Blurs of green flew by his head once more, mixed with the colors of the sky. He heard rustling and twigs snapping, thankfully slowing his ever-quickening descent from who-knows-where. He landed on his back, the impact still hard enough to whisk the air away from his lungs.
He had no idea what was going on. He didn't even know who he was. His head felt like an elephant stomped on it, and everything spun in his vision. Putting all his focus into the action, he sat up, palms flat to the earth. His eyes swept over his surroundings, and what he saw deepened his general disorientation.
Trees. Everywhere. Just trees and grass. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing away the panic that wanted to set in and have him running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Panic is not what this situation needs. He at least knew that much.
He focused on his breathing, counting each breath slowly. Then, after a few minutes of light meditation, it was almost as if an instinct long lost to his ancestors had come to light and the forefront of his mind. It was as if the sound the tree's leaves made in the wind was secretly a voice. Hidden in plain sight.
His legs knew what to do, almost. They knew where to go. He found himself walking south instinctually. Where that instinct came from, he hadn't a clue. He was thankful for the autopilot mode taking over, as this situation was shocking and equally challenging to process mentally. He kept focusing on numbers, counting upwards and downwards, and listing various numerical sequences. He let his legs do the rest of the thinking.
He had lost track of time. Suddenly, he found himself face to face with a set of wrought iron gates, vines weaving through the bars as if placed purposefully. He looked around and noticed the air itself looked to be. Well, it looked as if it were shimmering.
With renewed determination, he blinked a few times and shook his head as if willing to sharpen his focus. He looked closer and noticed symbols delicately carved into the gate's frame. It was easy to miss if you didn't take a second look. He noted that they were straightforward, just plain triangles. Interestingly, each triangle looked charred inside the lines, as if freshly burned.
In the center of both gates were handles that looked like golden orbs surrounded by flames of amber. For reasons unbeknownst to him, he reached out and very slowly pressed his palm firmly into the center of the handles. Immediately, the gates began to hum, causing him to yell out and jump back out of fear and confusion. The triangles began to glow red-hot as if freshly burned into the iron. There was a hum in the air as the two orbs converged into one and began to shine like the sun, causing him to shield his eyes with his hands to protect himself from any further assault on his retinas.
What started as a low hum became a scraping noise, like metal against rock. He peeked between his fingers cautiously and sighed with relief. The blinding light had vanished. He did a double-take once he realized that the gate had disappeared entirely. Where the gate had stood, the start of some path began, leading him through a thick patch of mature cypress trees. Unable to think due to a sudden onset of shock and disbelief, he stepped onto the start of the ashy path.
The ground beneath his feet looked charred and burned, crunching and crackling under his boots. He wondered if that was why there was the blinding light. He felt it must have made him a path to lead the way, burning it into the ground for him. But where to? And why? Despite the suspicious nature of the situation, his legs still carried him onward. Maybe it was the shock. Perhaps it was instinct.
He felt he had been walking for a while when he finally approached a building. It reminded him of an ancient Chinese tea house or something, he thought to himself. It was clear that this place had a color theme of red. Not a tacky bright red, but closer to a deep crimson varying in tone shades. A koi pond sat to the right of the entrance, and a fountain to the left. A few benches were around each place as if encouraging socialization and general mingling.
He walked up to the doors, and with a shaky hand, he grabbed the snake-themed door knocker and gave it three sharp knocks. Enough time passes that he's about to turn around when a lock in the door clicks, and the door opens inward.
A woman stood inside the doorway, arms crossed, eyeing him suspiciously. She had thick waves of auburn hair spilling down her freckle-flecked shoulders. Her completion reminded him of a delicate porcelain doll, making every tiny freckle on her body stand out in a pleasant and inviting contrast. He almost did a double-take at those thoughts but could maintain his composure. She was so attractive that it was almost painful to look at her because he wanted so badly to touch this woman, a total stranger. It was shameful.
He heard someone delicately clearing their throat, snapping him out of his frantically rambling inner dialogue.
"How can I help you?" She asked, tone polite yet somehow still clipped and impatient.
His mind went blank, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes, the reality of everything finally hitting him. He told the woman about his earliest memory of falling from the sky and into the forest. He told her he had no clue who he was, where he came from, where he was now, or how he got there in the first place. By the end of his recount, he felt he couldn't breathe. The woman's amber eyes studied him carefully, unreadable.
This time, her tone was softer but still guarded. "Come. We will discuss the rest of this inside, where we can sit comfortably and share a cup of coffee."
Cinnamon and nutmeg instantly assaulted his nostrils when he stepped through the doorway. It was manageable, though, pleasant, even. It was more like a very firm hug. He noticed the woman had a somewhat flowy maroon shawl on, with little golden tassels sewn along the edges. She seemed very fond of the shawl as she walked ahead of him, dancing with movements that focused on artistically swishing the sleeves.
She wore a light yellow skirt that looked rather tight- opposite the flowy shawl. She was barefoot but not without jewelry. Her ankles glittered with tiger's eye and citrine, a charm bracelet hanging down to each foot. He couldn't help but notice what a curvacious woman she was as she danced and hummed while leading him down the hallway, his cheeks burning hot at these persistent and very inappropriate thoughts.
They arrived in a vast, open room. There were red candles everywhere, lit and actively burning, making it evident as to the source of the strong cinnamon smell. Shelves lined the spacious rooms' wooden walls, much like cubby holes, but more chicly built and made to look rustic.
He noticed cacti with their red flowers in full bloom were just about everywhere and hanging vine plants hung from various spots along the windows. The room felt cozy, warm, and inviting. A pair of equally warm-looking velvet-lined couches sat in the middle of the room, shockingly modern and just as inviting as the rest. If not more. Before he knew it, he was being whisked onto it by the whimsical woman, immediately sinking back into the couch's plush cushions with a soft sigh of relief. It had been a long walk.
"Something tells me it's been a long and tiresome walk. Please let me prepare a cup of tea if you would not mind waiting here. Drink it, and your aches will be no more, and your fatigue will be lesser." It was as if she had heard his thoughts. She spoke to him in such an odd tone, almost as if she were reciting a riddle. Unsure of what to say, he nodded, biting nervously at his lip while looking down at his feet.
"I will return shortly." She responded quietly to his nod.
A light, warm breeze swept through the room right after she spoke, bringing scents of apple pie, pumpkin spice, and hints of a crackling fire. He looked up. She was gone. Curious. He spread out properly on the couch only after he took his boots off, wedging himself into the corner of the sofa where the back cushion meets the bottom cushion. It was oddly comforting to make himself feel surrounded and enveloped by the cinnamon-scented velvet. He felt himself drifting off.