Post by windrider110 on Dec 16, 2023 17:23:09 GMT -5
Bella Sara has kinda been in a coma for a while, and not many people seem to know about it or remember it, so there might not be anyone that reads this, but that’s ok. If anyone is out there and reading this, thank you, and I’m glad that there’s someone else who cares and remembers about Bella Sara. <3
This is a fanfiction I’ve partially written that (for now) is titled From Orchids to Embers. I’ll change it if I think of anything better. I’m writing this as a sort of sequel to Valkrist’s Flight and from the perspective of Colm. There are likely going to be a couple of things I change from the actual canon stuff, some things like Colm’s personality (he’s still a bit bratty but not as much) and other parts of the lore of North of North (that I haven’t gotten too yet.) I’m only a few chapters in, and I don’t know how often I’m gonna post, but yeah, here’s what I’ve got so far.
Chapter 1
It had truly been a beautiful day. The sky had taken on a light sapphire hue and the world sang of spring’s beginning. Birds serenaded the woods with their various melodies and the gentle wind swept through the trees as soft as a whisper. But, like any other day, this one had begun to meet its end as the sun made its downward descent, bathing the stoic pine trees in an orange-gold aura. Crickets began to chirp and buzz as the birds sang the final notes of their songs. The world here seemed beautiful and peaceful.
And Colm was sulking.
With brows knitted together into a bitter glare, he slapped the wet rag he was using onto the wooden deck, causing water to spray in every direction. He had been doing chores all day, just like he had for the past five months, and was currently scrubbing floorboards on the back porch. Each day he was told to get up and work from sunrise to sunset and was barely allowed to take any breaks. He wasn’t surprised, however; he knew he deserved it (although he would have denied it had anyone asked him). It just didn’t seem fair. Five months ago he was free to wander around the large estate that had been given to his parents: a thirty-acre ranch complete with a large two-story house and a stable full of horses. Two months Emma was the one doing the chores, not him. Five months ago Colm didn’t have to worry about getting up early to shovel manure or scrub any various objects his father could think of. And yet, five months ago, Colm had been teasing his cousin in her little hayloft above the stables and accidentally knocked over the lit candle she was using.
Five months ago, Colm had set the stables on fire.
It had been a perfect day and he couldn’t have cared less, for his hands had been kept busy at work and his mind was filled with bitterness. He looked up when he heard laughter coming from the direction of the new stables (the stables that he was still trying to pay off by working) and grimaced. Emma was running and frolicking in the pasture with an adolescent colt- the colt that had been born not long before the stable fire. ‘Of course she’s getting to play with Wings while I have to clean the grubby floorboards.’ Colm glared as his cousin ran past.
Colm sighed. Technically he wouldn’t have been allowed to play with or even go near Wings anyway, even if he didn’t have work to do. It was his fault Wings was here in the first place. Wing’s mother, Dowager, had belonged to Mrs. Bridget, a woman who lived in a small cottage not far from them, and boarded Dowager with the ranch. Dowager had carried Colm many nights… nights that he had snuck out with her and a couple of the other horses with two other boys. All Colm had been trying to do was make friends… and he ended up not watching Dowager closely enough, for she became pregnant on one of the forbidden night rides. She had Wings not too long after the vet realized what was wrong with her.
And with Wing's birth came her death.
It was Colm’s fault that Dowager was gone, and while he pretended not to care too much, deep inside it hurt him so badly that he refused to think about it, or else he would physically break down. Like that was gonna happen. Colm rolled his eyes and went back to scrubbing the floorboards. The porch door swung open and his father, Morgan Roland, stepped out, his shiny dark boots thumping loudly onto the wood flooring. Colm looked up, not fully meeting his dad’s eyes, partially afraid that he would be assigned yet another chore to do. Instead, to his surprise, he was met with: “The deck looks good Colm, take a break. Come inside before it gets too dark, though.” And then his father was back inside. Colm didn’t mind too much, his parent’s interactions with him were usually brief except when they were upset with him or giving him a task. They always had their hands full taking care of the ranch and its affairs nowadays, so Colm kept trying to branch out and make friends. ‘Like the last time went well. I got caught trying to take the horses out and ended up burning the place down.’
Colm ran a hand through his long, coarse, blonde hair, pushing it away from his light blue eyes as he stepped down from the porch. Hands in pockets, he walked towards the woods nearest to the stable. The sun shone directly behind the towering pines, outlining their silhouettes in iridescent hues of gold, pink, and light orange. Colm looked up into the sky as the dark silhouettes of a flock of birds glided past, moving silently except for their soft chirps. He almost wished he were that high up, but shook his head and wandered further into the darkening wood. The crickets and cicada’s chirps became louder here, and the sunlight only shone in little fragments between the slender frames of the ebony tree trunks.
Colm huffed in annoyance as he brushed a couple of low-hanging branches away from his face, and, stepping over a couple of weeds and brambles, made his way towards a clearing where the thorns and underbrush receded. The woods got slightly darker here, but Colm didn’t care. There was a cut log seated on the forest floor a couple of feet away from two long wooden poles that had been driven into the ground. A tarp was hung over both poles by two of its corners. The other two corners had been staked into the forest floor, making the tarp stretch down to the ground in a triangular shape.
Underneath the little shelter was another log, this one shorter and rounder with a small pocket knife stuck into it. Colm usually snuck down to this spot when he was given a break, and either cleaned or repaired the shelter when needed or attempted to whittle small pine branches into whatever he fancied. Usually he made the wood too thin, however, and what he created broke. Colm sat on the taller log next to the shelter and, reaching over to grab his knife, looked up into the forest’s canopy.
His heart stopped.
Staring back at him from the ceiling of branches were two blazing orange-yellow eyes, with pupils thin and black. Colm tried to stand, never turning his eyes from the glaring beady ones staring back at him, only to trip and fall backward over the log. The fall averted his gaze, and when he looked back up he realized that what had frightened him hadn’t been eyes in the canopy at all; they were just patches of sunlight shining through the thick branches. Colm glared at the treetops angrily and muttered “Stupid trees.” Then something else caught his attention, and it wasn’t eyes. It was a sound- a very faint buzzing-like noise echoing in Colm’s ear. Colm shook his head and pressed on both ears, trying to get the sound out of his head. But instead, the noise became much louder and more urgent, the slight buzz becoming a lower-pitched drone. Colm took a step back, careful not to trip on the log, and swiveled his head in all directions, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.
It seemed to be coming from everywhere.
The droning deepened further in pitch, and Colm heard other sounds from the woods joining it: guttural snarls and gnashing of teeth. He heard what sounded like cruel and sharp laughter right next to his ear and jumped back, only seeing the darkening wood around him. His heart began to beat incredibly fast, but he stayed put. This had to be some kind of lame trick. Maybe Emma was doing this as some kind of revenge for teasing her with the candle so long ago. ‘That doesn’t seem like something she’d do; she’s a goody-two-shoes…’ Colm reached down and grabbed a large branch lying next to the shelter. He tightened his empty hand into a fist and called out: “Hey! Quit with the stupid trick, you’re not fooling anyone! Whoever’s there is gonna be real’ sorry when I find you! Go on! Come out!” He waved the branch before him, brandishing it like a sword, and clenched his teeth.
The woods instantly went silent and Colm grinned to himself victoriously. Suddenly, as fast as the woods went silent, they became loud again, but this time the snarls and buzzing had turned into banshee-like screams and howls. Colm felt a chilling sense of terror washing over him, and his mouth went dry. The wind picked up, joining the howling and causing him to shiver as its icy fingers grabbed at his heart. The dark woods took on a reddish haze and the black ground appeared to be rising up at him with hundreds of tiny dagger-like claws reaching up towards his legs. The dark shadow-covered trees also seemed to be extending their branches out at him with creaking groans. Colm’s breathing quickened and sweat began to pour down his brow. The woods were filled with yellow eyes with tiny black, slitted pupils focused on him., and this time Colm knew they weren’t just the trees.
This was impossible.
Every muscle was tense and the voice inside of his head screamed at him to move, but he was unable. He stood there as rigid as a porcelain doll, eyes glazed over in fear. It was only when another voice inside his head, another voice that wasn’t his own, calmly advised him: ‘You must get away from this place.’ that he began to snap out of his trance.
The woods almost appeared to shift, the tall straight shape of the trees melting into distorted forms. Colm wondered if he was hallucinating, and took a step back before his legs locked up even further. His eyes stung from the screeching wind whipping around in his face. The voice came again, still gentle, but more insistent: ‘It is dangerous here. You must go!’ The howls became tortured cries of pain… and it almost sounded like people he knew were screaming and moaning. Was this a trick? It had to be.
When he refused to move, the voice in his head came again, but this time it changed, filling with an authority that surprised him: ‘Move Malcolm Roland! Now!’ And at that, Colm fled, sprinting as fast as his legs would allow him. Branches thwacked him hard in the face, and the thorns and roots of the underbrush threatened to trip him up, but he refused to stop. The fear-invoking sounds got farther and farther away until they eventually faded, but that didn’t stop Colm from running. Before he even realized it, he went crashing through the edge of the forest and out into the field, falling flat onto his face.
He pushed himself up with his arms, his legs already scurrying under him, and stumbled the rest of the way towards the stable, collapsing against one of the stable walls once he had run inside. He looked up to see Wings in his stall, staring at him with curious wide eyes and ears pricked forward.
“Hey, what do you think you're doing?”
Colm looked up into the hayloft above the stable, this one much larger and nicer than the last, complete with a window and a place for a small heater, to see Emma looking down at him from her perch on a small stool next to her desk. “Uncle Morgan made it very clear that you weren’t allowed to be near the new stable until you finished working it off, and-”
She trailed off when she saw Colm’s messed up hair, sweaty forehead, and dirt-smudged clothes.
“What happened to you?”
Colm opened his mouth to speak, but then, thinking Emma would call him crazy if he told her what happened, shut it.
He turned away from the stable and mumbled “None of your business weirdo.” over his shoulder.
Colm trudged up to the hill in the moonlight towards the house. His father was sitting at the dining room table over a stack of papers when he walked in. “Father,” Colm began.
Morgan interrupted him. “Colm! What did I tell you about being back inside before dark? You disobeyed me! Get to bed, and make sure to clean yourself up.” He eyed Colm’s clothes with annoyance and then looked up into his son’s face to see fear staring back at him. “Colm, you alright?” Colm tried to explain what he had experienced. “Dad… I saw something really creepy in the woods.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow, curious. “Go on.”
Colm recalled all that had happened and told his father everything… except for the voice he heard in his head; he kept that part secret.
When he had finished with his tale, his father stood up from his chair and rubbed his eyebrows with one hand. “Colm, if that is your best excuse for being out so late-“
“It’s not an excuse!” Colm broke in.
His father sighed and put a hand on Colm’s shoulder. “Perhaps you haven’t had enough water… you’re likely dehydrated and that caused you to hallucinate. Get some water and go clean yourself up. You ought to get some sleep.”
Colm opened his mouth to protest, but one look from his father made him shut it again.
Colm climbed the stairs to his room, grumbling. At the top step, he felt a sudden exhaustion flood his being and listlessly walked down the hallway to his room. He collapsed onto his bed, not even bothering to change clothes, and only managed to glance at the clock before he let himself fall asleep.
This is a fanfiction I’ve partially written that (for now) is titled From Orchids to Embers. I’ll change it if I think of anything better. I’m writing this as a sort of sequel to Valkrist’s Flight and from the perspective of Colm. There are likely going to be a couple of things I change from the actual canon stuff, some things like Colm’s personality (he’s still a bit bratty but not as much) and other parts of the lore of North of North (that I haven’t gotten too yet.) I’m only a few chapters in, and I don’t know how often I’m gonna post, but yeah, here’s what I’ve got so far.
Chapter 1
It had truly been a beautiful day. The sky had taken on a light sapphire hue and the world sang of spring’s beginning. Birds serenaded the woods with their various melodies and the gentle wind swept through the trees as soft as a whisper. But, like any other day, this one had begun to meet its end as the sun made its downward descent, bathing the stoic pine trees in an orange-gold aura. Crickets began to chirp and buzz as the birds sang the final notes of their songs. The world here seemed beautiful and peaceful.
And Colm was sulking.
With brows knitted together into a bitter glare, he slapped the wet rag he was using onto the wooden deck, causing water to spray in every direction. He had been doing chores all day, just like he had for the past five months, and was currently scrubbing floorboards on the back porch. Each day he was told to get up and work from sunrise to sunset and was barely allowed to take any breaks. He wasn’t surprised, however; he knew he deserved it (although he would have denied it had anyone asked him). It just didn’t seem fair. Five months ago he was free to wander around the large estate that had been given to his parents: a thirty-acre ranch complete with a large two-story house and a stable full of horses. Two months Emma was the one doing the chores, not him. Five months ago Colm didn’t have to worry about getting up early to shovel manure or scrub any various objects his father could think of. And yet, five months ago, Colm had been teasing his cousin in her little hayloft above the stables and accidentally knocked over the lit candle she was using.
Five months ago, Colm had set the stables on fire.
It had been a perfect day and he couldn’t have cared less, for his hands had been kept busy at work and his mind was filled with bitterness. He looked up when he heard laughter coming from the direction of the new stables (the stables that he was still trying to pay off by working) and grimaced. Emma was running and frolicking in the pasture with an adolescent colt- the colt that had been born not long before the stable fire. ‘Of course she’s getting to play with Wings while I have to clean the grubby floorboards.’ Colm glared as his cousin ran past.
Colm sighed. Technically he wouldn’t have been allowed to play with or even go near Wings anyway, even if he didn’t have work to do. It was his fault Wings was here in the first place. Wing’s mother, Dowager, had belonged to Mrs. Bridget, a woman who lived in a small cottage not far from them, and boarded Dowager with the ranch. Dowager had carried Colm many nights… nights that he had snuck out with her and a couple of the other horses with two other boys. All Colm had been trying to do was make friends… and he ended up not watching Dowager closely enough, for she became pregnant on one of the forbidden night rides. She had Wings not too long after the vet realized what was wrong with her.
And with Wing's birth came her death.
It was Colm’s fault that Dowager was gone, and while he pretended not to care too much, deep inside it hurt him so badly that he refused to think about it, or else he would physically break down. Like that was gonna happen. Colm rolled his eyes and went back to scrubbing the floorboards. The porch door swung open and his father, Morgan Roland, stepped out, his shiny dark boots thumping loudly onto the wood flooring. Colm looked up, not fully meeting his dad’s eyes, partially afraid that he would be assigned yet another chore to do. Instead, to his surprise, he was met with: “The deck looks good Colm, take a break. Come inside before it gets too dark, though.” And then his father was back inside. Colm didn’t mind too much, his parent’s interactions with him were usually brief except when they were upset with him or giving him a task. They always had their hands full taking care of the ranch and its affairs nowadays, so Colm kept trying to branch out and make friends. ‘Like the last time went well. I got caught trying to take the horses out and ended up burning the place down.’
Colm ran a hand through his long, coarse, blonde hair, pushing it away from his light blue eyes as he stepped down from the porch. Hands in pockets, he walked towards the woods nearest to the stable. The sun shone directly behind the towering pines, outlining their silhouettes in iridescent hues of gold, pink, and light orange. Colm looked up into the sky as the dark silhouettes of a flock of birds glided past, moving silently except for their soft chirps. He almost wished he were that high up, but shook his head and wandered further into the darkening wood. The crickets and cicada’s chirps became louder here, and the sunlight only shone in little fragments between the slender frames of the ebony tree trunks.
Colm huffed in annoyance as he brushed a couple of low-hanging branches away from his face, and, stepping over a couple of weeds and brambles, made his way towards a clearing where the thorns and underbrush receded. The woods got slightly darker here, but Colm didn’t care. There was a cut log seated on the forest floor a couple of feet away from two long wooden poles that had been driven into the ground. A tarp was hung over both poles by two of its corners. The other two corners had been staked into the forest floor, making the tarp stretch down to the ground in a triangular shape.
Underneath the little shelter was another log, this one shorter and rounder with a small pocket knife stuck into it. Colm usually snuck down to this spot when he was given a break, and either cleaned or repaired the shelter when needed or attempted to whittle small pine branches into whatever he fancied. Usually he made the wood too thin, however, and what he created broke. Colm sat on the taller log next to the shelter and, reaching over to grab his knife, looked up into the forest’s canopy.
His heart stopped.
Staring back at him from the ceiling of branches were two blazing orange-yellow eyes, with pupils thin and black. Colm tried to stand, never turning his eyes from the glaring beady ones staring back at him, only to trip and fall backward over the log. The fall averted his gaze, and when he looked back up he realized that what had frightened him hadn’t been eyes in the canopy at all; they were just patches of sunlight shining through the thick branches. Colm glared at the treetops angrily and muttered “Stupid trees.” Then something else caught his attention, and it wasn’t eyes. It was a sound- a very faint buzzing-like noise echoing in Colm’s ear. Colm shook his head and pressed on both ears, trying to get the sound out of his head. But instead, the noise became much louder and more urgent, the slight buzz becoming a lower-pitched drone. Colm took a step back, careful not to trip on the log, and swiveled his head in all directions, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.
It seemed to be coming from everywhere.
The droning deepened further in pitch, and Colm heard other sounds from the woods joining it: guttural snarls and gnashing of teeth. He heard what sounded like cruel and sharp laughter right next to his ear and jumped back, only seeing the darkening wood around him. His heart began to beat incredibly fast, but he stayed put. This had to be some kind of lame trick. Maybe Emma was doing this as some kind of revenge for teasing her with the candle so long ago. ‘That doesn’t seem like something she’d do; she’s a goody-two-shoes…’ Colm reached down and grabbed a large branch lying next to the shelter. He tightened his empty hand into a fist and called out: “Hey! Quit with the stupid trick, you’re not fooling anyone! Whoever’s there is gonna be real’ sorry when I find you! Go on! Come out!” He waved the branch before him, brandishing it like a sword, and clenched his teeth.
The woods instantly went silent and Colm grinned to himself victoriously. Suddenly, as fast as the woods went silent, they became loud again, but this time the snarls and buzzing had turned into banshee-like screams and howls. Colm felt a chilling sense of terror washing over him, and his mouth went dry. The wind picked up, joining the howling and causing him to shiver as its icy fingers grabbed at his heart. The dark woods took on a reddish haze and the black ground appeared to be rising up at him with hundreds of tiny dagger-like claws reaching up towards his legs. The dark shadow-covered trees also seemed to be extending their branches out at him with creaking groans. Colm’s breathing quickened and sweat began to pour down his brow. The woods were filled with yellow eyes with tiny black, slitted pupils focused on him., and this time Colm knew they weren’t just the trees.
This was impossible.
Every muscle was tense and the voice inside of his head screamed at him to move, but he was unable. He stood there as rigid as a porcelain doll, eyes glazed over in fear. It was only when another voice inside his head, another voice that wasn’t his own, calmly advised him: ‘You must get away from this place.’ that he began to snap out of his trance.
The woods almost appeared to shift, the tall straight shape of the trees melting into distorted forms. Colm wondered if he was hallucinating, and took a step back before his legs locked up even further. His eyes stung from the screeching wind whipping around in his face. The voice came again, still gentle, but more insistent: ‘It is dangerous here. You must go!’ The howls became tortured cries of pain… and it almost sounded like people he knew were screaming and moaning. Was this a trick? It had to be.
When he refused to move, the voice in his head came again, but this time it changed, filling with an authority that surprised him: ‘Move Malcolm Roland! Now!’ And at that, Colm fled, sprinting as fast as his legs would allow him. Branches thwacked him hard in the face, and the thorns and roots of the underbrush threatened to trip him up, but he refused to stop. The fear-invoking sounds got farther and farther away until they eventually faded, but that didn’t stop Colm from running. Before he even realized it, he went crashing through the edge of the forest and out into the field, falling flat onto his face.
He pushed himself up with his arms, his legs already scurrying under him, and stumbled the rest of the way towards the stable, collapsing against one of the stable walls once he had run inside. He looked up to see Wings in his stall, staring at him with curious wide eyes and ears pricked forward.
“Hey, what do you think you're doing?”
Colm looked up into the hayloft above the stable, this one much larger and nicer than the last, complete with a window and a place for a small heater, to see Emma looking down at him from her perch on a small stool next to her desk. “Uncle Morgan made it very clear that you weren’t allowed to be near the new stable until you finished working it off, and-”
She trailed off when she saw Colm’s messed up hair, sweaty forehead, and dirt-smudged clothes.
“What happened to you?”
Colm opened his mouth to speak, but then, thinking Emma would call him crazy if he told her what happened, shut it.
He turned away from the stable and mumbled “None of your business weirdo.” over his shoulder.
Colm trudged up to the hill in the moonlight towards the house. His father was sitting at the dining room table over a stack of papers when he walked in. “Father,” Colm began.
Morgan interrupted him. “Colm! What did I tell you about being back inside before dark? You disobeyed me! Get to bed, and make sure to clean yourself up.” He eyed Colm’s clothes with annoyance and then looked up into his son’s face to see fear staring back at him. “Colm, you alright?” Colm tried to explain what he had experienced. “Dad… I saw something really creepy in the woods.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow, curious. “Go on.”
Colm recalled all that had happened and told his father everything… except for the voice he heard in his head; he kept that part secret.
When he had finished with his tale, his father stood up from his chair and rubbed his eyebrows with one hand. “Colm, if that is your best excuse for being out so late-“
“It’s not an excuse!” Colm broke in.
His father sighed and put a hand on Colm’s shoulder. “Perhaps you haven’t had enough water… you’re likely dehydrated and that caused you to hallucinate. Get some water and go clean yourself up. You ought to get some sleep.”
Colm opened his mouth to protest, but one look from his father made him shut it again.
Colm climbed the stairs to his room, grumbling. At the top step, he felt a sudden exhaustion flood his being and listlessly walked down the hallway to his room. He collapsed onto his bed, not even bothering to change clothes, and only managed to glance at the clock before he let himself fall asleep.