Flutterby

Flutterby

The butterfly winked at me, the eyes on its wings flashing brightly in the few sunbeams that made it through the canopy above. Around me birch trees grew in a strangely purposeful grid, giving the effect of walking down ephemeral corridors as I moved amongst them. It was a place that I had seen many times off of the road and had always meant to visit, but had never gotten around to it until now. The glade was shady and covered in soft green moss, although with a definite lack of wildflowers (which is why I was surprised to find a butterfly there). While I wandered about the butterfly hovered in a sort of expectant air, always staying in sight. The twinkle of its wings suddenly drew my attention away from the trees, prompting me to properly inspect it as it fluttered about. It was unlike any flutterby I had ever seen: its wings were a deep black that seemed to shift between earthy hues of rich dirt, red clay, and mossy loam. The eye designs on the wings, by comparison, were a piercing blue which somehow managed to catch the light of the scarce sunbeams just right.
Now the butterfly flitted past and behind me, hurrying now to some destination. Not wanting to see it go, I followed blithely along. When it floated into thicker brush I hesitated, but continued on, figuring that I might as well explore a bit. I picked my way through the thickets and overhanging trees, stumbling and snapping fallen limbs in my passing. Soon though, I broke through into a clearing. Squinting from the intense light, I paused to take in the idyllic scene. Long yellowed grass with a smattering of goldenrod swayed in the breeze, while a small stream cut through the glade, crystal water tumbling over round-washed stones. I saw that my butterfly had joined more of its kin to flit amongst the grass, tasting of the wildflowers. How extraordinary, to find not one but many of these beautiful creatures. But wait, I couldn’t pick out my butterfly from the rest. As if sensing this ripple of uncertainty in my otherwise cheerful thoughts, the butterflys scattered, each speeding in a different direction. Panicked, I froze in place. It seemed terribly important that I follow my butterfly, the one that had brought me to this place. I felt that the others would lead me down insidious ways, to the darkest vales of the wildwood. Then out of the corner of my eye, a bright blue flash, and I turned to see my flutterby winking at me through the trees, offering me safe passage. Sprinting, I broke back through into the shadows of the forest.
Tumbling through the brush, I kept the winking eyes just in sight. The flutterby was too fast, I couldn’t keep up. The forest got in my way, branches whipping at me, hidden roots. My foot caught. I tripped. The trees parted, revealing a steep embankment, but I couldn’t stop, my momentum carried me forward and off the cliff. Rolling down through the dust, earth and sky blending in my muddled vision, nothing broke my fall until a peculiarly soft thud halted me.
I had landed on emerald moss, soft and springy. I bounced off of it onto sturdier ground, dusted myself off and only then finally looked around me. Here the woods were darker, great trees twisted up from the earth to blot out the sun, allowing only the rare ray of sunlight through their gnarled boughs. The green moss crept everywhere, whilst spotted toadstools peeked up from beneath the roots and plate fungi spiraled in staircases up the trunks of tree. And there were the ruins. The buildings had fallen, great walls torn down by the passage of time, with only the foundation stones still standing firm. But the statues still stood. Great monoliths of granite, looking as if they were cut from a single slab. Breath taken, I walked gingerly amongst them, while their many faces peered down at me in mourning, jubilation, rage, and submission. Sadly, they too had been touched by time: the creeping moss covered much of their bases, and roots silently worked their way into the stone, widening the cracks. I felt awed, and somewhat excited: this place was beautiful and secret, and I was here! There were no signs of frequent visitors; I might even be the first to find this place since its makers departed. But wait, why did they leave? So much effort had been poured into this place; it must have been of enormous significance to its builders. Why would anyone leave this behind? While I stood there, thinking my perturbed thoughts, a shimmer caught my eye. My butterfly! I had scarcely noticed its absence. Now it came rushing to me, beating against me with its small wings, hurrying me from the way it had come. My curiosity piqued, I glanced down the row of statues to what lay beyond. It was dark. While the twilight of the ruins gave them a somber air, this darkness was menacing; something more than just the shade of the trees.
The air and earth rumbled, as if a great horn was sounding just out of my hearing range. From the dark came a gust of wind which seemed to break around the flutterby, but what was left of its power still lifted and slammed me against a tree. Heaving myself up, I saw the butterfly lying broken in the moss. Hesitating just enough to cradle my guide in my hands, I rushed away from the ruins. The next blast was diluted by distance, but regardless hurled me up the hill. Sprawled at the top, I collected myself and darted into the trees. The third wave of air attacked, but was broken by the forest, with only breezy tendrils clutching at my clothes. Panicked, not know where I went, dodging limbs as they zipped past, I just ran. Seeing a light to my right, I veered towards it, flitting through the trees.
I burst through the trees, suddenly disoriented. I was back where I began, in the corridors of birch trees. I collapsed, my head reeling with it all. I opened my hands to see my guardian undamaged-well, unchanged. It lay still. I set it on the ground, and spent the longest time just staring, willing it to move, and despairing in how its bright eyes had lost their glamour. After the sun had set, the nights chill drove me sadly away, with only a small burial mound as a monument to what had happened. I’ve returned many times to that place, wandering in the forest hoping the chance upon the great relics hidden in the wood, or simply waiting amongst the white sentinels. But the forest seems to turn me back, and no guide comes to show me the way.