Gordon returned to the village, the memory of the strange tree and the chilling whispers of the wind still lingering in his mind. He had escaped the clutches of the strange tree, or so he thought. But the memory of the old man, his chilling smile, and the whispers that filled the forest continued to haunt him.
So much trouble for a new job but he had become a hunter at least although only in training.
His first stop was the farm, where he had worked as a milkmaid. He had to resign, of course. His new job as a hunter demanded his full attention because it dangerous beside working as milkmaid when he was a hunter would made him a laughing stock.
He approached the small building that served as the farm office, his heart pounding. He knew this would not be easy. Bertha, His boss, 8was not a woman to be trifled with. Though barely eighteen herself, she ruled the farm with an iron fist, her temper as fiery as the summer sun.
Gordon had heard countless tales of her wrath. Men twice her size had cowered under her gaze, their voices shrinking to whispers when she raised her voice. She was rumored to have once punched every man who tried to disturb her while she was working and won several wrestling matches against men her age, earning her the nickname "Bertha the Bold"
He took a deep breath, trying to project an air of calm confidence. He would be polite, respectful, but firm. He would explain his decision, emphasize his newfound skills, and hope to avoid a full-blown confrontation.
The office was small, but filled with the comforting scent of hay and warm milk. Bertha sat behind a small wooden desk, her brow furrowed as she reviewed a ledger. She looked up as Gordon entered, her gaze assessing him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
"Gordon," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"
Gordon took a deep breath and plunged in. "Good morning, Bertha," he said, his voice steady. "I… I wanted to inform you that I will be resigning from my position as a milkmaid."
Bertha's eyebrows shot up. "Resigning? Gordon, you've been here since you were a lad. What in the blazes has gotten into you?"
Gordon braced himself for the storm. "I… I've joined the Hunter's Guild, Bertha. I've passed the trials."
Bertha leaned back in her chair, a slow smile spreading across her face. "The Hunter's Guild, you say? So that's where you going yesterday and you think you can just waltz in here and quit? After all I've taught you?"
Gordon felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. "I understand, Bertha," he said, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "But this is a great opportunity for me. It's… it's what I'm meant to do."
Bertha leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. "You think you're tough now, boy? You think you can handle the dangers of the wild after a night in the forest?"
Gordon met her gaze, his voice steady. "I believe I can, Bertha."
Bertha leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. "Prove it," she said, a playful glint in her beautiful eyes. "Come back in a year, a real hunter, and we'll see if you're still so eager to leave this farm."
Gordon felt a surge of adrenaline. This was not the angry outburst he had been expecting. Bertha, despite her initial skepticism, seemed intrigued by his decision.
"You have a year," she said, a playful glint in her eyes. "Prove me wrong, boy. Prove that you're not just another scaredy-cat running from a bit of hard work."
Gordon felt a surge of confidence. "I will, Bertha," he said, a determined glint in his own eyes. "You have my word."
And with that, he turned and walked out to headed towards the village square, where he was to meet with Markus and Sharon. As he walked, he couldn't help but glance back at the farm, a bittersweet feeling washing over him. He would miss the familiar routine, the camaraderie of the other farmhands, and most of all, the peace while working alongside his friends.
He wondered if this was the right decission but he had resign now so he didn't had any other choice but forward.
As he approached the square, he saw Markus and Sharon waiting for him, their faces alight with excitement.
"You made it!" Markus exclaimed, clapping him on the back. "I knew you could do it."
Sharon smiled. "I knew you'd succeed."
Gordon felt a blush creep up his neck. He just resign from his job for gods sake but they treat it like he just won a legendary duel. Did he looks so weak that just resign worth such congratulation?
Life as a hunter was not always glamorous. Days were spent tracking prey, setting traps, and learning the intricate rhythms of the forest. Nights were spent around the campfire, sharing stories and honing their hunting skills. Gordon, however, found himself distracted. The memories of the strange tree, the chilling whispers of the wind, and the unsettling visions continued to haunt him.
He would often find himself staring into the flames, lost in thought, the image of the grotesque fruits flashing before his eyes. He would wake up in a cold sweat, the screams of the forest echoing in his ears.
Despite his small successes as a hunter, a shadow of unease lingered over him. He felt a disconnect from the world, a sense of detachment that he couldn't explain. He yearned for the familiar rhythms of life in the village, for the comforting scent of hay and the warmth of the afternoon sun.
While he spent his days hunting, his nights plagued by unsettling dreams. He felt a strange detachment from his fellow hunters, as if he were observing them from a distance, a ghost haunting the edges of their lives.
Then, one evening, as he sat by the campfire, watching the flames dance and flicker, he noticed a strange sensation in his hands. They tingled, his fingers twitching involuntarily. He could feel a strange energy coursing through his veins, a power he had never experienced before.
He looked at his hands in surprise. He closed his eyes, focusing on the tingling sensation. For a moment he could almost hear the whispers of the wind and the rustling of leaves.
Fear and excitement warred within him. What did this mean? Was this the intended effect of the "blessing," or was it something sinister?
The next morning, Gordon woke early, the scent of woodsmoke filling the air. He decided to visit the farm, to see how things were going and to catch up with Lukas. He found Lukas, as always, grumbling about the stubbornness of the goats.
"Good morning, Lukas," Gordon greeted him, a smile playing on his lips.
Lukas looked up, his face a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Gordon! What brings you back to this goat-infested hellhole?"
Gordon laughed. "Just thought I'd stop by and say hello. How are things at the farm?"
Lukas shrugged. "Same old, same old. These goats are plotting my demise, I swear. That old Bessie, especially, she gives me the evil eye every time I pass by her pen."
Gordon chuckled. "Still complaining about the goats, I see."
Lukas grinned. "Wouldn't be me if I wasn't, would it?"
They spent the next hour catching up, reminiscing about their childhood, and laughing about old times. As they talked, Gordon noticed a subtle change in Lukas. There was a new confidence in his bearing, a sense of maturity that hadn't been there before.
"You've grown up, Lukas," Gordon remarked.
Lukas shrugged. "Just trying to keep up with the rest of you," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Bertha's been pushing us hard lately. Says we need to be ready for the harvest."
Gordon smiled. Bertha, as always, fierce and demanding. He wondered if she would ever find a man with her fiery temper. She was beautiful alright and sexy hot but who would dare to court her if the prize was their life.
The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the forest path. Gordon, weary from a long day of training, began the trek back to his home. As he walked, the whispers returned, faint at first, like the rustling of leaves in the distant undergrowth.
He dismissed them at first, attributing them to the rustling of the wind through the trees, the creaking of branches overhead. But as he delved deeper into the forest, the whispers grew louder, more insistent. They seemed to emanate from all around him, a cacophony of voices, some whispering his name, others uttering chilling cries.
Suddenly, the forest around him seemed to shift. The trees, once familiar landmarks, now appeared twisted and distorted, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. The path beneath his feet seemed to writhe and contort, the ground shifting beneath his feet.
He stumbled, his breath catching in his throat. The whispers intensified, swirling around him like a vortex. He tried to scream, to call out for help, but no sound escaped his lips.
The world around him dissolved into a swirling chaos of colors and shapes. The familiar forest path vanished, replaced by a nightmarish landscape of twisted trees and swirling mists. He felt a cold dread creeping into his bones, a paralyzing fear that threatened to consume him.