The cries for help were coming from all
directions now, but the voice belonged to one person: Princess Cecily. Berk’s eyes were open wide with a look of
frantic excitement. He scanned his
surroundings as thoroughly as he could, choosing to rely on his eyes and trying
to ignore the deceptive pleas that would lead him astray.
He could see nothing, even with the rising sun providing him with the light he needed. The manic excitement that had gripped him just an instant ago began turning to a fearful doubt that he could feel in the pit of his stomach. What if he couldn’t find the princess? What if he couldn’t save her? No, he knew from experience that he couldn’t give way to such thoughts. He tried blocking it out and while he was mostly successful there were nagging wisps of doubt that had become rooted in his heart.
The shadow of his past failure had fallen heavy on Thaddeus Berk. But he would make up for it now. He would atone for past mistakes by saving the princess, as any true knight should and could.
He bent low to the ground, closed his eyes and put his hands under the foggy mist to touch the bare earth. He lightly felt around, seemingly haphazardly. To anyone watching, Berk’s actions would have seemed like that of a raving animal, and they would have been partially right. Berk had used techniques like this before, relying on his senses and instinct to lead him as opposed to any fathomable reason. After only a few moments, he stopped. Where everything he’d felt up to this point was dry, he came to a moist indentation in the ground. He traced the outside of the print as best he could with his fingers and made out what he strongly felt to be a footprint.
Berk opened his eyes and looked in the direction the footprint indicated. The jungle was still green and thick, only two aged oak trees - directly in front of him - stood out from the monotony of the rest of the greenery. They were covered in fetid moss with patches of black bark exposed where the moss had not choked. Towards the top of the trees, their gnarled branches formed an arch, connecting them as if they were two old men who needed to lean on each other for support. Beyond the arch, between the trees, was an open path into a darkness that even the rising sun could not illumine.
Suddenly, the calls for help that had been surrounding him began to blend together in a cacophony of discordant cries. As they reached a crescendo, they suddenly cut out, leaving a singular plea from a weak sounding voice floating on the little breeze that the intense vegetation of the jungle allowed. It was coming from the dark path that Berk was facing, and there was no doubt as to whose voice it was.
Renewed and released from his self-doubt, the mania of excitement returned to him. Without any hesitation, Berk pulled the massive round red shield off his back. He drew Fero, the heavy short sword at his hip – a beautiful weapon crafted from the ivory of the bones he’d won when he defeated the great desert leopard all those years ago. So armed, he entered the dark path without any hesitation.
He could see nothing, even with the rising sun providing him with the light he needed. The manic excitement that had gripped him just an instant ago began turning to a fearful doubt that he could feel in the pit of his stomach. What if he couldn’t find the princess? What if he couldn’t save her? No, he knew from experience that he couldn’t give way to such thoughts. He tried blocking it out and while he was mostly successful there were nagging wisps of doubt that had become rooted in his heart.
The shadow of his past failure had fallen heavy on Thaddeus Berk. But he would make up for it now. He would atone for past mistakes by saving the princess, as any true knight should and could.
He bent low to the ground, closed his eyes and put his hands under the foggy mist to touch the bare earth. He lightly felt around, seemingly haphazardly. To anyone watching, Berk’s actions would have seemed like that of a raving animal, and they would have been partially right. Berk had used techniques like this before, relying on his senses and instinct to lead him as opposed to any fathomable reason. After only a few moments, he stopped. Where everything he’d felt up to this point was dry, he came to a moist indentation in the ground. He traced the outside of the print as best he could with his fingers and made out what he strongly felt to be a footprint.
Berk opened his eyes and looked in the direction the footprint indicated. The jungle was still green and thick, only two aged oak trees - directly in front of him - stood out from the monotony of the rest of the greenery. They were covered in fetid moss with patches of black bark exposed where the moss had not choked. Towards the top of the trees, their gnarled branches formed an arch, connecting them as if they were two old men who needed to lean on each other for support. Beyond the arch, between the trees, was an open path into a darkness that even the rising sun could not illumine.
Suddenly, the calls for help that had been surrounding him began to blend together in a cacophony of discordant cries. As they reached a crescendo, they suddenly cut out, leaving a singular plea from a weak sounding voice floating on the little breeze that the intense vegetation of the jungle allowed. It was coming from the dark path that Berk was facing, and there was no doubt as to whose voice it was.
Renewed and released from his self-doubt, the mania of excitement returned to him. Without any hesitation, Berk pulled the massive round red shield off his back. He drew Fero, the heavy short sword at his hip – a beautiful weapon crafted from the ivory of the bones he’d won when he defeated the great desert leopard all those years ago. So armed, he entered the dark path without any hesitation.
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