from a thin chimney in its thatched roof. It is a welcome sight to see the sun; light pours down around the cottage, raining warmth on the vibrant vegetation below. Thick vines encase the side of the building, large orange flowers hanging heavily from each slender tendril. A small garden next to the house grows an array of brightly colored, exotic-looking herbs. Reagents for spells and potions, no doubt—a telltale sign we have arrived in the sorcerer’s domain.

As we step into the clearing, warm afternoon air floods into my lungs, the scent of pollen and smoke tickling my nose. A heavy silence hangs over this place. Gone are the rustles and murmurs of the forest; here there is nothing but a smothering blanket of absolute stillness. Deep in the bowels of the forest, this is true isolation.

Approaching the hut, a curious scene becomes apparent. The orange, trumpet-shaped flowers hanging from the vines are wet—slick with a heavy, honey-like substance. The nectar slowly dribbles from each bloom, pooling into a gooey puddle at the cottage base below. Caio and I exchange confused glances, stepping in for a closer look.

“Does that smell like…?” he starts.