They cling to well-trodden paths for they are afraid of dark forests and deep snows.

But I will make a new track and leave a trail for them to follow. For once I do, they will see the right of it.

LoG, 73

The apparent peace that Drian feigned with difficulty throughout his conversation with Nalon was now gone. Unable to restrain himself, he slammed the bedroom door.

Mina screeched in rebellion.

"Shut up!" he ordered.

The bird puffed its feathers indignantly and remained intimidated on the tree branch. The black cloth with which Drian covered the cage was now lying on the floor.

After circling the bedchamber, Drian knelt and took out oil paints and a picture from under the bed. He wanted to bring his mind into a state of purity and immaculacy; make it untouched by the conversation that just happened between him and his father. Drian wished to forget everything they said to each other. The inevitable discord that took place between them. The canvas he had set up on a stool was a work he started over seven Lights ago.

The forest.

Drian used only green and black hues, tending to simplicity. His paintings reflected his current state of consciousness. Sometimes they would portray places he would walk in dreams which he couldn't shake off for a long time after he woke up.

Instead of a complete, detailed view, every scene was an indication. A road sign, which could guide the observer how it suited him.

That was how it was this time too.

The woodland on the canvas gazed back at him. In the foreground, there was a grassy clearing. Soft and bright-green, it invited the viewer to sit down and rest. Playful grass blades were the first thing the observer of the picture would encounter.

The second thing were the crooked trees. It was an impenetrable line of densely squeezed black trunks. They were connected one to another, like soldiers on guard.

Drian often wondered whether they hid the forest from unknown eyes, or they actually kept travellers from any threat that might lurk in the woods. It was as if the trees were telling the observer: "We are looking at you, we are looking at you carefully. You can play here, out on the grass, but if you go into the woods ... Something evil will come for you."

It was the enchantment of the painting. Allow the observer to guess what is behind those quiet, black-barked wardens.

The pasture was a safe life path. The trees–a boundary between the known and the unknown. The Light and The Dark. Present and Future.

This mental tirade helped Drian calm his anger while he worked. He pulled a wooden stool, sighed, and sat down. His feet hurt from walking all day. It seemed unreal, everything he had experienced.

The Desiccation Ceremony, The Descent into The Wells, the attendance of The Farewell, exiting The Wells and finally ... The road to The Glass Dome during The Dark.

The Wells and The Glass Dome are my black trees, my wardens. The first steps I made to my forest. This is a choice that will lead me to a different future.

Memories of his father passed through his head. Nalon was always there for him. He taught him to walk and talk. He encouraged and supported Drian when he went to his first classes.

Drian tried to concentrate and complete "The Forest".

The image of his father's big hand with a swinging wooden cage was still lurking behind the walls of his consciousness, ready to pounce.

Soon Drian's back started hurting. He supported them for a moment with a free hand, which brought him temporary relief.

He took the green colour, clutched the paintbrush and leaned towards the grassy pasture. Drian worked on every single blade, almost glued to the canvas. Several times, his eyes would close, but Drian would open them again somehow and continued painting.

Mina was already sleeping and the half of the oil lamps burnt out.

Drian emptied his mind.

The only words that appeared in his consciousness were: the next blade, the next, and the next one. He worked, his head bowed, pouring all his energy and will into these fine details. Becoming those details. The painting reminded him of his life. The sum of small choices making a great whole from which the ultimate life path consisted. And he was at the turning point that day.

Drian yawned several times. I think that's it. I'm done. Finally.

He approached the artwork once more, almost touching it with the tip of the nose, rubbing his eyes. The grass seemed to move left and right.

"Impossible," he whispered and laughed to himself. "I should lie down."

The Viewstone showed him there was little time left until the appearance of The Light.

"It's probably just a visual impression given away by the painting," Drian said out loud. "I'll leave it here to dry, so I'll roll it up another day and ..."

This time there was no mistake. The moving of the grass blades became even more apparent.

He almost bounced off of the chair in fear. Something tied him to the place where he was sitting.

Okay. Calm down.

As through a game, he touched a single blade in disbelief. Immediately, Drian found himself on the damp ground. He was holding a grass blade in his hand.

He froze, then looked around quickly. The bedroom. It's gone. Bed, window, curtain, cage ... Everything. What ... What happened to me? Drian thought, frightened. I must be dreaming. I probably fell asleep in front of the painting and ... Since I concentrated on it for so long, I finally started dreaming about it. Yes, that must be the only logical explanation.

"Well ..." he said aloud, trying to sound brave. "While I'm already here, in my own painting, I can also see how it turned out."

There is no point in being scared. This is just a dream, and I will wake up, eventually.

Drian took a few steps around the pasture. The Light dominated the image, not The Dark. The Vault above him was white. His hair fluttered on his shoulders as though air currents were affecting it.

Drian smiled spotting black, joined trunks in the distance. "The forest wardens."

He recognised them with ease, feeling proud.

Does The Mind feel like this when he watches us from The Vault above? When he looks at his creations? He asked himself that, stepping towards the trees. Drian was eager to see how the edges of his image looked like.

A minute or two later, Drian was already touching the rough black bark with his warm palm. To somebody else, those tangled black trees would have seemed menacing. They filled Drian with joy and melancholy. He stared between the tree trunks, to figure out what lay behind them, in the depths of the forest. There was nothing there, except darkness.

Just as I painted it, he thought. How peculiar.

Drian continued to stare at the emptiness for a few more moments. Just as he was about to turn and return to the meadow, determined to wake up, Drian saw a series of small round lights moving.

They were getting closer to the black trees.

Closer to him.

It's easy to guess why am I dreaming about this. This was when I stood in The Dark, at the entrance to The Glass Dome, waiting for the villagers and Kamil to come. To bring their verdict. Their torches ... They looked just like this from a distance.

Heads with elongated snouts and grey fur formed around each pair of lights. They stepped in front of Drian, bypassing the black trees. Four huge wolves were arranged so that the largest one stood up front, with one small, lithe female next to him. The two smaller ones placed themselves in the back. Then they collectively raised their muzzles to The Vault and howled.

Water froze in Drian's veins. His first thought was to run away. They were four, and he was alone. But where to run? His eyes fell on the trees. Maybe I could climb up and hide in the canopy. I guess they would get tired, waiting for me. They might leave after a while ...What am I saying? This is all a dream. Any minute now, I will wake up.

Wolves didn't move an inch. Drian could only hear a quiet, menacing growling.

He raced toward the trees. When he touched one of the trunks with his back, Drian sighed in relief. He jumped to ascend as quickly as possible. At the same moment, four bodies shot towards him.

Drian embraced the tree with his hands and moved his legs as fast as he could. The hard bark assaulted his bare feet, thighs and forearms. The lowest branches were still far away, and Drian could only climb as he would climb up a thick rope.

The most robust wolf jumped on his back, grabbing and tearing his shirt. Drian somehow maintained himself on the tree trunk. Wolf fell back down with a mixture of yelps and growls. Foam came out on his mouth, and his bare fangs looked horrendous.

The other three wolves circled the trunk. Drian struggled to remain in position and not to slip. He felt great tiredness in his arm and leg muscles. Many Big Ones spent in the religious kneeling at The House of Credo took their toll.

I can't hold on like this ... for a long time, beads of sweat adorned his forehead. He realised, horror-struck, that the second wolf, a lithe grey female, was preparing to repeat the big male's leap.

She found herself on Drian's back, but she somehow miraculously stayed there. The she-wolf buried her massive front paws in Drian's shoulders. He felt her moist tongue and boiling-hot breath right next to his neck.

His fear got the best of him. Drian moved his left hand to push the she-wolf away. He lost balance and slammed down on the ground. Wolves bounced away for a moment and then re-formed a cautious circle. This time they did so by forming a ring around Drian.

He staggered, trying to get on his feet. Claw marks peppered his back, and tree bark scratched the sensitive skin on his arms and legs.

Drian somehow stood up. He could not run anymore. He looked death in the face. I will not ... Die like this ... At least I want ... To fight ..., were his thoughts, as Drian scanned the ground in search of any weapon.

A wooden branch that fell from the trunk drew his eye. He grabbed it, removing the branchlets, ineptly forming an unsightly stick.

The biggest wolf was also the bravest once more. He rushed towards Drian for the second time.

Drian set his improvised stick, and wolf's teeth bit into it. The she-wolf came to him and slammed into Drian with her body, making him fall to the ground.

To protect his neck and face from her muzzle, Drian settled into a seated position, but the large wolf brought him back down again. The animal had stopped gnawing on the branch; it placed its paws on Drian's chest. It was preparing to execute a deadly bite.

Drian's brain was blocked and emptied. His next-to-last thought was: I will die.

And his last one: Why is there such a terrible and persistent pain in my back?

That one point on his back, which was pulsing and made his entire being tremble with pain, scattered and exploded the same second.

His body flew into the air and fell far away from where he was before.

The wolves advanced towards him with caution. Their bodies were glued to the ground. The sudden loud bang had frightened them.

Drian hollered in pain, somehow getting up again. This time, he crawled on all fours, in the opposite direction from which the wolves came. He barely made a step or two when he felt his head become heavier and heavier. He could no longer fight.

He was broken.

In a delirium, he sensed that his hands and feet were becoming elongated and broader.

Out of nowhere, a huge black, feline soft tail appeared. Drian noticed, with horror, that thick, sleek black fur completely covered him. Four massive black paws with imposing claws replaced his hands and feet. Just as his head was being distorted and four yellow fangs broke out of his mandible, he felt an attack from behind. Instead of a human scream, the roar Drian only heard from the big cats when a travelling circus would come to Begi came out of his throat.

Drian was several times larger than his average size, and that made his first steps uncertain and unpredictable. He left a trace of feline paws in wet ground, furiously twisting his soft, magnificent tail. His yellow pupils angrily narrowed towards the attacker, whom he now wanted to destroy.

Once again, Drian roared toward a giant grey wolf. When the beast didn't move, he clung to the grass, waiting for the attack.

The wolf threw itself at him.

Drian leapt in the air with grace, as if he were floating. He landed on the grey animal from a great height. He clawed into the wolf's back, breaking his spine in half.

The wolf howled and stayed on the ground, jerking in painful cramps. The remaining three wolves re-grouped. This time, a slender she-wolf and another red-furred wolf stepped forward.

The dark grey wolf remained entirely in the background.

Something was saying to Drian's instincts it was a leader, but the rest of the two were protecting him. He knew they outnumbered him.

His body turned into a knot, a web of nerves. Everything was now only mass and energy; there were no thoughts, words, only actions. The boundaries no longer existed.

He felt swift and powerful, ready to defeat, to kill anyone that might stand in his way. He struck the red wolf's snout with his paw. When the animal lost its balance, Drian threw himself on its back. He sunk his paws into the beast's neck, trying to break it.

The astute she-wolf did the same with him, jumping on both. She forced Drian to shake her off. Both wolves then pressed onto him, and he got one wound on his back and another on his side.

He growled in pain and limped away from them. He noticed with pleasure that the red-furred wolf did not follow him anymore, but took a seat next to the dark-grey leader, squealing.

The female circled him again, ready for a new attack.

Drian retreated backwards, slowly, moving toward the black trunks. This time he climbed up the tree with no trouble and sprung up on the highest branch, licking the wound on the front right paw.

Wolves settled down under as if waiting. The female tried to reach the lowest branches several times, but without success.

The glittering yellow eyes of the black panther saw something in the distance. It was visible in the middle of lush greenery. It was some a square opening. Behind it, he could see a wood-lined chamber, with a linen bed.

A black bird stood on it, looking straight at him.

The instinct told the panther to go there; that he would be safe there. To the surprise of his pursuers, he jumped from the branch to the ground, flying over their heads. Then he lumbered with a faltering step as fast as his paws would carry him towards that unusual scene. He ignored the terrible howls behind him. The closer he got to the opening, the more details he could discern. As soon as his front paw touched the aperture, the forest disappeared. The wolves were gone too.

His bulky body slumped on the bedstand with all its might; the frail wood burst under his weight. Then he knocked over the wooden cage and the canvas with the "swoosh" of his tail. The panther jumped to the floor and roared when he heard the noise coming from downstairs.

A moment later, a being enveloped in a black cloth entered the room, walking upright, on two legs. It swung his hands toward him and yelled.

The panther found himself challenged and hissed. He tumbled down that being with a single powerful blow to the chest. His teeth flew joyfully to the neck of this creature, but it protected itself by raising its front paws. The creature now shook and twisted beneath the body of the giant cat.

It was releasing unintelligible, irritating screams, while the animal was persistently trying to find the jugular. Something landed on his head, and the panther turned around, snarling.

The big black bird he saw moments ago opened its beak.

It shouted in a deep masculine voice: "Drian! Hold on, fuck! What the fuck are you doing? Stop it, you fool! You'll kill your father!"