The Forbidden Path
Don't forget to read Part 1: Igniting the Journey first
It didn't take Ibrahim long to find the path twist beneath the tall trees. Not a thing had changed since he was a boy; weathered stones still peaked from beneath the grass and fallen red blossoms from the trees still littered the clearing. Contrary to the weathered and untouched facade, the grass was low. When the sun came up, Ibrahim would be able to tell if it had been cut or worn down. Until then, he would have to wonder.
To anyone else, the grass may have looked uninviting--such was the side effect of 3-D living art--but to Ibrahim, the grass was heaven. Soft blades tickling his skin like silk; there was comfort in the way the grass connected to his skin, a reminder that he, too, was a work of art. Unlike the trees and the grass, there were no brush strokes visible in Ibrahim's skin, but the way the vibrant green moved between the shimmering silver and smokey black layers of his skin like paint splatter was just as magical. Lying in the grass, semi-camouflaged, he closed his eyes and waited for the sun.
That morning, his excitement was echoed in the green blobs of liquid squirming beneath his skin; Ibrahim was practically vibrating with anticipation. This was the result of simply upon placing just one foot on the path, it was possible he would have heart attack after placing the second foot on the trail.
You don't have time for this. Ibrahim told himself. Just find the Abada and get back to Mom.
He took a deep breath, the submerged his body in the forest taking long, deliberate strides. Though the trees were tall, they were not thick enough to completely block out the sun--something Ibrahim had been counting on. The lighting was well suited for his excursion, so he settled on a light pace and kept his eyes in constant motion, scanning the forest for any sign of his treasure.
Only fifteen minutes or so had passed when Ibrahim started to doubt himself. Perhaps it was the fatigue of walking in the heat, or simply the rationality of his parents creeping into his brain. Either way, Ibrahim knew he needed to take a break. There was a large tree ahead of him, with branches that swirled like vines and dangling purple fruit. Not only was it beautiful, it was perfect for shade and edible. Ibrahim leaned against the tree gratefully and tugged at one of the oval shaped melons.
For a moment, Ibrahim allowed his eyes to rest as he devoured the sweet fruit. Deep purple juice trailed down his hands and trickled between his fingers, but no one was there in the middle of the forbidden path to witness his poor eating habits. Or rather, he assumed no one was there.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" a voice called to him in a strangely calm tone.
Quick to his feet, Ibrahim readied his bow and arrow. "I am Ibrahim. I'm on a quest."
If it weren't for the fear that he was indeed trespassing on the king's property, Ibrahim would have laughed at the thought saying the words "I'm on a quest" aloud. Now, however, he was worried about what trouble he might have gotten himself into. Trespassing on the king's private property was bad, but surely there were worse scenarios.
"Show yourself." Ibrahim called out. "I mean you no harm...provided you mean me no harm as well."
To his left, emerged a small boy, no more than ten years old. His red hair was wild and tangled and his matching red eyes wild with fear, but the warm orange flowing in his skin was calm and steady--steadier than Ibrahim's green for certain.
"How did you get here?" Ibrahim asked as he lowered the bow. "Are you alright? What is your name, son?"
The boy glanced around nervously. "I don't know. I don't remember. The Abada call me Luca."
