DWARF IN A HOLE

Evening filtered its way through treetops stretched high nearly piercing the clouds above. All bark spied were scarred with the remnants of bird and rodent alike. Green sprouted from wooden webs, stooped low off vines, crawled along the ground the dwarf and his pet tread. They had arrived a fair distance from the fled cottage, regrettably the dwarf traveling with a souvenir atop a bald dwarfen dome. Perhaps were a natural canopy not already as all encompassing as the stout eye could see would he have appreciated the shade the scarlet bloomed mushroom offered--as it stood, he hated the thing. Worse, his worried glances towards Waspig came backed with legitimized fear--had the funguay threatened truthfully. The swinesect, meanwhile, fluttered and bounced without care.

At first the tall towers erected around the two offered much space between--this relationship soon dissipated, the dwarf faced with rising his limited limbs above logs and endless spiraling roots, trunks old and filled with life, their surfaces sporting various multicolored jewels vibrating among one another. The dwarf’s love extended to many animals, but insects caused concern. His contradiction squealed with delight chasing the forest’s tiniest denizens. Averting his gaze, the dwarf trudged on and over.

“ATHLETICS INCREASED TO 19”

“ATHLETICS INCREASED TO 20”

“ATHLETICS INCREASED TO 21”

He tired, and the dwarf’s pet too dragged its hooves. They settled down atop stumps draped in nature, their view a deep ravine running from far west to an endless east. Thick trees dominated both sides of the gap, bridges of bark high up climbable only were one as little as the legged gems, the dwarf reckoned. He did not relish the flight he and Waspig would have to undertake in order to cross. Momentarily he considered following the cliff face on either side until its length ran out, but the dwarf knew the stores left within his stomach--mushroom loaf, he regretted; the two would not make it far after. Least, were the hermit scientist in pursuit, putting a fissure between himself and the villain would do well for evasion. His fists clenched in repeated cycles. He whistled Waspig to attention and mounted the beast.

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY INCREASED TO 11”

Their runway lit with the day’s final embers, the dwarf began shifting his frame one way and another to get his feet into a running start--wheels that would gift Waspig a proper liftoff. It, keenly aware of the situation, readied its wings--an excited twitch coursing throughout. The dwarf’s toes touched the last of the wood as he and his craft swept themselves up into the air, their flight over the canyon begun. What seemed miles stretched uncountably into the distance, that edge across absolute heaven. Hundreds of similar insects, though less hog and more shroom, their shapes infinitely smaller, joined the pair--many directly in the flightpath. The dwarf shut his eyes against the rushing wind and insecticide, his beard whipping in brainless defense. He looked below deep into the black, its contents populated by his imagination--a force overworked and ceaseless. He gripped his pet perhaps tighter than necessary, fear overwritten. Nevertheless:

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY INCREASED TO 12”

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY INCREASED TO 13”

It occurred to the dwarf the horizontality maintained during takeoff had not kept steady, their destination seemingly higher and further out from reach. He pat the hog beneath him to refocus its attention, the gesture meaningless to a creature being pushed against its limits. The dwarf shook, his mind cursing for so recklessly advancing across the gorge than around, an option unblessed by ignorance and reinforced by simple, stupid logic. His pet had become so needlessly endangered when he just as well could have foraged along a journey elsewhere. Perhaps friendlier funguay--with finer tasting loaves--were a possibility. Perhaps anything other than death, the dwarf mused. The fungus atop his head resisted the unrelenting breeze firmly to his free hand’s surprise. They still sank. Quickly his eyes dispensed water to the wind and his teeth tightened. He slammed his naked heel into Waspig’s hind, the creature letting loose a harrowing squeal in response and rising sharply. The end loomed now below yet beyond evermore. But the dwarf gasped and regained his breath, brushing his animal for forgiveness. Its fluttering continued weakly.

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY INCREASED TO 14”

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY INCREASED TO 15”

While Waspig tired, its form once again stooping, the dwarf ceased his sweat confident in arriving across the ravine. Still he ran his fingers through its wild hairs, soothing his pet for its performance. Light evaporated meanwhile at a steady pace, orange and yellow overtaking green.

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY INCREASED TO 16”

Somewhat nearly within reach the opposite end drew near, its dominating treeline supporting the very ceiling of the forest. Waspig paddled like the sheep dogs of home, its wings stuttering. The distance felt possible to reach out towards. Instead he kept the tracing of his fingertips steady, his appreciation shared muffled under windy snow.

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY INCREASED TO 17”

Out from crevices ranging from bush to branch to trunk to tree a variety of sharp eared humanoids leapt and drew back their collective arms. The dwarf could not recall much of the elements before him, fast as they all entered the scene, quickly as he and his pet left it, Waspig’s muscles seizing from exhaustion and plummeting them into freefall, arrows smothering the canopy above already fast into the night’s blot. Accelerating the further they fell, the two became beaten by unrepentant branches, absorbed into a mist stained dark and all encompassing.

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY INCREASED TO 18”...

Awakening airborne, the dwarf found his stout frame launching to such wild gyroscopic motions he could not accurately ascertain above, below, east or west. Gradually the violent swaying slowed to gentle rocking. He soon realized his entangling and, thus, suspension. Around all sides nothing glinted or shined, the ravine’s continuing depths full of hostile possibilities. The dwarf spat. He heard nothing. His throat caught itself. He kicked his legs and felt wood chip away, so he grew still and listened. For a great while the dwarf hung his head in disappointment; a splash rang. The sound brought the dwarf to misty, nostalgic eyes once having escaped moss and web wrapped danger in similar echolocating fashion. He bashed the base of the tree repeatedly with exposed feet bludgeoning his soles and no doubt bleeding all down his opponent’s armor. Several more twigs and chunks and other limbs fell into the shrouded body of water below--an expectation significantly without merit, he wildly considered, the dwarf’s exposure to lethal liquid in such dangerous lands as this not remotely outlandish, his encounters having ranged from enlarged farm animals to sinister sentient shrooms. He felt atop his head: the latter’s remnants endured. The dwarf remembered the facing of his own pet as a once hostile force--he froze. All hung still. Sweat slipped between vines taut.

Where was Waspig?