you step carefully around the purple flowers blooming sporadically across the forest floor. it is very late at night, and you know that you shouldn't be wandering this uncharted planet on your own at this mysterious hour. but something in the trees beckons you subconsciously. as you begin to clamor up steep, untread areas of the landscape, you discard you burdens--a first aid kit, your water, all the suddenly unnecessary contents of your pack. something primitive roars inside of you. your pace increases; you now feel the shear closeness of whatever you are chasing so starkly. your feet and hands slip as you grasp onto the trunks of trees and throw your feet ahead of you with such purpose. at last, you arrive at a clearing--and there she is. and she is like nothing you have ever seen before. she is not human, far from it, but your passion for her claws at every inch of your insides. she is not like any creature that has walked earth or neptune. she is something entirely different, and you have fallen in love with that--with her.
King Olaf the Forgetful did eventually find his golden helm, in a gully behind his castle. It was just a shame the Crusade of the Lost Helm had led to every neighbouring land being ransacked first.
