Closed Exploring the Jungle

[Adoros]

Immediately upon being told that the book Adoros had been spending his afternoon reading was fiction, the young mute's eyes moved from Castor's face to the picture below. Tracing the lines of the tiger with his eyes, its ferocious snarl, the vines acting as stripes along the body; Adoros looked, and wondered if what Castor was saying was true. The book seemed so real; with each chapter, each page, Adoros felt as if he was stepping into the shoes of the various sailors and explorers that had braved the strange jungle that were so far away. Was it all a lie? When Adoros looked back up from his picture, he noticed that Castor was watching him, probably looking to judge Adoros' reaction. To put it plainly, Adoros was disappointed. Disappointed that such an eloquent piece of literature was in fact just the personal fabrication of some sod who had probably never been to the Jungles himself. Furthermore, Adoros was disappointed in himself that he hadn't caught this detail of the book earlier. Surely there had been a sign someone labeling the shelf he had browsed as fiction. Adoros was a mute, yet he acted like he was blind. Thankfully, though, he wasn't deaf either, else he would not have heard such wondrous news; this Castor was indeed going to tell him a story. And not just any story, but a story of his grandfather, who had actually explored the Falyndar Jungles in the past. He was going to hear a story of a Myrian Tiger. A real Myrian tiger. Of course, Adoros nodded with excitement radiating off of his body at Castor's inquiry on whether or not he wanted to hear the story. There were no excessive giggles or shouts of "yays" with this excitement. Just a leaning forward, eyes and ears at full attention. The chair Adoros sat it sounded throughout the library as Adoros scooted closer to the table. His fingers intertwined together, resting on the table in front of Adoros. Then, all movement ceased from the young child. Adoros was ready for the story to begin.

[Castor Riley]

Castor would have seen it written all over the boy's face, even if he weren't nodding so excitedly; he was ecstatic to be hearing a story. Castor smiled widely as he began to think back to the journal's pages that he'd pored over so dilligently. He thought to the particular story he wanted to tell today, the one where his grandfather encountered the Myrian tiger -- and lived to write about it. Without further ado, he began his tale. "My grandfather was an adventurous man. One of his greatest dreams was to travel all over Mizahar. Foremost for him among all the wondrous places of Mizahar, however, was the Falyndar Jungle. So one day, he joined a large group of journeymen and travelled with them, following the Suvan Sea's path to the ocean, from Syliras to the coasts of Falyndar. He had quite a few adventures there, but the one I'm going to tell you about today is the one where he saw an actual Myrian tiger. "It had been a few weeks since they'd arrived on those fateful shores. They began their journey in Mid-Spring, and it had been but a few days since the Watchtowers had changed to red, just like now. Their group had split up into two, one staying close to the ship, so that they would be able to leave, the other venturing deeper into the jungle, to uncover its hidden wonders. My grandfather joined the latter. He was not much of a fighting man, though there were many in his group. What he had was a natural curiosity to see all there was to see, and a talent for drawing these things. Quite like you." Castor paused, lifting the drawing of the tiger that Adoros had made. Then, he looked back to Adoros. "He saw things very differently, finding the beauty in anything." It was a shame the old man had taken all of his drawings with him when he'd left all those years ago. Castor assumed he was dead by now; there were only so many adventures he could have before he'd gone too far. Besides, since he'd left, he hadn't once sent word to him or his father. If he was alive, he wasn't a person Castor wanted in his life anyway. He shook himself inwardly as he returned to the story. "So, they travelled into the jungle for many days, and though it was dangerous, they didn't meet something the fighters of the group couldn't handle. It was a beautiful place, a beauty accented by its dangers, and they had grown used to it. One day, a wind picked up. It was hardly felt at the dense jungle floor, but the tree trunks swayed slightly as their tops were ruffled by the wind. My grandfather decided that climbing one of the trees to watch as they were pushed about would be a sight well-worth the climb. So, he armed himself with some rope, and some iron hooks and began his journey to the top. Thankfully, the thick vines covering it facillitated his journey, giving him holds to steady himself on his slow progression. Now, my grandfather was no fighter, however he had worked most of his life at the docks of Syliras, so he had some strength built up. When he'd finally climbed up, he was exhausted, but he managed to secure a makeshift sling to the tree, so he could rest comfortably, watching as the wind moved through the trees, undulating like waves. He watched this, his face pressed against the tree, the wind blowing through his hair, and he felt free from the troubles of his journey. His eyes closed, and he slept. "When he woke up, he was drenched. As is wont to happen in Falyndar in summer, the weather had quickly turned into quite the storm. The wind and water pelted him, as he clung to his tree for dear life. There was nothing he could do but sit there, in his makeshift sling, hoping he had dug the hooks in deep enough and that the rope would hold. A few bells passed in this manner, before the rain calmed into a drizzle, and my grandfather decided it was time to make his way back to the bottom; hopefully, without hurtling towards the ground. He slowly descended, but he wasn't headed towards the safety he thought he was." At this point in the story, Castor paused. The next part of the narrative was bloody and harrowing and totally unsuited for a child, really. He looked into Adoros' face, trying to determine the boy's feelings so far, while he also considered how to proceed with the tale. Sometimes the truth could be too much.

[Adoros]

Adoros was thoroughly enjoying the story, plain and simple. For the most part, Adoros could follow along with the story without difficulty. There were a few words, a few terms, that Adoros was uncertain about. The Suvan Sea was a fairly new term to the boy; Donovan had mentioned it in his own book as the body of water the sailors crossed into Falyndar, so it seems that portion of the man's book was true. Syliras was another word he had heard before, but knew little about; to Adoros, it was just a city to the west, a city he had never been to before. As to Watchtowers, Adoros hadn't a clue what they could be. Thankfully, none of them were important pieces of the story. The real excitement came in the form of Castor's grandfather exploring the Jungle. As Castor continued onward with his retelling of the events, Adoros could only feel himself connecting with the grandfather. Like this grandfather, Adoros was no fighter either; he too also saw the beauty in the world, instead of the dangers. Call it naive childish, Adoros didn't care; this grandfather knew how to look at the world. For the most part, Adoros didn't move during the story, at least until Castor got to the part where the grandfather climbed the tree. Closing his eyes, Adoros imagined himself climbing the tree himself. In his vision, though, there was no fatigue, no strain in getting up the tree. One moment, Adoros was at the Jungle bottom, and the next moment he was hundreds of feet in the air (another exaggeration by a child), staring outward at the new, strange world around him. He could hear the calls of the birds, the hollers of the residents of the trees, the roar of the tigers. Glaring sun and stinging rain, Adoros imagined it all atop his tree. And then opening his eyes, he was back in his seat in the library of Zeltiva. The child listened to the rest of the story with a growing suspense. The rain, the possibility of falling to his death below. . . this was all just building up to the real danger, to real possibility of death. There was a tiger below, Adoros was certain, and Castor's grandfather was going to face it. Adoros was going to face it. But before that happened, Castor paused, looking at the child. Was he expecting the child to ask for the story to end here? Looking back at the man, Adoros held up a single thumbs, a signal that everything was fine. Adoros wanted the end of the story, and he wanted it how it happened. No sugar-coating for this child; give him the blood and gore. Because he knew that there was going to be a happy ending. Otherwise, Castor would not have a story to tell in the first place.