[Another Day, the Same Destination]
Glida set out once more toward the great tree, as he had countless times before. Yet this time, he carried with him an unfamiliar feeling—a glimmer of hope he had never allowed himself to feel. Dreams of finally reaching his goal danced in his mind. What made the difference this time was his decision to change his path. Instead of heading northward toward the tree, as he always did, he veered westward into the depths of the forest. Why? A strange voice had whispered to him in his dreams, hinting that sometimes the straight paths lead furthest away.
He could have dismissed it as mere illusions or meaningless dreams, but he was determined to try. After all, he had nothing to lose; he had lost it all from the beginning.
The ground was grassy and damp, and the sky was clear, with the first rays of dawn glittering above. Glida's eyes were accustomed to the forest's darkness, for life here had taught him to always be alert. He leaped from branch to branch, running through the forest, disturbing the wild creatures that had just emerged to seek their food after a harsh winter. He continued his run tirelessly for nearly an hour until he reached the river that split from the green mountains to the south. Here, the river divided into two streams—one flowing eastward toward the village's center and the other northward toward the tree.
He understood the vision from his dream and chose to follow the northern stream, where he felt the air pressure decrease. He concluded also that the further north he went alongside the river from this side, the slower the stream flowed and the lighter the pressure compared to the path he had taken all those months before. Yet as he moved along, the pressure gradually weighed on his steps, each one feeling heavier than the last, but he still managed to press on and it felt lighter than the usual route.
As he walked along the slowing stream mesmerized by this new view he discovered, a herd of flame-horned deer emerged from among the trees and beautifully surprised him. They crossed the river quickly, though one doe hesitated, guiding her young as if teaching it how to push through the heaviness in the air. Glida stood still, watching with fascination as the mother instructed her young to leap. Over the years in his village, he had come to understand that the secret to surviving in the forest lay in silence—a silence that demanded stillness in his steps, his movements, and even in the beating of his heart. Here, one must stay silent or die.
The young deer leaped but only made it halfway before falling into the water. The mother cried out, calling to the herd for help, but none dared to respond. Instinctively, they knew that the river's weight and pressure here were formidable. Without a second thought, Glida broke his stillness, rushing toward the fawn, ignoring the pressure and the heavy fatigue gathering on him. The mother, startled by his sudden movement, prepared to defend her young with her fiery red horns ablaze, which could easily burn him to ash. But he jumped into the river before she could reach him, only to discover something new: the weight in the river was far greater than he had imagined.
Ignoring the pain building in his joints, he began swimming swiftly toward the struggling fawn as the waters swirled around him. Drawing close, he encountered a new obstacle—the flaming antlers of the young deer. Though young and not fully developed, they were still enough to scorch his skin. He decided to dive and push the fawn from below, challenging the water's pressure and his own physical exhaustion. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, diving, pushing, and gasping for air, but he finally managed to lift both the fawn and himself out of the water, collapsing unconscious moments later.
Another survival lesson, not respected here : never let down one's guard in the wilderness.
The weary youth stirred at midday, hours after the rescue. With great effort, he pried open his eyes, met by the sight of sunlight filtering through the verdant foliage - a natural splendor that suffused his heart with warmth. As he attempted to raise his head, he beheld the deer herd encircling him. The young fawn danced merrily among them, its recent tribulations seemingly forgotten, while the older deer in the herd watched, their demeanor one of reassurance.
Raising himself on his tired arms, he tried to piece together what had happened. How had his body moved to save the fawn without him even commanding it? A soft snort behind him drew his attention; he turned to see the mother deer, who had been so fearful and defensive that morning, sitting calmly beside him, her glowing and warm yellow antlers surrounding him protectively. He realized that she had shielded him and kept him warm as he lay unconscious.
He reached out to touch her head, but she drew back slightly before bowing to him. This was the first time a human had touched her since that one troubling encounter ten years ago. They exchanged a quiet, reflective silence until the young fawn, apparently jealous, began bouncing around them as if inviting him to play.
Struggling to his feet, Glida stumbled twice before the mother deer steadied him, while the young deer dashed around him in circles. He chuckled at the sight. Though the pressure still lingered in the air, it seemed as if his body was beginning to adapt to it, despite the strain on his muscles.
As they say, adversity either kills or strengthens a person. But in his case, it had torn his muscles to the limit. What remained could not withstand even a nudge from the fawn's fiery antlers. The mother deer admonished her young one with a gentle nudge of her own, reminding it to respect their guest. Glida lay on the ground, stretching his arms out with a smile as he gazed up at the green forest canopy veiling the sky.