Forthdottir always loved story time.

When Ma and Pa and Uncle and Aunt all gathered near the warmth of the lake under the light of the worm stars.

They told tales from their parents.

Of animals called engines who could do all your work for you. Of the wonder of her great grandparents who could speak on the wind and be heard across the plate!

Even when the stories were scary and gave her nightmares so she couldn't sleep. About the horrible black trees that reached down from the sky to capture the wicked and the evil.

She had woken up screaming so many nights after she first told that one. But she had begged them not to stop telling her.

Forthdottir hungered to hear the tales. She needed to know them.

It was partly the need to get back to the lake deep in the warm comfort of the tunnels of the cliff that she was rushing now trying to find what she had been sent for.

There was a rhyme that Aunt had hear from her mother about the things she was trying to find.

“Leaves of three let it be... Blood tipped vine friend of mine...”

She passed over the berries from the three bunched leaf shrub despite them looking fresh and delicious and smelling sweet.

She remembered the story about the second uncle she never met. He hadn't listened to the rhyme and eat the wrong berries.

So he died and he had to go into the soup.

The soup liked it when people died. It became so much more busy and full of fish afterwards. Forthdottir felt bad sometimes that she liked the fish the best after someone had gone into the soup.

They just tasted so much better and saltier and fresher!

But every time someone went in the soup she never would get to talk to them again. Or hear their stories.

Forthdottir felt bad about that. It made her wonder. She was forth, she had never met Firs, Sec or Thirdottir. She guessed they went into the soup and fed the fish. And then she eat the fish.

Or even worse! If someone fell and died with no one to bring them back they never went into the soup. Everyone would end up missing them and wouldn't even get the consolation of better fish.

Maybe the horrible trees had taken them?

Uncle used to joke about that before she heard the full story and started having nightmares.

This time though she was looking for a bush with red tipped vines.

That was when she heard the whisper and felt the touch.

That’s how she would tell the story later when she was older. It was not really like seeing but she could tell where it was. And it was fluffy and fuzzy and squishy like some of the dead animals they would bring back for the soup.

It even kind of was like the animal was falling apart and full of wiggly whites like she sort of imagined.

It whispered to her and she had always ‘known’ it was there.

It reminded her a lot of her uncle in tone so she called it a ‘he’ in her head.

But it was her special friend, she had told ma and pa about it and they had been happy and sad at the same time and she had gotten some bitter tasting roots to chew on and given extra helpings of the slimier fish.

She didn't really like the slimy fish and chewing the bitter root was awful. So she decided not to tell them again about the friend.

She huffed and looked around to make sure no one else was around. Then spoke out loud. She could kind of talk with her friend without speaking but it was easier if she said the words aloud.

“I can’t play now! I need to find the berries and get back... So you can shoo for now... Go on Shoo Shoo!”

The presence fluffed and burst into rigglies then parts of it flipped out of place and yet she could feel where to turn her gaze to follow it as it began folding and writhing back out of space sitting in front of a bush she swore she had looked over already.

But there were vines with red tipped shoots.

She sighed and nodded “Alright fine, so you're helping then?” she moved over and began picking the berries and piling them onto the big roll of tree skin she had peeled for just the purpose. It would be easier to carry more that way.

After she finished she looked around and her friend was sitting at another bush. Which on careful inspection also bore red tipped vines and plump fresh berries.

She smiled brightly to her friend and nodded.

“You're being extra helpful... I promise I’ll play extra with you after we get home”

Her friend seemed to like promises. Or she imagined the happy wriggly motions it made meant that.

But she had never seen it help this much with chores before. Usually it would distract her and she would make a mess or forget what she was doing.

It got her in a lot of trouble, but it also sometimes warned her about dangerous animals, or away from nasty thorns.

Just enough she could never really afford to NOT pay attention to it.

But now she was getting to the point she was going to have to peel off a bigger peice of tree skin to carry all the berries, they kept falling off her sheet!

And it kept guiding her to more.

It even brought her to a perfect tree for peeling!

This was very unusual. But she just could not wait to show everyone how many berries she got!

They would all be able to have so many berries with their fish!

She followed the wriggling wispy shade of her friend from bush to bush, piling up the berries until it stopped in front of a tree next to a pile of flat rocks.

This was further than she had ever gone before.

In fact she was actually a little bit lost and was not sure which way to go to find the cliffs of home.

Her friend sat at the stones ‘looking’ at her.

So she walked over.

Her foot touched the stone and she felt her legs snapping, her chest crumpling like leaves and then the solid wet ‘not’.

She came back to consciousness screaming and flailing with berries smeared all over her face and choking. She threw them everywhere trying to get away and scrabbling to touch her face, her arms and her chest.

She was whole, she hadn't just fallen and broken her...

Her everything.

All her hard work was ruined, covered in dirt and even the perfect great big tree skin was broken in half.

But the red smears all over the rocks, all over the rocks that as she took a few shaky steps back to stare at them seemed so familiar.

She tilted her head from one side to the next.

Then walked around, there was something that itched about these rocks.

And then her throat hitched and she could see. The stones coming to meet her. To embrace her like they had missed her.

And then.

She collapsed to her knees and threw up.

While Obbie watched her.

And she heard his whispers clearer then she ever had before.

“Not quite there, but I’ll get you in shape yet...”

She looked to her friend and saw him clearer then she ever had before.

“Obbie... You can talk?”

The not animal convulsed and dissolved and re-threaded itself together. Or she sort of was filling in the gaps to it. It was like when you drew a picture in the dirt, it was not really the thing but a picture of it.

That’s what Obbie was like. But the picture was in her eye and the real Obbie was somehow stretched out in ways she could only feel him in the back of her neck.

“Until recently I could talk a great deal better than you”

She blinked a few times then looked down at her ruined mash of berries.

“Oh no! Now I’m going to have to get all new ones?! That is going to take forever”

Obbie ruffled and rippled and bits that she imagined were his pones folded out over his skin a bit. For some reason she suspected he was laughing at her as he spoke.

“I know where there are many more berries then this that are good to eat... Here let me show you them”

She huffed and rubbed some of the red mash off her face and licked her lips.

“There better be Obbie”

And since he was her friend, despite the strangeness of this little detour Forthdottir nodded and followed Obbie back up the valley.

That was a really good name for him, she’s glad she thought of it.

Why did she never call him that before though?

She had named him a long time ago.