Sowing Seeds

Woodland Follies

Softness cocooned him. Warmth spread along his body as he slowly came to. But where did he land? What happened? His eyes squinted open, stricken sightless briefly by sunlight streaming through the window beside him. A mattress pressed against his back, cushy pillow lifting his head. Only his eyes could move. The rest of his body remained immobile as it howled in pain. He held back any vocalizations, catching groans and grunts in his throat and behind clenched teeth. The door near his feet opened and a young grey wolf came in, carrying a tray with a bowl and cup sat atop it.

She smiled at him, her deep green eyes lighting up. "Oh, good, you're awake. Been a while — I was startin' to worry."

Next to him, she clacked the tray against a dresser. After pulling up a chair that had been sitting in the corner of the room, she retrieved the bowl and a wooden spoon from the tray, then held them out to him.

"Here, right on time. Got you some food from In the Neighborhood. That restaurant rocks."

The dish's scent fully wafted over him; a savory concoction of vegetables, herbs, and spices. And a distant fruity smell hit his nose, too, probably coming from whatever was in the cup. His stomach rumbled — how long had it been since he'd lost consciousness? Judging by his acidic, empty insides, it must've been a good long while. But he couldn't stay here and accept food like some vagrant charity case. He had more important things to do: figure out how he got here, how to get back, sneak past G.U.N's defenses, and work around their possession of the Chaos Emeralds so he could obtain them.

He struggled upright, but the moment his head popped off the pillow, extreme dizziness whirled his brain, spinning the room as pinprick blackness crept into the corners of his eyes. Before he knew it, he'd collapsed back into the bed, panting, exhausted, vertiginous.

She asked, "You okay?", though he barely heard her muffled voice until his mind cleared a bit. "You been out for three days. Doc Ernest said you're dehydrated, that's why I got you this soup."

He observed her as she dipped the spoon into the bowl, scooped the food, and brought the full spoon closer to him. He grimaced at the prospect of her feeding him as though he was a child, incapable of handling himself. With tightened lips, he turned his head away. He heard another small clank then felt her fluffing the pillow under his head, bringing him up slowly. When he returned his gaze to her, he noticed her placing another pillow under him, effectively sitting him somewhat. He wanted to grab her wrist and stop her or smack away her hand, but he couldn't do much other than lift his shaking arm and have it collapse back to his lap.

"If you don't want me helping you," she said, fetching the soup once more, "then you can just take the bowl."

She placed the bowl in his lap, heat extending across his legs and up his torso. It did look good. Bits of vegetables and tubers floated in the amber liquid, tempting him and his pain-filled, nauseated stomach. Just a little food, then he'd be on his way.

Trembling arms took the spoon and held the bowl, bringing the savory mixture to his mouth. His stomach welcomed the toasty, delicious broth and filling foods. It instantly eased the screaming in his guts and tasted so damn good. He shoveled more into his mouth, chewing only enough to swallow and stuff his cheeks fuller. It didn't take long for him to finish off all the solid chunks of vegetables and beans, leaving only the delectable broth left. With newfound strength, he lifted the bowl against his lips and gulped the oncoming stock, feeling it slosh down his chin and into his fur. The mess was completely worth the enjoyment on his taste buds and the warmth now emanating from within him.

Once he emptied the bowl and brought it back to his lap, she handed him the cup. In contrast, it chilled his hand, containing a pink mixture that smelled of strawberries and banana and awaited his begging stomach. So he downed it much like he'd downed the soup; pleasant and gentle sweetness the perfect follow-up.

He felt something upon his chest. From the corner of his eye, he noticed she held a napkin and helped clean his fur. He snatched her wrist, keeping her away as he stared sternly into her eyes. For a moment, all remained still, their gazes mingling. With his other hand, he tugged the napkin from her and wiped himself off, releasing her wrist.

"Stubborn one, I see," she said. "I'm used to it. Mom's the same way."

She collected everything and put it back onto the tray, then took his napkin once he finished.

"Don't talk much, do ya?"

He hadn't the time to stay and chat. Pieces of his memory called to him, flickering images of G.U.N's demise beckoned. But now that his opportunity to leave arrived, another problem emerged. From his bladder. As she stood, he said,

"Where's your bathroom?"
She cocked her head at him, lips pulled back in an obvious bid to avoid smirking. "You sure you want that to be the first thing you said to me? Well, too late for somethin' cooler. C'mon—" She reached her hand toward him. "—I can take you there."

He avoided her as he kicked his heavy legs over the side of the bed and stood upon them. Muscles quivered and threatened to give way but he pushed through and stumbled forward to the bedroom door. His knee gave out and he slammed his hand into the mattress to keep steady, nearly tripping over his feet.

How unbecoming to appear so weak — not only in front of himself, but before a stranger. When she grabbed his arm and led it across her shoulders, he growled out his displeasure (though, it embarrassingly came out as more of a gurgled groan). Yet again, he wanted to fight against her but could find no strength to do so, thus hadn't much choice but to allow her to half-carry him toward the bathroom. Which, to his dismay, was directly across the very short hall — couldn't have been more than several feet and he'd still needed help getting there.

She opened the door for him and took him inside, letting him hold himself up against the pedestal sink next to the threshold.

"You let me know if you need anything, all right? Name's Dahlia."
He grunted.

The door shut, leaving him alone in the small bathroom. In front of him, a mirror offered the chance to observe his features. Heavy eyes stared back as his tired mind tried to figure out exactly what had happened. After he'd used Chaos Control, he'd been teleported somewhere that made it impossible to feel the Emeralds' energy. From what he could recall, he'd been under the impression from Gerald that he could use the Emeralds most anywhere in the world. He'd attempted to go to Space Colony: ARK to escape G.U.N. Obviously, he'd missed his mark.

So how far had he gone?

After a grueling time finishing his bathroom business (which involved almost falling into the bathtub and nearly choking on mouthwash), he tried to wash his fur in the sink. Food caked him, especially the white patch upon his chest, and it refused to come out. He could take a shower but he had no idea how it worked (and a bra hanging from the shower head made him avoid the scenario further). That said, he could ask for help. Again...

He shuddered, shoulders tense. Like a great many things today, he didn't have much choice in the matter. He peeked his head out of the door and called a raspy,

"Dahlia."

Light brightened the hall from which Dahlia entered on his left with a cordial smile. Her overly-cheery self helped him turn the shower on and remove the offending garment. After a brief lesson on how to use the knobs, and an offer to clean his clothes, she laid a fresh towel out and left him with nothing but his Inhibitor Rings and the hot, tranquil water.

As he bathed, he thought of his old life once again. Dahlia's bright, kind nature reminded him so much of Maria. She'd been his light in a dreary world, before that world stole her away. Although he held only fragmented memories of her, he still felt their connection and bond. She'd been his family, his only family. And he'd failed to protect her...


After he exited the bathroom, still soggy and drying his head on the soft towel, he meandered into the sunny kitchen area from which Dahlia had emerged before his shower. She clearly was not there. Across the way, an open sliding slatted door led into an equally sun-filled den. In the windows, Dahlia finished hanging his clothes, then straightened up the pillows upon her couch. When she turned around and made for the coffee table, she noticed him.

"Feeling better?"
No.
"You should sit down. You're still lookin' pretty rough."

It would've been great to tell her to mind her own business but his tired body complied before he could object. Just beside the door, he collapsed onto the cushioned bottom of the wicker sofa. It smelled of perfume — which wasn't different from the rest of the home, but the flowery scent flowed out when he displaced the cotton insides. A breeze blew another smell inside of the home, one of rich soil, healthy foliage, and herbs, spices, and vegetables. Dahlia took a deep breath of the wind.

She asked, "Don't that smell great, Whatever-Your-Name-Is? Mom and I are real big on gardening so you'll be in for a treat for dinner: veggie casserole and mashed potatoes. All homegrown."
His stomach growled again. He could've eaten an entire garden of vegetables and still be hungry.
"Oh, and your clothes should be dry by then. Got 'em hangin' up, you probably noticed."

He watched as she cleared the coffee table, collecting dishes and wiping the dust off the uneven wood. She and her as-of-yet-unseen mother were far too generous. He couldn't stay and get comfortable here but he couldn't leave just yet, either. His weakened state wouldn't survive for long as he could hardly move, and he still hadn't a clue where he'd wound up. He'd ask her eventually, but for now his heavy eyelids struggled to stay open and his tired mind slowed any semblance of coherent thought. The only thing keeping him awake was listening to her hum as she cleaned. After straightening up the coffee table, she took the dishes from the den and headed toward the kitchen.

"Dinner'll be ready in a couple hours. I'll call you."
"Shadow."
She stopped and eyed him with an arched brow. It seemed to take her a moment to comprehend what he meant but she ultimately flashed a gentle smile. "Right. I'll call you when dinner's ready, Shadow."


A couple of hours flew past in the blink of an eye, seeing as he'd fallen asleep on the sofa. He awoke to Dahlia calling his name. His nap and lunch rejuvenated him as he didn't struggle much to get to his feet. Dahlia took his clothes down from the line and he redressed in his dry gloves and socks, Inhibitor Rings allowing the fabric through before closing tight again. Though she saw, she didn't mention it — at least she appeared intuitive enough to know not to be privy to private matters.

She instead took him out of the den, to the dinette, and pulled his seat out at the table for him. If she babied him one more time...

Her hitherto unknown mother, another grey wolf, set a baking pan of casserole down and sat across from him. She had a similar amiable smile as her daughter while she spooned the dish onto his plate, though had two straight ears whereas Dahlia's right ear flopped over on itself.

"Right, introductions," Dahlia said as she piled mashed potatoes for herself. "This is my mom, Lily. Mom, our — erm — patient is Shadow."
"Nice to meet you, Shadow."
...
"Ah yes, I've heard you don't talk much."
"I dunno, Mom, seems like a glowin' conversationalist to me."
His eyes raised in a lazy roll.
"See what I mean? Glowin'."

Rather than banter, his interest keyed in on the fantastic aroma of food before him. The breaded vegetables, the creamy sauce; he didn't want to be overly exuberant about eating, but the dish looked irresistible and made his mouth water. One savory bite turned into another, then another, until he ate so fast that he barely chewed.

"Well," said Lily proudly, "glad that someone else enjoys my food."
"Told ya he could really put it away."

The faster he ate, the more his mouth burned from whatever spice Lily had used to season the food. He put his spoon down to snatch the glass of water, gulping it to douse the heat upon his tongue.

"My spicy food," Lily clarified.
"Sorry," said Dahlia. "Shoulda warned ya that we like our food spicy. Just eat the potatoes — always works for me."

He consumed several large spoonfuls of the buttery potatoes and it did indeed ease the torridity of the casserole.

"And," Dahlia added, "now that I'm sittin' this close to ya, I'm also sorry that all we have are those girly soaps. Don'chu smell so pretty?"

He almost choked on a hunk of carrot and had to rub his chest to help it go down. While he'd definitely used their 'girly' soaps, he hadn't noticed the floral scent diffusing off his fur until she pointed it out (and the vigorous rubbing helped disperse the smell, unfortunately).

"Dahlia, please," said Lily, "you're making him blush."

He did his best to ignore Dahlia's following giggle. The food was too tasty to let her asinine comments stop his ardent feast.

Soon, everyone's plates had cleared. He gave himself seconds while Dahlia and Lily did their dishes — he probably could've gone for thirds, too, but had already eaten half of the food. Once he finished, he took it upon himself to clean his plate and spoon, all the while with Dahlia standing to his side, smiling up at him.

"Glad to see you've got an appetite. Maybe I can take you to In the Neighborhood tomorrow morning, then? Their food is amazing."
He grunted.
"I'll take that as a yes."

Annoyingly, she took his rinsed plate and nestled it in the dish rack. There was that babying bullcrap again. He snapped,

"I can handle myself."
She rolled her eyes. "You're so headstrong. Ya gotta know when to relax — you were passed out cold for three days, ya know."

He scoffed out a, "Hmph," and though she backed off, she beamed all the same. She leaned against the counter, holding her head in her hand.

She asked, "Where'd ya come from anyway?"

Given what little he remembered, and the events that had taken place right before he'd arrived at— ... Wherever he is, he knew he'd come from a G.U.N stronghold on Earth. Was this place Earth as well? He rinsed his clean spoon, pondering what exactly to say, if anything. It bewildered even him to think he'd traveled to a distant planet, so he couldn't imagine how Dahlia, a completely outside observer, would react. He settled on,

"Earth."
"Earth? Where's that?"
In comparison to whatever this place was? No clue. "Depends. Where am I?"
"This is Woodland Follies."
"But what planet is this?"
She cocked a brow. "Err, Mobius. Wow. You're really not from here, are you?" When he didn't respond — because of the obvious answer to her question — she continued. "You're an interesting one, Shadow. You look Mobian but you're not from Mobius. I've never even heard of Earth before. Do people there look like us, too?"
"No. They're human."
"Human?" Her eyes abruptly widened, jaw slack. "Like Eggman? No way..."
"Eggman?"
"God, you really aren't from around here. Everyone knows about Eggman. So many people died because of him." Her somber eyes looked away, now upon the ground.

He felt a growl of contempt rise up in his chest but he pushed it away, instead clenching his fists. Humans. While he didn't know exactly what this Eggman did to murder the innocent, he had a feeling he'd used arrogant technology to do it. Just like how G.U.N killed—

"I'm gonna help my mom in the garden." Her subdued tone snapped him back to her. "You can come if you want."

With eyes still on the ground, she walked toward the hall. He followed so he wouldn't be left alone with the gruesome visions of Maria's death. Maybe he could gauge more about these 'Woodland Follies', figure out why he couldn't feel the Chaos Emeralds, and try to find a way back to Earth to complete his mission and take revenge on Maria's behalf.

"The whole town relies on our garden for most of its food, so it's kind of a lot. Just lemme know if ya get overwhelmed."

He huffed out his nose. Overwhelmed from plants? Hardly.

The door down the hall led straight to a luscious, jungle-like garden. The smell of soil and foliage strengthened, emanating not only off the greenery full of vegetables and fruit but off the forest surrounding the home. Light from the setting sun rested across the treetops, making the sylvan plot somewhat dark. Peace enveloped everything around him. The contrast between Woodland Follies and what he knew of Earth, both instances still fresh in his mind, was particularly striking.

Dahlia took a shovel from the tiny wooden shed near the back door and grabbed an extra, holding it out to him.

"Wanna help?"

He'd never labored over plants before, and he recoiled at the idea of starting now. She shrugged and put the shovel on a modest end table near the shed, then went out into the garden and dug about in the soil. He observed her and Lily as they spread seeds, covered holes in the dirt, and cleaned leaves. Hearing Dahlia hum as she worked invoke a flitting memory of Maria, humming and cleaning. The joy that swelled inside of his chest deflated just as fast, knowing he would never again see Maria nor hear her enjoy the most mundane things in life.

His fists clenched again to hold back the rising, bubbling heat inside of his veins and fight against the pit that sank into his stomach. With a final plea to release himself from such inner torment, he wrested the shovel from the end table. He spent the evening burying seeds, pruning overgrown vegetation, and filling in the places where Lily and Dahlia had cultivated their dinner. His gloves dirtied once again as they caked with hale and hearty soil.

When the sun waned, he migrated inside with Dahlia and Lily to wash up. He once again hung his damp gloves in the open window, alongside Dahlia's brown ones. She sat on the wicker sofa.

"Night, Shadow."
"You sleep in the living room?"
"Can't sleep in my bed, seein' as you're in it and all."

That was her bed? No wonder it smelled like perfume. And he'd been taking it up for three whole days now? Much, much too generous.

"You should sleep in your own bed."
She dismissed, "You kiddin'? This couch sucks and you only just barely got your strength back."
"I should take the living room tonight."
"If ya wanna heal quicker, you need the bed again. Much comfier. Unless you'd rather stand here and argue about it all night."

Not really. He would've tried to talk her out of it but she seemed resolute, and his eyelids pulled heavy on his eyes. She unleashed a great yawn, a contagion that spurred him to yawn as well. There was no fighting it.

"Goodnight, Dahlia."


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