DRETCH
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| ... and from your lips she drew your hallelujah |
| I stalk the silent creature, winged and even darker than the eternal night. It is not one that I’ve seen before; nearly as large as a horse, more agile than any feline. Its wings are leathery, but quieter than a bat’s or a dragon’s. The furry, arachnid-like body is one I have a difficult time tracking, even with my eyes shifted to owl vision. The stench, though, that is what gives it away as it twists and wends through the most-traveled paths of the Forest. It is an acrid, sulfuric smell, even more potent than that of Niklas and his favorite hellhound, a trail easily followed. I am not sure why Set’s leash is suddenly sprung free. No, not free. I know I’ll never be free, just as the mimic will never be free, though his status within our variegated pack is considerably lower than mine. No, not free … unrestrained? I shake my head, limbs gathered beneath me in a muffled gait, the cat’s paws I’ve temporarily replaced my hooves with lending me the silent passage I desire. I will not waste any more time musing on the whims of my great-grandfather turned pseudo-father. Gods only know what goes on in the mind of such a capricious creature. And of course I pay no heed to the irony of my disparagement, of a stallion whose wild ways have so obviously rubbed off on me as I chase some hell-monster beneath an unforgiving eclipse. A summer storm rumbles overhead, the black clouds carrying bellies of dim lightning that cracks and flashes now and again. No rain falls yet, but the swooping devil I follow will no doubt seek refuge in the only tree large enough to hold it … I veer off-path, ducking and dodging along crisscrossing deer trails, the trails of my childhood that I could find and follow even without sight. When I make it to the edge of the clearing where the tree stands, the air still holds the promise of rain, rather than the rotten-egg stench of the afterlife. I linger just beyond the treeline, unwilling to make myself a target when it arrives. The oak looms ahead of me, a brief flash of lightning revealing it lonely and unattended. It is quiet. Few come to these depths any more, remaining closer to what is known until the faeries or some god figures out a way to return the sun to Beqanna. My tail lashes against my side as I shift my weight, scanning the east tree-line for my quarry. It’s not the monster that emerges first, though. From the south comes a horse. I watch the stranger with narrowed eyes as he makes his way to shelter; the fluidity of his motion, the proud cant of his head. SKREEEEE! Like a devil’s claw on unyielding rock, the sound raises the hackles along my spine, the soil clenched between my claws. My head whips to the east, just as the leather-winged, spider-thing breaks through the trees. It flies just above the ground and I can see when it catches sight of the stranger. It would seem that its desire for shelter loses to its desire for mayhem, and it banks, streaking toward the stallion. I wonder if he can see it as it flies headlong into him. Surely he can smell it. |
@[Kaenros]