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The sun was riding low in the sky, sending long shafts of golden light through the trees of Homewood. The moss seemed to glow, the swirling nats looked like motes of light playing in the humid air. It was that calm time, late hazy afternoon when things are lazy and still. The day things were starting to relax, the night things were not waking yet. This was a good day, a peaceful time for any creature to enjoy being alive and healthy.

Cyclone was restless. It was not a thought he had or even a physical thing exactly. A swift run earlier had not settled him as it should have. A leap into the warm pool he enjoyed had not soothed him. The restlessness was inside, like a woven trap full of fish sloshing around to get free. Maybe a storm was coming? He sometimes felt edgy when a good boomer was on the way. He meandered along a path to the edge of the wood and the barrens to see if there were anything brewing in the darkening sky. Pausing, he flicked his ears, scented the winds. No, it was just a pleasant quiet dusk approaching. This restlessness was laced with frustration because he could not find its source.

The thought of turning away from the barrens made the swirling storm in his insides worsen. He perked his ears forward, studying the vast emptiness again. Was there something out there? He had never bothered himself with the barrens in his young life, why be around such deadness when there was such vibrant life in the woods of his home? A dusty breeze gusted his unkempt mane. Something about it made him uneasy like he should know something he had forgotten. The buck stepped out into the dust where the grass petered away and no lush trees grew. Something was pulling him, and the call of adventure immediately overwhelmed his restless stress. Finally! Cyclone reared up then bolted into the approaching night, determined to quell his inner storm.

Time went by as smoothly as the dusty earth beneath his swift hooves. Then there was a white almost glowing tree before him and he knew he had found the source that was calling him. Breathing heavily, sweated coat twitching, Cyclone approached the Grandfather Tree...

Cyclone was about to touch the great tree when suddenly he was slipping, falling, turning in the air. He flailed his hooves, twisted his body trying to right himself frantically. Then all was darkness.

Blinking, it took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. What at first he thought was nothingness started to take on shape and meaning. He was in a strange cavernous room with some sort of stone walls and a heavy door made of Other materials. A hole of some sort was above, just out of reach, and a beam of light shone through. There were some grates near the roof of this Other built house? fortress? He was not sure what to call it, but it felt like a trap. There was enough light filtering in from above that once adjusted, he could see well enough. Filth and debris littered boxes and crates sat stacked at jaunty angles. Vines covered much of the walls. Other-made things balanced precariously and were piled in jumbled heaps. Everything was covered in dust and the air was musty. He snorted loudly.

How had he gotten here? The details were frustratingly fuzzy. He tried pushing the door, with no result. Adrenaline spiked. He thumped it with a hoof and it didn't even shake. Whack whack! The noise of his hooves echoed around the ruins. He tried to quell the rising panic within. How could he breathe in here, how could he move, everything was so confined! Pacing, he felt a sweat breaking out across his pelt. There was no room to RUN. His panic and fear washed over him like waves, he was drowning. But his mind caught on to the slim hope of the light filtering in and the hole. Standing close to the door he reared up, placing his hooves high, and breathed the cool air which calmed him some. It must be a puzzle, and he needed the piece that fit this hole to make the door open, he decided.

Cyclone looked around the ramshackle room, disgusted. Where would he find the piece? He wanted to kick all the boxes apart and stomp them to bits until he found something. But his more rational side prevailed and he started the arduous process of pushing and pulling things off the stacks, trying hard not to get himself squashed. He was not aware of the passing of time, he felt no hunger or thirst as he struggled with the task of opening crates and shuffling through heaps.

Hours, days, weeks passed as he sorted items. He designated boxes for the things he tried to shove in the door with no result, and a pile of things that would not fit in the door at all. Sometimes he would panic or rage, or stomp at the door. When he lost hope, he would climb a stack of boxes to breathe fresh air and peer at the slip of sky he could see through the cracks. Once he found a shattered reflecting circle and was startled to see he had aged many years. His eyes were growing dim, his mane pale and limp, his color fading. He persevered though, sure deep within there was a meaning to this and he would figure out an escape... and it would be the sweetest day of his long solitary life.

As he worked at his task he came to peace with it, and even enjoyed studying the strange bits and bobs he came across. Some sparkled in the light, some made noises, or had interesting shapes. Some were empty and he filled them with smaller things to look at. If he leaned things this way and that, draped some tattered cloth, he could make a ramshackle tree. One long night, as he stood in the moonlight that silvered the room, he looked across all the organized chaos surrounding him and thought it looked a little like Homewood in the dark, and that was ok. He sent a prayer of thanks to Grandfather tree. Even if he never found the way out, he had found the way to peace within.

The light of the moon shone and he raised his muzzle to it. He was tired, so tired now. The moonlight seemed to grow brighter. He looked around and as he did so, the beam caught his horn and bounced off something shiny among the vines on the wall across from him. Curious. He had never even moved the vines, liking their wild green growth in all this wreckage. When he approached, he spotted a slim shiny object hanging from a disintegrating loop. He stared at it, then his eyes widened in shock. It was the door thing!! It had to be! Using his horn, he scooped it off the peg. Nearly stumbling over himself, he barely made it up onto a crate and stuck the thing in the hole with his teeth.

The world fell out from under him and he was sure he was falling from the crates to his death.
The light blinded him. All around him the noise of the Grandfather's leaves sang in the wind and he blinked hard. He was back on the plateau, brimming with vibrant youth and overwhelmed with joy to be free!

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