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You wake, lying in the dirt. Under your palms the earth is soft and pliant; your fingers flex, and bury into the soil. Its coolness is a soothing satisfaction. The old, brittle oaks hang high above you, disappearing into the night - but so does something else.
From the foliage it emerges, in all its massive grandor and spindly limbs, stooping down low to regard you. You aren’t prepared for the way it crowds and occupies the empty space above you; its torso hangs heaving, its breath a loud, deep rasp that shakes the air as it expels it. You are keenly aware of the way its long arms drape like dead weights, their hands resting heavily against your thighs.
It whispers something you can’t quite catch, and you are unknowingly tricked into moving closer to the hood of it so you may hear. But when it speaks again it is so foreign and incomprehensible that it leaves your mind reeling as it tries to grasp onto something it can make sense of. One of its arms curls around your neck in an attempt to brace you, its knuckles gently pressing into the back of your skull as it continues to whisper in your ear. Each word feels like a scrape against the back of your teeth, and your mouth tingles sickly.
It seems sympathetic to the disoriented state it leaves you in, treating you as tenderly as it does. Its hand comes to cup the swell of your cheek and dirt smears against your skin where its fingers brush against. When it grows quiet, you turn to look back at it. Its attention is currently caught by its own calloused finger tracing the shape of your lip, an almost ghost of a touch.
It utters a single word and suddenly you’re at a loss of breath, air rushing out from your lungs as something sharp burrows into your chest. Your hand comes to grip at a wrist, finding that the fingers of the other hand have dug deep into your chest and are only digging deeper. As you keel forward, it tips what might have passed for its head against your own, free hand coming to rest as a present weight on the back of your neck as you wheeze harshly, gasping for breath. It murmurs, croaks conveying sympathy, but urging you on through the pain.
You wheeze, struggling to suck in enough air, but nothing sticks and your lungs feel like they’ve been rung out dry. All you can do is try to steady yourself as you heave, but it’s put you in a vulnerable state.
The creature’s hands are on you, stern and reprimanding. Shaping you into a form that it finds fitting. It guides you into a proper kneeling position until you are hunched over the ground, shaken and sick with the thought of the foreign puncture into your chest. It tucks your arms underneath you and cradles your hands within its own.
Blood pours from the open wound on your chest and pools in the cup of your palms. But where you think it should be a rich colour, it is dark and brown, dripping with some form of excrement, and your throat stings with the unpleasant taste of bile.
You keen, a trembling noise escaping you as you cry. The creature is quick to cover you with its pseudo human form, arms draped along your back, enveloping you in it’s embrace. It mourns with you, its sound a devastating intensity that quakes through you–
You’re thrust awake and that mourning sound wails into the night, engulfing you in its bellow. Someone’s screaming, crying out, but the noise is drowned out by the other, the one that pinches your eardrums.
When it finally ends, you lay in your sleeping bag, too shaken to move, each sound emitted by the woods around you suddenly too loud for the sensitive state that you’ve been left in. There’s nothing but the shambling sounds of people scrambling against the restraints of their tent, calling out to anyone who would answer. Only four voices respond. There should be seven of you.
You don’t leave your tent that night. The group you are with spend a couple hours acting frantic, before settling down into hushed arguments. Someone comes and checks on you, but you say your fine, though you spend the rest of the night huddled in the corner of your tent, simply listening to yourself breath. It sounds a bit laboured, you think.
You don’t move until the morning, until you see the paper thin walls around you brighten with the light of day. But it never comes. When you finally force yourself to peer out of your tent, it’s still dark out, a rolling mist passing through the sparse trees surrounding your encampment. It almost feels too heavy, the fog, and you settle to swallow the sick that threatens to pour out of you.
The group decides to leave the tents behind and set out as early as possible. You’re just given enough time to gather what supplies were left behind, but there’s nothing useful. You’ve maybe gained an extra snack bar and a walking stick. At least you’ve got something to swing.
Both of the guides that had brought your group into the woods on this excursion were dragged off during the night. None of you having any actual hiking experience - there was a trail that you were supposed to stick to. How did you even end up in the woods, you wonder. You’re surrounded by a bunch of young adults whoever never spent a night in the woods by themselves. Which doesn’t bode well for you, because you certainly haven’t either.
The rest of the day is spent wandering through the woods, trying to get the smallest amount closer to the lodge. Every so often someone will call out the name of one of the missing party members. Their voices don’t echo, though- the moss and shallow bark seemingly swallowing up the sounds. Every so often you think you might hear something. A sound that shouldn’t be there. You try to concentrate, listen to how many footsteps you can hear but it doesn’t make any sense when you really think about it, and you can’t hear over your own breathing.
Someone you don’t remember the name of glances back at you at one point, then stops. They’re worried. You’re bleeding, they say. You’re bleeding? You look down, noticing that underneath your coat you can just make out the sign of something that doesn’t match the colour of your shirt. Unzipping your jacket, you find that the entire front of your shirt is matted with a giant stain of dried blood.
Someone asks what happened. You had a dream, you say, but it was just a dream. There appears to be a couple of holes in your chest, however. They aren’t small holes.
Where there was once a festering wound of broken emotion, nursed for years, now gone overnight- the hollow ache finally abated. In its place, this mark, five open wounds for the hurt to pour out.
The thought is a comfort.
You can’t remember when the woods started to become more dense, but the number of trees has certainly increased. The group has decided to take a moment and squabble over the next course of events. Someone wants to climb a tree, try to get a better idea of the area, maybe throw themselves off and end their misery in the process. Whatever’s more convenient.
You’re eyes ache as the tree lines blur, becoming one long wall of peeling bark. You weave through the trees, trying to space them apart. You’re bored, and the group is near. You won’t lose them easily.
Rounding on one particular tree, your eyes catch a break to the pattern. Someone stares back at you.
You just about wretch.
Someone from the group finally hears you calling out and they come to gather alongside you. They don’t understand at first- the trees are a disorienting illusion. They’re silent at first, not sure what they’re looking at. Someone starts to cry. One of the boys actually does wretch.
We need to leave, someone finally says, frantic. Someone responds by shouting, as if it wasn’t obvious enough, and then they’re all yelling at each other. The seventh hiker stares on blankly, and you think there’s no way anyone could have impaled them that high.
The shouting comes to an abrupt stop as everyone’s heads snap in the same direction, and suddenly there’s an overwhelming hush that falls over the forest. Something had snapped, too loud over the voices. The woods remain unmoving, however, until they’re not.
It’s almost as though a tree has uprooted itself and surged forward, but you don’t stick around to find out. Everyone’s broken off into a sprint, crashing against trees as they scramble to get away from whatever is in pursuit. A deafening, garbled sound rings out, shortly followed by the sound of trees that come crashing down. Someone screams ‘Fuck off!’ in response.
You pick up speed once the forest hits a decline, and suddenly you’re flying down a hill. Someone screams, only to be cut short by a rough, guttural squelch and then there’s a body that goes sailing high above you. Your step falters and you almost come to a complete halt at the display, but then you happen to glance over and your eyes lock with a creature of massive size that’s currently matching your pace. Your heart falters, and your legs threaten to give out.
Distracted, you lose your footing as you trip over a mangled root. You’re weightless only for a moment before the ground comes rushing to meet you. You collide hard, body aching on impact. The world continues to spin as you lie motionless on the ground floor. Something comes trotting into your line of sight, stooping down low to get a good look at you as it passes by, but you can’t make it out properly as your vision continues to swim. In the distance, you hear someone scream.
It takes you longer than you’d like, but you make an effort to drag yourself to safety, even if it’s slow and dirty and there’s not really anywhere for you to go. As long as you keep moving you can save yourself, you think.
The forest floor levels out, and not too far away the ground dips into what looks like a creek. It’s not much, but it’s cover.
The cliff side is shallow and the dirt crumbles underneath your weight, letting you ride down easy into the cover of the creek. You sit on the bank, trying to catch you breath but it’s wheezing and even more laboured than it was when you first woke up earlier that day. Your coat is covered, your sleeves are full of dirt, and you’re just about ready to cry. But you have a moment to yourself and you try not to lose your mind despite everything.
It’s quiet again. You don’t hear the struggles of the people you once knew, nor do you hear the creaking of broken bark. It’s just the stream and your own breathing, now. You know you can’t stay here forever, but you’re just about miserable and shaken enough to try.
The dirt that’s collected in your coat has driven you to your wits end, and you shed the layer of clothing in a fit. Your shirt’s been ruined since you started bleeding on it, but the fabric and dried blood scrapes against your skin, leaving you uncomfortable and agitated so you remove that as well.
As much as the thought of what might be in the water makes your stomach churn, you also wouldn’t mind a quick rinse of cold water. You submerge your ruined shirt in the stream and use it to wipe away the blood and grim, taking care around the wounds on your chest. You don’t think you can feel better after what happened today, but you feel just the slightest bit refreshed.
Once you’ve finished wiping yourself down, you wring out the piece of fabric before pocketing it in your coat. You doubt the thing hunting you is going to care for human decencies.
You wear your coat open as you follow the uneven embankment, trying to quietly navigate loose stones and pebbles. The sound of your own footsteps makes you wince, and you try to quell your rising anxiety. But every movement has you on guard and you eye the trees overhead fretfully.
You break out of the shelter of the shallow bank and rejoin the rest of the woods, toeing the rubble of upturned roots and dirt that have been torn up by whatever’s been tearing through the forest. If you’re careful, its tracks might lead you to what might remain of your group. If you can avoid finding the creature instead. The thought is incredibly stupid, but you don’t have any other.
When the sun finally breaks through the clouds, it’s setting. You’ll only be allowed a few minutes of golden light before it’s dark again, and you’re not sure what the night might bring this time. It can’t be any worse than what you’ve already experience, you think. It’s a pathetic attempt at hope, but you’ve been walking for hours on edge that you just want it to finally be over with.
If everything had gone according to plan, if nobody had gotten lost or stirred whatever ancient and malvoyant creature that resides in these woods, it would have been a lovely hike. At this point you think you might just be avoiding the inevitable and enjoying just wandering through the woods.
Something rustles behind you and your heart stops as something ghosts past your ear, tangling with your hair. And that’s it, isn’t it?
And just for a moment, you see how the creature looks in the sunlight. For all it’s jutting spines and mangled limbs, it has all the natural grace of a predator and regality only reserved for the most ancient and tried creatures. And here it holds you steady, its hands cradling your face, forcing you to gaze upon it in all of its might and wonder. You want to speak, to tell it that it has you from here to forever, but you feel like you lack the means to properly communicate it.
It’s knuckles graze softly against your cheek in parting as it rises to its full height, limbs creaking and bristling as it assumes a very particular stance. You stand at a lost, neck straining as you try to take in all of the creature. It bristles, and you think that you might be trying its patience. But than you think you’ve seen this all before, and that it’s shown you how to pay tribute with guiding hands.
Kneeling down, you curl into yourself, hands held out in supplication and head rest against the mossy earth. It chitters joyfully, letting loose a bellow of grating thunder that shatters against the surrounding oaks, shaking the foliage overhead. You tremble as it passes through you, delighting in the rumble that follows. Soon there are hands urging you to sit back so that they can roam your face, caressing each curve inquisitively, toying with the length of your hair.
You let out a breathy laugh, delighting in this new found appreciation. They are massive and deserving of so much love, such as you are.
Its hands smooth down the length of your neck, brushing past the open jacket and suddenly you’re anxious, but not unpleasantly. You don’t know how much to expect from this god being, how foreign and familiar the two of you might be. They knuckle idly at your ribs, fingers curling around to hold your torso in hand. You try to ignore the fact that your core clenches slightly at the mere brush of a thumb against your perk nipple, but as it doesn’t retreat, instead focusing on toying with your breast, you think its behavior might be intentional after all.
It leans forward, crowding the space between you and firmly pushes you until you’re lying back against the ground. You feel the hot, damp breath of the creature against your cheek and instinctively bare your neck. Lips ghost your jawline and a thick, steaming appendage draws a wet line against the pulse point in your throat. You gasp, turning back to look at them with a heavy gaze. One of your hands has come up, brushing against the hood of its face before you stop, remembering your place under it.
It makes a noise of encouragement as it leans forward and you are eager to press your lips against its own. It huffs, delighted, teeth grazing your lower lip in its haste. You know no harm will come to you. Your lips part, tonguing playfully at their teeth and suddenly something even larger than your own comes pressing forward. It is, to say, a mouthful, and you let out a small whimper as their tongue curls against your own. You find that it is delighted when you attempt to suck on the much larger appendage, eagerly pressing further in to the point of overwhelming. Whether it’s aware of your own limitations or not, it certainly pushes them and you nearly gag on the length of them.
You are very aware of how much tongue withdraws from your mouth and your mind wanders to other things as it moves to your neck, grazing your collar with its teeth. It proceeds further until its breath is on the swell of your breast, its tongue toying with the nipple. An arm wraps around under your waist as it takes it into its mouth, sucking lightly while its other hand creeps into the waist of your pants.
You squirm as you feel a digit press against your core through your underwear, only to realize that it struggles with the barrier. It grumbles as it continues to toy with your sex through the fabric, thumb brushing against your clit before it does away with the execution of tact and digging the heel of its palm to grind against your core. You push back, its harsh grazing giving you more than enough substance to find your pleasure from and you sigh, just basking for a moment in the relief it brings you as it presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
You gently drape on arm over the back of its neck as it goes about sucking on your breast and rubbing your clit. You would ask, politely, if it may give you more, but you’re unsure of how much more you’re actually prepared for. Instead, with what restraint you can muster in this sort of situation, you lean back, hoping to detach yourself from its embrace, only for a quick moment.
It dogs your retreat by smothering its face further into your chest, sucking harshly at your sore peaks as it arms wind themselves around your waist. You try to communicate your intentions, but even they are incomprehensible, words stumbling into one another as you falter under its sensations.
It peels back enough to regard you with an interested stare, and when your hands move to unbutton your pants it becomes even more engrossed. You don’t make it far as you attempt to shimmy out of your pants; once it’s discovered the gained ground its received, it already moves in to claim it. Hot breath washes over your core, heating it in turn as you squirm at the implication. The first brush of its tongue is hampered by the thin fabric that still clothes you and you can’t help the frustrated and startled moan that leaves you.
It is insistent with its inquisitive scenting, enough that you struggle to pull the fabric aside for it to access what its after. When its tongue finally brushes against your flesh you can’t help but cry out, involuntarily letting go of the fabric before it can proceed further but this time it knows.
Its teeth briefly scrape your skin before it snaps the cradle of your underwear with a swift, harsh snap of its head.
Its tongue is immediately on you soon after, so hot on your slit that you let out a cry, hips tilting to get away. It doesn’t let you get far, however, taking hold of your still trapped legs until they have nowhere to go except tangled over its shoulder. The fur on its stag like body tickles your feet, and you squirm, but they hold you down. It doesn’t take its time with this; rather, you’re overwhelmed by its eagerness as it drinks all of you in. It is unyielding to your involuntary jerking, tongue pressing hotly against your clit before enveloping it with its lips to suck and wonder at its flavor. Its arms have folded over your stomach and weigh heavy as it buries further into you.
Its tongue creeps between your lower lips, dipping its tip just shy of your opening. You make soft noises at it, hips squirming as it discovers something it might dip into. You’re unprepared for the way it proceeds, a cautiousness that begets the burning need that pains you as the thickness of its tongue stretches you open, slow as it presses forth. When it discovers its safe to proceed without worry, its exploration doubles in its effort.
The length of its tongue slides in easily, and your body careens in response. It holds you steady, pressing in heavy strokes as it tastes you. It’s thick enough that it fills you, but it yields when your walls try to clutch at it. The tip curls against the upper wall, dragging on its way out and you can’t help but cry. It isn’t dissuaded from its task and you’re soon sobbing as it maintains the rhythm it takes you at, sloppy and burning with a delightful intensity that turns your core to molten.
It is unsympathetic to your desperate rutting in release, one hand holding you hard to the forest floor as its tongue presses even harder into you. You choke on your sobs, wailing into the night as you continue to cum under its care. When it finally withdraws, its to press one forearm under the croak of your knees and press them further back as it licks the mess that’s become of your pussy, tongue lapping continuously at your clit as you cringe at another building climax. Through gritted teeth you can do nothing but endure the way your core clenches on nothing but your crux of your pleasure sings with euphoria.
It continues long after you’ve been sated. Continues until you’re a hampered, quivering mess, laid to rest on the forest floor. You don’t even realize when it’s finally relented in its hunger, lying limp with your legs still tangled haphazardly in the sleeves of your pants. When its hands finally come to brush the hair out of your face, you merely flinch before finding comfort in the caress that follows. Your vision is hazy and you are exhausted, but when its arms come to help you stand, you allow it, only conscious enough to fix your clothing before you lean into its embrace, sleepy and sated. There’s a pleasant rumble from the creature and without realizing it the grounds slips away as you’re scooped up into its arms and it carries you away.