Healing Grid

[Pippi]

((Beatrice Briggs continued from Prison Within a Prison))

It wasn’t quite cold enough for her breath to turn into fog.

She hoped that would change soon. She had thought about it previously, back inside that office building - she still hadn’t managed to figure out what that place was supposed to be used for, or which one it was meant to be on her map - but that had always been one of her favourite parts of winter, ever since she was tiny. She could pretend that she was a big, fearsome dragon, or that she was charging up a massive Hyper Beam to defeat all her opponents, stomping around the backyard with noises to match. There had always been an air of magic, in Beatrice’s eyes, when winter came about; something about the change in the way the air itself felt, the drop in temperature and the colour of the sky even at midday, the way the night rolled in so much earlier than usual. It was easy to believe in fantasy and wild childish dreams when the world felt so suited to them.

She was too old now to think that she could suddenly sprout huge dragon wings and fly away from here to safety, to alert the authorities, to make sure that all of her friends would be rescued and brought back home, safe and sound. But maybe a little bit of make-believe would help keep things bearable. It wasn’t as though she knew what else she should be working towards. What goal she needed to give herself.

In fairness, she also hadn’t really allowed herself much of an opportunity to consider what her plan should be. She’d just sort of been wandering for much of the time since she’d left the building; walking slow, and taking breaks whenever she needed a quick breather or to adjust her shoes, but wandering nonetheless. She didn’t know where she’d started off from, so she didn’t really know how to read the map she’d been given, and she didn’t have anywhere exact to aim for, either. Just somewhere peaceful. Just somewhere quiet.

This forest ticked both of those boxes. There was a light dusting of rain coating the area, although the boughs and branches up above were mostly doing a decent job of protecting Beatrice. The sound muffled everything, bar the noise of her shoes crunching on packed snow as she trudged forwards. There was occasional movement out of the corner of her eyes; small birds flying from tree to tree, branches depositing more snow down to the ground, leaves rustling in the gentle shower. But when those all stopped, leaving her slow march forwards the only form of motion left, it truly felt like she was the only being alive in these woods. In the world. Maybe even the universe.

She had never experienced anything like it before.

Beatrice had always been a big girl. She’d been taller than most of her classmates even at elementary school, a trend that had persisted all her life. People commented on it a lot; it was often the first thing that people mentioned upon being introduced to her. She didn’t mind it, not even when people spoke it in hushed tones, or followed it up with surreptitious laughter. She was tall, after all. It was just a fact, and a fact she was well aware of, so none of the comments about it bothered her in the slightest.

But right now, surrounded by trees that reached up into the sky itself, as tall as buildings, branches looming up overhead, just to shroud her and swaddle her in their shaded embrace, she felt so unimaginably tiny. They stretched on for what felt like forever, in every direction, further than she could see; it was easy to believe that the forest covered the entire island, if the map hadn’t told her otherwise. There was no sight of anything crafted or constructed; no brick nor metal nor mortar. No sound of it all either; on most nights, she fell asleep to the sound of the low humming of machinery in the walls, faraway traffic, and even more distant cargo trains. There was none of that here. It was an entirely different world. A brand new planet that she didn’t belong in, but that had allowed her to spend time on regardless.

She had stopped moving, she realised now. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been motionless for. Her neck was starting to ache from looking up into the roof of leaves up above, patches of light grey sky peering down at her. She rubbed the back of her neck, just below the hair tie keeping her ponytail secure, before quickly placing her hand back on the axe handle. She took a handful of slow, hesitant steps forwards, back in the direction she’d been going in before.

She faltered again soon enough. And she looked off to the side, at the great old redwood closest to her. Her footsteps turned at a right angle, leading her closer to the base of the trunk, wide enough that she couldn’t even get her arms halfway around the diameter. Beatrice stood underneath, staring up into the tangle of branches, so many miles above her head, before she turned around and leaned back, bags compressing against her back, pressed into the bark. Her arms, which had kept the axe held close to her chest up until this moment, slowly lowered, relaxing with each passing second, until the handle of the broadaxe was level with her hips.

A gentle, thin mist of rain fell upon her. She didn’t seem to mind.

((Beatrice Briggs continued in My father told me))