*a sound greets this like the creaking of old wooden joints or the sighed protest of gears grinding into action after dormant years*
the wolves are met with a blanket of snow in a dark wood. a single streetlight illumines their play. there is nothing about the unfolding scene that would suggest what would later come.
Maybe they're "sharks" in a different sense...
Whose woods these are you think you know.
Her house is in the village, though;
She will not see you passing here
While all her woods fill up with snow.
snowflakes tumble from the canopy of trees. your steps crunch tracks through the snowfall. but they are not the only tracks in this wood, as prints follow the suggestion of a path running off into the night. the prints can only just be made out, the falling snow having worked hard to cover their owner's tracks. what might be a distant howl can be heard, though whether wind or beast is unclear.
No, I don't know where dey went or what's become of dem. I tought dey would be back by now.
But as you saw, some of our friends have followed dem in. I don't tink dere is too much to worry about. Even if dere is someting very dangerous in dere, like an Abdominal Snowman, I don't tink it's someting dat a bunch of wolfs, sharks and a rhino can't handle.
Nothing like food to help you through worry :) You should have seen me when all this pandemic went down...
god, that is such a good title. It almost could be a comic from The Far Side that spoofs Lovecraft. Made me think of this one:
...I love The Far Side so much
the snow continues to fall on the visitors from beyond the wardrobe. the tracks are now almost completely concealed by the snowfall, though just enough of a trace of them is left in order to tell that the approaching figure came from whence they traveled. this figure leaves tracks distinct from the others, as his steps are both smaller and hoofed. snowflakes dance betwixt twin horns protruding from his temples. an impish grin plays across his features, and only ceases to play such games in order to play a few notes from a set of pipes strung round his neck. the music is brusque but melodious, like a herald announcing an imminent eminence.
"Greetings, visitors, greetings one and all. I trust this evening finds you well? Do follow me, and I will show you the way."
It sounded to me like dey tought dey had found a friend. You must have wolf-sensitive ears; I could barely hear dem. I tink you should go back. We haven't heard from dem sharks at all, and if dis ting wid da horns and pipes is friendly, dey might need to be dissuaded from attacking it.
Mmm, fine point, fine point. Surely allowing sharks and wolves to attack a new guest would be poor hospitality...mustn't allow that.
'course, who's the guest and who's the host when you're lost in a strange wood together? Maybe you carry about you're own home on your back like a snail, in a sense and if you will, and so each is host and guest at once?
Anyways, best be getting back now.
What has become of our wolfs dere? Are dey lost? Has someting eaten dem? Dem sharks say dey is our friends, but dey looks dangerous to me. And what about dat ting wid da horns? I tink someting has gone very wrong. I would go in after dem, but we has no jurisdiction dere, and we don't want to cause an international incident!
*trudges back through the Wardrobe and into the snowy wood*
*takes a moment to dive headlong in a snowbank and roll over and over in the fine powder*
*gets up and shakes away the snow from his fur in a great white cloud, before continuing on to find the sharks and the wolves*
canine and ungulate and gilled-ones, alike, follow the horned piper through the wood. light seems to emanate from him, almost like an aura, for you can follow his glow as he prances ahead, just as well as you can follow his tracks in the snow. falling ice crystals shimmer in his bestial phosphorescence, and tiny rainbows dance in their wake. a clearing appears in the wood up ahead, a meadow bathed in moonlight from the breach in the canopy above. in the center of the glade, a cleft in the earth opens obliquely, deeper than the moonlight can reveal. and some clever creature has carved rough-hewn stairs that spiral downward into the darkness below.
"Come, new friends. It's just down this spiral staircase, it be. Down, down, and a little to the left. But definitely down."
*he plays a few notes on his pipes before beginning the descent*
"Come if you wish to follow. Follow if you wish to see. See if I care, either way..."
Me too. I may be big, but I'm a real softy when you get down to it.
Spiral staircases usually lead to royal ballrooms, in my experience...though, I will admit, they aren't usually built in bare earth like this...Maybe it's a ballroom for moles and groundhogs..?