Enchanted Series

The Bird and The Worm

The Bird and The WormSummary:

In which Adam becomes a bit sunnier after a few months of the break up.

Notes:

Part 11 of the Enchanted Series loosely based on some aspects of Adam's The Bird and The Worm song.

(See the end of the work for .)

Work Text:

Enchanted Series

Part 11: The Bird and The Worm

The hazy outside of LA air was as intoxicating as it was refreshing, in a masochistic way, waking him up with its nutty, rotting aroma and heavy mist. Sunlight flitted through the high treetops, leaving bright gold dapples on dark green leaves and rotting undergrowth as the crunch and drag of his thickly soled boots left tell-tale signs through the well trekked paths. He kept moving past the gently gurgling stream with its whispered secrets and a den of foxes burrowed deep into a crevice of a world that was both teeming with life and holding its breath.

Adam wasn't sure why, but he felt like this little hike in the outskirts of LA felt like the best possible option for him to finally relax and enjoy the mountain air. To actually feel for once and not grieve of Brielle.

Hilariously, it was Stephen who thought of this as and I quote "the best God damn idea I ever had in two fucking years."

He wandered, aimless and exhilarated. A slight chill had begun to settle and the mossy ground had begun to sport a coat of red-orange maple leaves. He felt the gentle, powerful slope of the mountain, the warmth of the sun kissing the back of his neck and he could tell it was a promise, guiding him through the trees and routes to somewhere only they knew.

Gradually, painstakingly slowly, the flecks of light on the leaves had begun to slant, crawling up bark and stem as the sun sunk its way west and the man looked, maybe surprised, in the direction, pausing for a moment towards the burning amber that washed the sky in gold. In that moment the world seemed to grow unimaginably silent, alight with a slow lulling warmth that promised nothing but endless sweet breezes and winking lights in the sky.

As he finally turned back to the track he now lost with the light, the moment seemed to pass and the sun's set was like a gentle, lovely sigh as the world returned to life.

At first, there was nothing. This was the kind of darkness that was so complete that it made no difference if his eyes were opened or closed. He could hear the high whistle of the cicadas and crickets and saw the distant glimmer and wink of light from stars watching him through what few holes were there in the canopy. His path was lit by the pale, artificial white light coming from an LED torch and slowly, that too began to die. He stopped walking as it did, plunged into something that wasn't quite panic as it was anticipation. Something that was in the air and told him that he was where he needed to be and to stay still. And that he should really, really pay attention.

It was a flicker of something in the corner of his eye that told him she was there; this was the kind of flicker that was not so much a movement of a hand than it was a turn of lips or the rustle of a skirt. How he knew she was waiting or that she was even a she escaped him. He turned but there was no one there to accompany the scent of cedar wood smoke that grew stronger as he waited. He felt her in the warm, pleasant prickle in his skin and the whisper of the forest wind down his back like the loving breath of a lady.

And as if it were possible, the night grew darker still and the summer constellations glittering through the heavy canopy began their journey through a sky that was more navy than black.

And through all this, he saw the slightest, smallest suggestion of light.

It was a display, he felt that even the grandest orchestra in the world could never have done justice to and it happened in complete and utter silence. The lights, he remembered, were the dancing of fireflies in the air or the spring of sparkles from fireworks and the dance of a flame from a campfire. Small but in the pitch black of the forest each fleck of floating brightness was a hanging sun that was small enough to flit behind a leaf and stain the world shades of green, pink and white. As far as he knew, it could have been midday in the high heat of July. The pinpricks of light danced across the pale exposed skin on his forearms and he imagined them waltzing to some imaginary music only they could hear. It was as if the luminous dust motes were falling and twirling in some kind of otherworldly foxtrot, he couldn't quite see the choreography of.