Most of the night had me interrupted about every 20 minutes. Sleep eluded me. Finally I was able to sleep deep enough to dream, and stay sleep long enough to dream clear.
I stumbled forward, unsure of where I was. The trees felt familiar. A cold campsite opens before me. Thick forest debris surrounds a lone fallen log. I know where I am. The Forest of Shadows and the Shamblings are waiting for me.
“My friends. You called…” I start to greet them but I stumble. The forest floor rises up to catch me. “Ah. Thank you. Forgive me, I’m very tired and am bereft of all physical grace tonight.”
The Shambling picks me up completely and carries me to the log. It hesitates as the others speak in the language of rustling leaves amongst themselves. It turns and moves away from the log, laying me in the midst of the largest pile.
“You can tell us words some other time. When you are like this, you always wind up wounded. You will not tell us stories Weaver Shambling-Friend. Tonight you will sleep with us. Tonight, you share your dream with us.”
A layer of mud flows over me like a blanket. I knew the only way to get away from them is to jump to another world. But they are right. I’m very unstable. I’m weak, tired, and my head hurts. I need deep sleep. I surrender to my friendly captors and return trust for trust.
I strip naked and throw the clothes to my side. I can feel the worms and the insects burrowing in the mud next to my skin. I can feel the dampness of the leaves clinging to my back. I’m surrounded by the forces of decay. I’m gonna sleep so hard, Morpheus is going to be jealous.
I fell into a deeper sleep at once. In the dream within a dream, I was dancing as if a ballet dancer to the memory of music. I had my cloak, but it had changed. Instead of being made of raven feathers, it was made from dead leaves and fallen branches. It was as if a Shambling had spread itself thin and was holding on to me. I stopped dancing and examined myself. Worms burrowed through my mud and dirt body. Dead branches served as bones.
I was not alarmed. “So, you want to know what it is like to move like a human? Share my dream and my body, my friends! Let’s go!” The music resumed as did my movements.
I called up terrain to climb over, to crawl under, to pick up and throw with nimble hands. I leaped and twirled and even cloned myself for a sweeping ballroom dance.
But keeping it up was exhausting. I could move no more and slumped into a pile of sentient debris. “You shared your dream with us. Let us share our dream with you.” The dream within a dream dissolved and I found myself at the cold campsite again.
I felt myself distinct and whole. My body completely human flesh. They flowed over me in mass, smothering me. But not to attack. They were not trying to devour me. They were embracing me. As weak as I was, I could not stop them from assimilating my mind and my flesh into their collective existence.
To be honest, I was curious. And I was too tired to be afraid, and too trusting of them to remember I should.
I became part of the forest floor debris. My awareness, joined with the others, covered hundreds of acres. I knew every water source, every animal den, every denizen of the Forest of Shadows. I saw with their senses, heat-vision. Sound was muffled, usually only shouts are heard, or the sounds of wounded prey. Water was holy, and I understood why humans were hated so much. Much of the Shamblings existence was dominated by a patient abiding. The year is to a Shambling as a day to a man. Speeding themselves up to interact with me consumes their water stores. They consider me worth it.
I slept a year in the Shamblings’ embrace. Summer became rainy Autumn became frozen Winter with the deepest of dreaming. Winter cracked into waterlogged Spring and we swole to bursting and split off pieces of ourselves. Spring mellowed and contracted into Summer that brought the threat of thunderstorms and lightning caused wildfires.
But this is the Forest of Shadows. Fire is weak here. No wildfire burns here, ever. And campfires must be magically augmented to burn.
My awareness is condensed back into a human form. But something feels strange. I open my eyes and look at my arm. I’m made of dirt and mud. It reminds me of another time, another world. I pat my face and check my body. Sentient, ambulatory, grey-brown mud. But I’m not alarmed.
“Weaver. What has happened to you?” I turn over to face the Shambling. Okay. Now, I’m alarmed. I try to speak but I have no vocal cords, and no lungs to make them dance. I can only point at what I see.
A Shambling stands up. On two legs. With two feet. Mud body with sticks for bones, the androgynous form wavers a bit, unsure of kir bipedal form. Grey-brown mud body, about 5 feet in height, with leaves covering the “head” and back portion of the body.
I am reminded of a cross between a person and a hedgehog, except with dead leaves instead of quills. I smile. I know what has happened.
Another stands up. And another. Soon many of the Shamblings stand up in their new form. Their mud bodies form a hard malleable film, making them watertight. Elated to be able to move, they spend much time doing the one action they could not do before.
Jumping.
“Your dream has changed us. Our dream has changed you. Will we be able to change back? Will you?” I nod. I lie back down and embrace one of the floor bound Shamblings. Allowing my mud body to melt into it, I release my awareness and fall into a deeper sleep while listening to the changelings run and jump around and over us.
I woke up feeling much better and in no fear of what I’ll dream tonight. I didn’t realize until just now, their smell didn’t bother me. Maybe I got used to it, I suppose. Maybe the summer months dried them out enough to lessen the impact. Maybe I stopped giving a shit because they are forces of decay, after all.
Tell you what, though. That forest just got real interesting.