With every step, branches gently brushed against her arms, coaxing her deeper into the forest. Cleo didn't pay attention to where she was going. She trusted the forest, with all its tall trunks and small ferns, for it was gentle. It seemed to cradle her in its boughs and leaves, and it had since she was a child.

Years ago, the villagers had found her in the jungle, hidden behind a stone, surrounded by flowers and thorns. On the edge of the trees' domain, of course, as the people of the village would never venture far past the treeline, no matter how helpful their hearts were. Fear was a poison, but one that gave her the jungle and the jungle her.

She was alone in the presence of the thick forest. So she went where it guided her.

Soon, Cleo emerged in a clearing. The sky was barely visible through the thick canopy overhead. Branches arched overhead, and trunks reached for the sky around her, blocking out the clearing from the rest of the world. Cleo looked around, letting her gaze travel over the normal features of the jungle. She had a vague memory of. . . no. She didn't. The jungle had never brought her here before.

Something was disrupting the flow of the jungle, she realized. Some unknown feature of the scene in front of her in which the shadows were too deep, too black, too hungry. Someplace where the air drew cold and tight. Something that didn't sit right.

With wary thoughts boiling in her mind, Cleo decided to move farther into the clearing to investigate. She had to know what was up with this part of the jungle. To find what was causing the feeling of. . . wrongness. A true horror movie protagonist choice.

Soon, Cleo stood in the center of the clearing. Trees stood around her, sheltering her, but also to shelter something from her. With a growing feel of frustration, her eyes narrowed and her teeth ground together. What was going on? What didn't her instinct like? What was giving her goosebumps and putting her on edge?

Cleo couldn't figure it out. Cleo didn't like that.

But the jungle had never misled her before. And so, she looked around once more. Eyes accustomed to the jungle searched the shadows.

And- there. Her eyes strained to piece together the vague outline.

A figure. Someone was here.

Cleo froze, heart rate increasing, instincts screaming at her to freeze, or maybe run- but first stay still, stay still, but we might wanna run, that'd be good too- Who was this person? Why were they here? Were they dangerous? Was it just the wind? A mob? Some traveller from an unknown land keen on wiping out her village's population?

After a full minute of arguing internally with herself, she realized something. The person wasn't moving.

"Huh?" The question slipped past her lips unwillingly, and she stilled again, but the figure showed no signs of moving.

And so, in yet another very wise moment of hers, Cleo moved toward the person. Hesitantly, at first, but then curiosity overcame cautiousness. "Why aren't you moving?" She muttered, more to herself than to the other person, because if they weren't showing any signs of movement, they probably wouldn't be talking either.

Soon, the answer became apparent. Soon Cleo was within a few feet of what had now revealed itself to be the figure of a man, ready to run if a reason presented itself, with one hand resting on the handle of the small dagger strapped to her belt. Her thoughts made her flighty, almost like a rabbit that knew it was being hunted. Cleo reached the man, close enough to make out his most apparent feature.

The figure in front of Cleo was made out of stone. Andesite was her first guess, but she couldn't be sure, not with the setting sun stealing away the light she needed to make out details. With a start, she backtracked; oh look, the sun is setting. Not too much of a surprise, as she hadn't started her trek early in the day, but still not a pleasant discovery.

Cleo grabbed the pre-made torch from her belt, something similar to the ones every citizen of the village made sure to carry around. Tree pitch and fabric at the end, ready to be lit.

Fishing around in her pockets while keeping both eyes on the statue in front of her was hard. Soon, Cleo retrieved both her flint and her fire striker, folding her fingers around the objects as she jabbed the torch into the ground. She cleared the foliage in the near vicinity so a wildfire wouldn't roar to life. Focusing on creating a light for herself was a good distraction from the mystery in front of her.

Sure, Cleo could brush it off as just a random statue. Something started and then abandoned, left to its own company among the trees. She could ignore it, and would probably never see it again. Make it the next person's problem.

But something told her not to. The jungle knew, she told herself. The jungle knew, and who was she to argue?

And so, as the torch flared to life, casting harsh shadows on the rapidly darkening surroundings, she stepped forward, not back. Cleo went to study the figure and maybe, just maybe, find herself an answer.

---

Cleo wouldn't say that the village would be missing her, more like Joe would be missing her.

Everyone else knew she could fend for herself. They had seen her disappear for days on end and not batted an eye, because if anyone could take care of Cleo, it was the jungle. Not them. They had tried, once, and realized it didn't make much of a difference.

That was fine. Cleo appreciated the respect they had for her, and the way she wanted to live her life.

Joe, on the other hand, took what the village thought and punted it clear out a window.

Cleo didn't exactly know when he had weaseled his way into her life, or when the line between acquaintance and friend had finally blurred. It had started with seeing him around the village once in a while, then more often, him eventually following her around- well, Joe had revealed himself to be very insistent when he wanted to be. He would always make sure she was okay, checked in constantly, and stressed whenever she left for too long.

It was nice, too, she supposed. To know someone cared. At some point, having someone actually there for you was better than having them respect you. Joe was fully aware that, if he wasn't there for her, she wouldn't pay attention to her own safety half as much as she was forced to now.

Cleo could head back to the village, and she knew that. But being able to do something, doesn't always mean you should do something.

For starters, the monsters. The zombies and skeletons that melted out of the shadows, with black coals for eyes and a thirst for blood. While they didn't exactly take interest in her, for whatever strange reason, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that they would most definitely take interest in the village. She wasn't going to take any chances of accidentally leading them back, for fear of hurting people.

Second thing: the jungle was a jerk. Well, maybe that was harsh. But in some situations, it was the blatant truth.

Cleo had learned that the hard way. As a kid, of about ten or eleven years of age, she had stumbled across something that felt magical. There was a clearing, somewhere hidden in the vast swathes of trees, with a pond the tint of gold. With large lily pads, most of which carefully cupped soft fragrant flowers; with large, beautiful, crystal-like butterflies blessing the air with their presence; with slabs of stone that glittered when the sun warmed the ground.

The young girl had adored it, called it her own, and promised to never disturb the feeling of wonder that came so naturally to it. If anything, it welcomed her, told her she was only adding to its beauty. And Cleo liked that. The mere thought of having something like this to herself sent warm shivers down her spine.

Cleo had gone back to the village with a smile on her face, shaking her head whenever someone asked her what for, a secretive spark in her eye and a bounce in her step. And then, with just her damn luck, Cleo never managed to find it again. Gee thanks, oh so amazing jungle.

Cleo had let it go long ago, after all, what could be done about it? All the same, she had learned something from the experience, which was why she often stayed in the jungle for long periods of time. Chances are, if you saw Cleo disappear for a while, she had found something that piqued her interest, and decided it was currently more valuable than you, at least for a few days. No offense.

And so, Cleo was currently waiting for the torch to burn itself out, gaze trained on the ground, worrying about Joe worrying about her. Why was she like this? She wasn't the one to ask, and had no clue.

She was so caught up in her own mind she didn't see the movement. Not immediately, anyway.

Ever so slowly, a cold hand curled in on itself, fingers twitching, freeing themselves from their prison of stillness. To it, who hadn't felt much of anything for a long time, it felt like freedom. Not exactly new, not exactly welcomed, but liberating. How long had it been like this? How long had it been asleep?

Its fingers curled into a fist, and Cleo took notice.

She jumped, eyes flashing upwards to the statue. 'What?' Shocked jungle green eyes met tired ones of black stone.

Color was leeching back into the stone. Granite hair, obsidian eyes, and a quartz flecked tunic.

Then it stepped forward, eyes still locked on her, the statue was moving and it was coming at Cleo. She whipped out the small dagger without hesitation, ready to meet the threat head-on. Nothing violence couldn't solve, right?

"Ohp, 'xcuse me, dumb vines." The statue froze in place, looking down and frowning. It lifted a foot and shook it slowly in an attempt to detangle its leg from the vines that had subtly climbed up over the years. It was taking the warmth a while to fully clear the foggy feeling from around its limbs, so it wasn't able to do anything particularly fast. Cleo stood there, still, eyes tracking its every movement.

Soon, the statue straightened up, meeting her eye again and flashing a grin.

"And who might you be?"

Cleo couldn't stop the laughter from bubbling past her lips. "Who am I? A normal human being, mister 'I'm-an-inanimate-object-that-decided-to-come-alive-today'." She ignored the sound of protest he started to make, barreling onward. "So, I think that you, sir, should explain to me first who on Earth you are, and we can go from there."

The statue blinked, rocking back on his- its- heels a bit. There was a pause, before it seemed to have decided it wouldn't be interrupted again. "Well, to be completely fair, I was here first-," he- it- paused, looking her up and down.

"My name's Xisuma. Xisuma Void."

Cleo squinted her eyes, pausing for a moment to be confused.

"How do you pronou-?"

"Xisuma." He replied automatically, with the air of someone who had been asked this question before. "I just said it."

"Yeah but- it's just-"

"Weird?"

"Yeah."

"My name's Cleo. Cleo Grave."

A silence filled the air between them. The fight or flight instincts were starting to bubble up again, a fear of the unknown. She pushed them down, with an attitude of 'who cares what you think' and a smug emotion curling up her chest.

"Well, Cleo, I need your help."