moni uddin

The Forgotten Forest

Sable travelled through the night until he eventually stood at the edge of the Forgotten Forest. Its towering trees cast long shadows that stretched across the path. Their trunks were as wide as houses, rising so high that the tops disappeared into a thick canopy of leaves. He paused, wondering why they called it the Forgotten Forest, but he didn’t dwell on it for long. Glancing back at the distant village, now glinting in the sunlight, he felt a flicker of doubt. For a moment, he thought of returning. Yet, something about leaving those familiar hills behind felt right. Every stride now took him farther from the only home he’d ever known, and though it scared him, he felt proud of every step.

With a deep breath, Sable wiped the nervous sweat from his forehead with a paw and stepped into the forest. The light grew dim and the temperature cold as he ventured further in, but for a time, the forest felt peaceful. Sunlight filtered through breaks in the canopy, casting patches of light on the forest floor. Birds chirped above him, and the underbrush rustled with life. The plants were different here: strange ferns with delicate spiralled leaves and flowers that glowed faintly in the shaded corners. For a while, Sable found himself smiling. The beauty of the forest almost made him forget his fears. He felt at ease, as if the forest were welcoming him in, urging him to explore further.

Many hours passed as Sable followed the winding paths deeper into the forest. But soon, the light began to fade, and the trees seemed to close in around him. He paused as he noticed paw prints in the mud. He crouched to inspect them—they looked like a cat’s paw, each step small and careful. How could there be other cats in the forest? he thought. Hardly anyone has left Mowton, and it’s the only settlement of small cats in the region. Another thought arose, but Sable hoped it wasn’t true. He lifted one of his own paws from the mud and found they matched. A flicker of uncertainty took hold as Sable glanced around. The forest felt strangely familiar; the same trunks and tangled roots he had seen before stared back at him. He nibbled on a biscuit from his pack, trying to calm himself. The only way out is forward, he thought. But which way was forward?

The forest was playing tricks on him. Every path he took seemed to lead him in circles—the same rocks and branches appearing again and again. Sometimes, he thought he saw a white light flicker in the distant forestscape, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. Even the insects seemed to repeat themselves. Bright purple ants, their iridescent shells gleaming faintly, trailed him wherever he went, picking up the crumbs he left behind. Sable had only brought enough food for a return trip to the mountains. Even so, he left small bits for the ants. It was oddly comforting to know they were there, the only other living creatures he had encountered in this part of the forest.

Exhausted, Sable finally made camp beneath an ancient oak tree. Its roots twisted into the earth like fingers, and its towering branches seemed to watch over him. He gathered dry wood and started a small fire, warming himself as the cold of the forest night settled in.

The flames flickered, casting shadows around the campsite as Sable sat in thought. He went through all the plans he’d already tried. Whenever he left a trail of stones, the forest floor seemed to swallow them as they disappeared. He couldn’t follow the sun’s direction either, as the thick canopy blocked the light like a dark dome. Sable began scratching his fur, his claws a comfort from the nerves building up within him. He gazed up at the massive trees. If only he could climb them, he thought. From the top, he might see where he was or even find a way out. But the trees stretched impossibly high, and even for a cat, the climb looked risky.

His eyes drifted back to the forest floor, where the purple ants scurried around a small dirt mound they built nearby. Their shells shimmered in the firelight, and their tiny legs moved in unison, creating a gentle patter. They seemed unbothered by the forest and cautiously curious about Sable, sometimes edging closer before deciding against it. Behind the mound, thick vines that clung to the trees caught Sable’s eye, twisting like ropes around the trunks. An idea formed in his mind. The vines didn’t look like much, but could they be strong enough to hold his weight? Sable’s eyes lit up with potential. He could weave them into a rope. It wouldn’t be so hard. He could use it to climb the trees, and then, just maybe, he might find a way out of this place.

Forgotten Forest, Spring. Day??

I’ve completely lost track of time . . . The vine-rope is coming along, I guess, but it’s boring work. Then again, so was carpentry back in Mowton.

It feels like all I do in this place is make the rope. Day after day, I weave it, stopping only to eat and sleep.

I can’t complain though. Most days, the work flows easily, like a breeze shifting through the trees. On those days, I think about escaping the forest and seeing the stone again. On days like that, it feels like I can weave length after length of rope without even thinking.

But some days, I really struggle. On those days, my bedroll feels extra cosy, and I just don’t feel like doing anything. I feel stuck, not just in this endless maze of trees, but in my own mind. I think about how I got myself into this mess in the forest, and then I wonder, what’s the point of it all? What if the rope doesn’t work?

What if all this effort is for nothing?

And yet, somehow, I still get up and manage to weave something. Even if it’s just a small piece, no bigger than the size of my arms. The routine continues.

Today feels like the hardest day yet. I don’t want to move, don’t want to try, and I feel like letting the forest swallow me up as well . . . Not really, but I keep telling myself I can do it tomorrow.

But will I really? If I skip today, I will lose more than just a day’s progress or another night spent in the forest. I’ll lose the momentum that’s carried me this far. And I know that’s what has kept me going.

Maybe if I just gather vines today and weave them tomorrow, that should be enough.

It will be enough. No matter how little I accomplish, it matters and will keep the momentum going.

Actually, I think I’ve realised something now . . . Progress, however small, is still progress.

Sable put away his journal and paused as he reflected on this newfound clarity. That day, he got up and collected the vines like he had decided. It was enough, and the routine continued.

Sometimes, Sable wondered how long he had been lost in the forest. Without the sun, time felt blurred. Was it five days? Ten? He tried tracking the days with his dwindling biscuits, and he had eaten far too many. He closed his pack, deciding he wouldn’t eat today. When a piece of the rope became trapped in the pack, the work he had done so far caught his eye. The rope twisted and turned, snaking around the camp like a moss-coloured serpent. In the dim light, it blended almost seamlessly with the forest floor, and he nearly missed just how much he had created. The rope was coiled around his bedroll, and some parts had even flattened from where he had unknowingly slept on it. He smiled. It must be enough to climb.

 The next challenge was getting the rope around the towering branches above. Cats were known for their climbing abilities, but even for the best of climbers, this task seemed impossible. For a village cat who had only known the comforts of home, it was daunting. As Sable pondered his next move, a rustling sound caught his attention. The purple ants, his constant companions, were on the move. They swarmed toward the rope, lifting it with their small, iridescent bodies. Sable watched in awe as the ants carrying the rope on their backs approached the massive tree he had camped under. They scaled the trunk effortlessly, wrapping the vine around the first branch high above.

Sable quickly packed his bedroll and belongings into his pack, securing it before starting the climb. The first branch was just visible through the dense canopy, about twenty metres up. The purple ants had already secured the rope, and it hung firmly from the branch. They covered the tree like a living, shimmering blanket, waiting for his ascent.

Sable gripped the rope and gave it a tug. It responded with a satisfying thwip, reassuring him of its strength. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and began the climb. Upon reaching the first branch, he paused to catch his breath, trying not to look at the forest floor looming below. Immediately, the ants resumed their work, lifting another part of the rope higher and securing it to the next branch. Why were they helping him? he wondered. Did they feel sorry for him, or was it the crumbs he had left for them? Whatever the reason, these were the kindest insects Sable had ever met.

Sable climbed higher and higher until the ground disappeared from view. The dense canopy surrounded him like a cocoon. The only sounds were the rustling leaves, the steady scurrying of the ants and his shallow breaths. The air was dense within the leaves and branches, and a constant smell of dampness lingered in the air. Sable felt his arms burning as they grew tired. But there was no way he was going back down now. Not without finding a way out.

After what felt like at least a dozen climbs, Sable’s grip on the rope weakened. He slipped and dug his claws into the bark to steady himself. He wasn’t sure how much more he could climb. But just as exhaustion threatened to overtake him, Sable noticed a change in the air as he climbed. It smelled fresher, lighter, as the stench of the damp leaves faded. His nose twitched, and suddenly, his body gained a second wind, and he hurried his ascent.

The leaves whipped his face as he hammered through them. He brushed past them, layer after layer until he finally broke through the last canopy. It felt like emerging from a deep dive. Sable blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight shining on him. The cool night air greeted him with a gentle breeze, and the stars above shimmered in quiet indifference to his struggle. In the distance, he could see Mowton’s hills, now a faint crease on the horizon. He hadn’t realised how much ground he had covered in the forest. On the other side, Sable spotted his way out as the sea of trees ended, unveiling a winding river heading to the west. But across the river, and past the open fields, something else caught Sable’s eyes. The mountains dotted the horizon like a colossal wall of rock. Within them, the largest stared back—the Blue Mountain. He was close.