Chapter 16. The Skillet.

  Sid was fast for an old man, and he ran hard. His feet protected in mended leather beat wildly against the forest floor, a fast rhythmic beat that carried a round man deep into the wood. He pushed himself as long as he could before that gut grew internal claws and was now ripping at his side—metaphorically speaking of course.

  Running astray from the path he walked, all in high hopes that, that man Abram couldn’t track him. In this doing, a dark winged tyrant decide to follow instead.

  From one perch to the next, a strong span float gently behind the big guy. Eyes glossy and black, like the deeps of a forgotten basin reflect the man bulldozing his way through. Talons like night gracefully grip the next landing, while a fierce beak reflect the moon. Watching while that heavy man run deeper and deeper.

  The voices in his head swirl a sickening scream, forcing his mind to throb. A throb so deep, it turned his stomach, with a wet heave he coughed up something horrid. It was that same black stuff he was coughing up only moments ago.

  It burn his mouth fiercely, and the taste, gods it was awful, a vile and acidic bite linger in his mouth while he try to spit the tang away.

  Sid found a comfortable tree to lean and hack against.

  With each roll of breath, he coughed up something thick and black. The same substance of goop that was once the donkey’s ear.

  Like it had happened earlier. He could barely see it, but it was happening.

  The grass around the goop, it wilted and yellowed, before turning ashy. The ground around that bile spit was turning to a scar of blight.

  Beady eyes blinked with analytical suspicion, before that pulse of swirling screams brought him to knee. Nine fat fingers curled around his scalp. Thumbs found his eyes. He pressed. Sid gripped his head as if to tear the screams free. They only grow louder and louder.

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  “Bear-King!”

  “Bear-King!”

  “Bear-King!”

  The swirl of sickening screams stopped, and that glorious mustache spew a spectacle of liquid contents. It was an impressive amount too, and the dark watcher in the trees tilt its head with each curl of the thick man. Ruffling its feathers each time that round fellow groan before another wet slosh soak the grass.

  Sid roll onto his back heaving with deep gulps of the cool night air. Focusing on the raven only branches above.

  The grease over its wings gleam with a romantic midnight blue as the moon spotlighted the bird. Wings opened slowly, and it supplied a low gull like it was mocking him.

  Sid blinked nervously while the bird drifted down from branch to branch.

  The bird burped with each landing, twitching with each noise.

  If he had been standing, he might have been able to reach into the tree and grab the bird. His eyebrows furrowed before that mustache barked at the raven.

  “Get!” A callused hand missing its pointer—sometimes accidents happen as a blacksmith.

  That hand reached for a rock and catapulted it—it might have flown better than the bird.

  -Clang-

  Sid had miss his target by a great amount and honestly that didn’t bother him, he didn’t really want to hit the bird, just scare it. Because he was scared himself. The forest shouldn’t be worrisome but it just didn’t feel right. His senses constantly pulsed while his nerves prickled, and for what, it was fairly peaceful out here.

  No, what bothered him was the metallic yell that stone released when it landed from its short flight. Blinking in the thought of what he had just thrown, Sid rolled to his knees, sword allowing his stand.

  He paced with a slow shuffle, unblinking eyes comb through the grass, searching for the stone.

  That thick and magnificent mustache, it twitched and wiggled while that heavy mushroom nose flinched and curled. Something smelled dead, or rotting. Unknowingly, Sid followed his senses.

  He had only walked a few legs before those beady eyes seen it. He stopped straight right there where he stood. His throat became drier the longer he stared.

  A cold pressure crept along the pits of his bowels slithering up and along his back, before dragging a chill against his neck. Cool sweat begin to bead along Sid’s brow, as those dark beady eyes stare suspiciously at what lay before him.

  Jumping when the raven grovel in the tree above.

  Sid could only peer so far into the dark timbers, trunks all bleeding together creating a black wall in the distance. Then he cautiously brought his stare back down to the skillet.