"Forests are like companies; almost everyone clocks out, almost, but you only ever know if you stayed."
Such were the days of Noah, where greed led us astray, seeding ill will, vile thorns, and poisoned tongues into these once mighty lands. We failed to understand one another, unable to decipher the tongues that divided us, despite the warnings. But wealth? Wealth, we understood all too well. I remember that day vividly, like the morning star.
"Listen up!" began a captain in a hushed tone that mirrored the stillness of the approaching morning. "We've got a long journey ahead to reach our destination before the Babylonians do. Our intel suggests their reinforcements will be moving at first light."
"They won't!" yelled the captain, his fervor palpable. "See their regiment alive!" Ah, that fevered man.
"Who were you with?" My captain, whom you may know, hailed from Babylonia, our brother nation. We grieved for one another when Babylonia sought to reclaim its former glory. Many of the nations birthed were dormant, but Babylonia strove to return to its former splendor. Etemenanki was to be their beacon to the world, a testament to their king's name, yet it crumbled to dust from a simple touch. Like all things, it met its end in due time, but to them, it was a devastating blow.
"I know, that's why we're here." Hmm, well.
As time passed, Babylonia rose, arming themselves to reclaim a new hierarchy. They conquered nation after nation, city by city, plundering riches and wealth from their lands, and discovering new minerals, most notably copper. Eventually, they reached Measowian lands. My land.
"Yo, Captain Reynolds, sir. I can't breathe in this husk," said a private, his mask resembling the head of a mountain cat, causing him to gag and nearly vomit. "Just stab some holes, Lawson. That's what I did," replied another soldier.
Each of us wore a mix of camouflage pelts, blending in with the surroundings. As my father said, "If man chooses to be a predator, he must first masquerade himself as prey. That's how traps are made. But some masquerade as predators, while being prey."
"Once we near that cave," Reynolds began, only to be interrupted. "No, like this," interjected the same soldier, piercing holes into the jaw of the mask. "Once we near that cave," Reynolds attempted again but was interrupted once more. "Damn if they already got it," exclaimed the same soldier, twisting the blade and sending tears through the lion's jaw. "Watch his neck!" cautioned another.
"Once we're near that cave, Private Jackson," growled Reynolds after giving a stern stare. "We'll collide with the Far Ones nearing daybreak, hoping they took out the incoming Babylonian reinforcements on their way. We'll squish the present military that may be established. Now, move fast and sound light."
Our group of men, nearly forty of us, nodded in understanding, clutching our weapons tightly, each armed with a long metal barrel protruding from the base of a wavy patterned, shaven plank of wood.
We Measowians are a people of great ingenuity and examination, discovering niter and sulfur in our vast fields, and mastering the arts of combustion. Meanwhile, Babylonia tamed many beasts of the field through hundreds of volunteers and engineering developments. "Yes, I've seen. And used."
Even so, our homeland rushed to arms with the discovery of our strategic riches, leading to ages of strife forewarned by Daniel's cry, neglecting their homes and bringing devastation to life.
Silently moving through the dense underbrush, Jackson stumbled and fell, staining his dark leather brown kneecaps in green grass. "Ugh," he grunted in frustration. Jackson, once an experienced artist in portraiture, now bore only X-shaped scars. From onto the ground, he saw a bright orange flower blooming amidst the dark damp green field "What an intricate orange with a bright yellow center, gotta stash it!" Pulling out a shiv, he cut the stem of the orange flower.
Reaching out his arm, he grabbed onto his comrade, pulling him out and emerging with grass-stained blood. "This is a neat green, gotta collect that too," he muttered to himself.
The men, nearly forty in number, marched through tiny droplets of rain as they lifted their legs from the sloshing mud. Above them, a dark grey blanket hung high in the night sky, yet to be overtaken by the nearing morning.
Even in darkness, outlines of forest trunks with their hairy arms reached out like highways, facing the men in every direction they turned.
"They look like faces," remarked one of the men.
"I've seen one with a head sticking out of it and what appeared to be a long lock of hair flowing from its cranium," added another.
The men traversed through the forest, their whispers, snaps of twigs, and splashes joining their march along the silent trail, gradually ascending a hill that rose several feet.
"Oh, I've heard of those," said a voice from the group. "Apparently, a body was buried underneath with a tree sapling placed atop it. The tree consumes the corpse's nutrients, merging with it as it grows."
"That's not what I meant." Replied the soldier.
Branches intertwined against the soft gusts of wind, and there were no chirps, only the occasional hoot that added to the forest's eerie isolation. From further within the forest, a lone coyote howled into the night, its call unanswered.
"Damn," muttered one of the men.
"What tree would you want to be buried underneath?" asked another.
"An apple oak, because I'm just that juicy," joked a third.
"I'm going to burn every apple tree I find," retorted someone else.
Their captain interrupted the banter. "Turquoise, you're up!" he ordered.
"Aye sir," responded a group of five, including Jackson, as they hunched low with their long rifles strapped behind their backs, beginning to crouch forward step by patient step. From their bag, they withdrew a hooked bit of long rope. "Here goes!" exclaimed the scout, rapidly spinning the hook round and round before throwing it up the rugged rocky-faced hill. *Clink.*
"Good haul," they each remarked as they rose from their single-file line and began to ascend.
"Lawson, start tying down ropes," ordered Jackson. Lawson, once a rowdy class clown, now diligently withdrew multiple coils of rope and hammered down pikes, tying each rope around seven established pikes before throwing the long piles of rope down the hill.
As Jackson surveyed forward of the rocky-faced hill, he declared, "It's clear." The message was relayed by the scouts one behind another until it reached the main group.
As the men climbed up one by one, the scouts relayed, "Keep," passing the message along until it reached Lawson, who remained behind to keep the army from continuing forward.
"Keep," whispered Lawson.
"Keep," echoed Captain Reynolds.
Jackson began crawling and inching through the rocky dirt to the edge of the hill. "Lay low," he instructed.
"Neigh, huff!"
"You hear that? They got horses."
"Tsk!"
Below the hill, warm orange burning torches illuminated the camp, with lanterns hung upon strings from tents tied to neighboring trees, accompanied by a soft campfire. From the mouth of a wide open mound, men emerged, armed to the teeth.
"At least they lit up their encampment," remarked a scout.
"Not 'at least,' it's a damn shame!"
"Look, they're going spelunking already. They've got on little yellow hats with lights coming out of them? What the hell is that, a portable head lantern?"
"Yeah, but worse, they're strapped. Those two have rifles."
"Are you fu—!"
As the rest of their men climbed up, they overwhelmed Lawson after ascending and began spreading further out from that flat passway at the top of the rocky hill. "Hey, hold up!" said Lawson, attempting to halt their advance, but his voice was drowned out by the urgency of their movement.
"Everyone, halt!" loudly whispered Reynolds, trying to assert control, but they continued pushing forward through the trees.
Snap.
"What was that?!" exclaimed a scout, looking back in alarm.
Click, click, click.
Whoosh!
Whew!
Shank!
"Arghh!"
Shank!
Shank!
Shank!
Screams echoed through the air, reaching all over, and the skies bore witness to their distress.