Chapter 32. Hunting.

  Blanch yellow eyes dimmed, closing with a cold dewy seal. A forever blink that shocked his nerves. In that fading blink to darkness was a name.

  A name that echoed. Much like the memory of the dying mother. He thought about that massive wolf strung out for aggregation.

  The idea of that innocent youth getting caught along the same—well it infuriated him.

  Grinding his teeth with each step, his imagination only darkened. He would find this pup, go back for his things, then to Stallitusk. After his son was blessed he would then return to his forge. Rebuild. Refine. Try to get by like the rest of the folks, if what Abram says is true—about monsters, than the game is true, and he would not be playing.

  “Fenrir!”

  The most glorious mustache that ever had the chance to be, barked. It was a desperate bark jumping with each snap. Practically forcing the name into 1 syllable. Slamming on those R's like a witness calling passersby to a murder. A shout that spread from tree to tree, like a rumor of who-done-it.

  He moved steadily between the trunks, before calling again. He wasn’t sure if the pup knew its name, and if it did would it even understand him. A sharp pebble yanked him from the thought, but not from his reasons. Still he continued to holler, peering as deep as he could. Occasionally checking above.

  He's heard stories of nasty eight-legged freaks. The Widowmakers.

  Treetop creepers. Slinking down on a string of silk. Plucking folks from the forest floors. There were no cocoons of silk up there. No taunting cobwebs. Just empty trees that creek and groan.

  He shuddered at the thought continuing his brisk walk away. He hated spiders, and the thought of one lifting him above the branches was terrifying. Thick hands closed around that mustache before it bellowed a single name like a war call.

  “Fenrir!”

  Somewhere in the distance to the left was another calling.

  “Darren!”

  Somewhere to the right was another.

  “Alex!”

  What were the odds. Each of them calling out like that, practically in unison.

  Sid spun. One of those voices was close. He thought it sounded close anyways. If it was he probably spooked them. Stepping quickly he let his nostrils lead for a moment.

  The air was seasoned just right. It wasn’t a smoky seasoning like the strips of fish that hang back at the settlement. It was salty though, a salty panic of clammy fear. An anxiety that was not his own. Cupping his mouth that lip-rug tried another.

  “Fenrir!”

  Now I don’t know if its been mentioned—yeah one would think I’d be the one to know if its been said or not, but Sid was pretty quick for a big guy. Let me rephrase that.

  When Sid was in a hurry, one better fucking move out of his way. He will roll you over and not ever look back, he had a reputation for it back at his settlement.

  This was different. This wasn’t the rush of excitement that came with a pouch full of iron pellets. This was a parental instinct.

  One of those instincts that say stomp out whatever harms the baby. You see, Sid had a connecting with that shadowy figure, one that flipped a lever. That pup brought a certain light—go figure a shadow would be a grieving mans beacon of faith.

  I don’t know maybe it was the sorrow the animal carried that pair so well with him. Whatever it was he was attached. His head swiveled, forcing a ripple down his braid. It whipped back and forth like an irritated tail.

  Shouting, Sid-paced speed-walking and his style of improper breathing would force even the most trained warrior a mouth comparable to sawdust.

  Coughing after a heavy call, he let a black wad fly. The tree bark it slapped against peeled with blight while that goop drip.

  His mushroom nose flared detecting memorable notes. It was one of the men who escaped—no, …men face each other—this was the smell of a vampire.

  A second draw of air. A second scent. It was a real dirty rat kind of smell—ehh that’s kind of rude to rats, if any are listening, I’m sorry.

  It was a filthy stench though. Like a swelling hernia collecting rancid debris that cling against the walls of a putrid colon.

  It was that one who never left Darren’s side. The vampire who swung the axe—his lumber dropper held the same stench of memory—chicken-shit. He’s heard fire-tale about how a pack will always have the one leach that clings like a parasite, even while the host dies, that bloodsucker hasn’t a direction to follow soon expiring after. Cowards. The kind that will lay a knife to rest in your chest when sleeping, …or an axe in the back.

  “Darren!”

  A voice in the distance cried. It was a panicked call. Just to that of a beggar pleading for crumbs tugging at the coattails of elitists—actually this was more depressing. It was almost heart wrenching, like a starved babe for the teat.

  Unaware of the motion, a bold mustache curled just ever so slightly. The tickling aroma that lingered. That thing ran through not long earlier, and it was a deliciously boiled smell. One that forced the tongue to drown. Teeth to chew. Reflexes swallowing a mouthful of desirable imagination. He followed the scent with a lewd smile.

  He was now looking for two more—no, …looking was the wrong term, Sid was hunting. Not forgetting the reason why he ran in the first place, he lifted a thick hand, cupping that wonderful lip-rug. There was a firm waggle and that thicket of hair snapped.

  “Fenrir!”

  Sid listened to the pines. That raven would be useful right about now. He pondered on the bird while he walked, smelling the winds with each gentle blowing. Looking into the branches with each ruffled lifting. Following the beats of agitated kraas' while they rushed through. None of such were that raven he met the moon before. Such a mysterious tyrant.

  He wondered if it was even real. He really should have given the bird a name, something he could call out for. He wasn’t really a pet kind of guy. He believed animals shouldn’t belong. If they wanted to show loyalty and allegiance to one, that was different.

  If that raven was real, and wanted to show allegiance it would return. Perhaps though—perhaps the bird only needed him to destroy such a tree. Perhaps he was only called upon to cleanse those grounds. Strangely though—he liked it. That feeling of completion was triumphant.

  “Fenrir!”

  He scanned here to there and back again. Thinking about that raven. Was this wolf another calling? Was it part of the game? He would not be having any part of the game. Is that why he continued? Is that why he looked? No.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  No, no, no of course not he just wanted to provide a safety for this pup, collect his belongings, bless his son, and return to the forge. Imagination pushed him along as the debate in his mind amplified, all while those peepers studied the shadows.

  “Alex!”

  Darren was shouting somewhere out there. It was a voice engrained into the walls of his mind. He would never forget that voice.

  There was also that new name he unknowingly stalked. The name of the cowardly little shit who hit him with his axe. Alex—isn’t that a stupid name.

  It was a cozy feeling though. Knowing the names of the ones he stalked. Huh—he thought it would have been more of a sour guilty feeling, you know kind of like ‘don’t name the hog you slaughter’ kind of thing. I suppose this was different, Sid wasn’t attached with these vampires.

  A connection was in those woods though. There was an unmistakable bond between him and that shadowy wolf. A passion he withheld for seasons on end. He cared for that creature of youth. An unexplainable sheltering kind of feeling like he was responsible for the thing.

  He never was a great father, but perhaps he could change. Be a better man, starting by doing right for this wolf. Maybe he could mother this babe better than his own kin.

  His thoughts had been disrupted by a rude tang. Stale iron inflated that powerful sniffer. The scent was moist, not as distant anymore. He stopped. Letting that flaring nose nip at the air.

  Beady eyes inspected his surroundings. That mustache performed a delightful dance of desirable wiggles, while an upstairs neighbor supplied a seductive steam.

  If I’ve already said it you’re going to be hearing it again—he had no shiny stars in Hunting or Tracking.

  What he did have though was an absolute beauty of a star in Smelling—it sounds stupid I know but it’s the basic skills that make the ‘great ones’ remarkable. Sid's for some unknown gods damned reason was brutal, annoying at times.

  An example? Wow one sure needs a lot of examples can’t ever just take my word for it. Well lets see, I’ve told how he smells iron in boulders. Well how about this.

  How would you all like a nose so tough it could pick up on the gastric acids boiling a juicy egg soaked fart. Oh not just that one either. It would be the churning guts of all the neighboring tents from here to the river.

  Yeah that’s what Sid dealt with each and every nose full. He was rather enjoying his time in the wood, it was fresh for the most part. Not like his settlement where folks and those horrid Cattleman stunk.

  Cattleman? Don’t worry about that, we’ll get to those later, we’re talking about a nose with a shiny star in Smelling.

  One would think ‘oh you just get used to that smell’—yes well perhaps with all of your silly noses; pathetic things that can barely pick up on the aromas you admire most, yeah I’m sure one could get used to that.

  He was on another level though, those nostrils were sharp. I’m talking about a whole different tier, stars don’t even give him justice—Hell I’m just going to be honest and lay some truth down.

  That scent-sucker was so tuned-in he could be leading a better role in a proper written book.

  One fighting with inspirational monsters and brilliant politics.

  Or even lending a hand of assistance to a heretical fisherman and his cute critter pals.

  Possibly maybe even landing a cameo inside a dungeon having a drink with a cat named after a pastry.

  But he's not, instead he’s got an over powered sniffer in this stinker.

  The trees groaned with direction, while the insects chirped with detail. Wide bare feet took slow steps of question like the grass would pull him the correct path.

  It was soothing. That cool grass under his feet. Well foot, I suppose he still had his one boot, but it didn’t deplete that grounded feeling. A bright feeling of atonement he acquired with each step. A foot placement of pure energy.

  A vibration that had not been in the timbers for a long time—yeah he settled in the mountains, …but I mean in the true unclaimed timbers, areas the game has yet too mark.

  Not that he knew where he walked or what that enlightened feeling was. At least that bell wasn’t chirping, same with that mean snarl. The hair against is neck sharpened and he looked over his shoulder with such a thought. That noise was a worrisome one.

  Of course he was frightened. Sid is a simple man who lives by the forge. Smelt. Refine. Repeat. Until the iron is pure. If one is good perhaps they tinker with more intricate detailed things, like a clasp at the pommel holding a black stone. Much like the one in the sword Sid left behind.

  He still couldn’t believe he just left his things like that—how irresponsible. But yes he was scared. This was all new to him. Up until moments ago the world was safe—monster free.

  He wandered through the veil of imagination, recalling each creature of fire-tale. Nearly receiving whiplash with each snapping twig yelp. Most of which came from under that foot of his. Nonetheless it hurried him along. Steady steps of uneven balance shuffled that heavy man through. Until a booming voice nearly pushed him over.

  A heavily charged voice thundered in his head. One he has never heard before. Forcing him for a tree of support.

  The words were deep. Sending violent waves of ache. The very cores of his thought-chamber throbbed with each pulsing crash.

  Perhaps. Perhaps if he pressed his fingers into his eyes it would release that pressure.

  He wrapped his head, digging those thumbs in. The pain that came with those deep words ached. Not the tone of such, it was the weight of the truth that hit with such impact.

  A sorrowing seed of honesty pitted itself deep in his imagination. Blooming with each echo. It was but only a short and powerful message that pushed Sid against that tree. A phrase that spoke once, while the fading call forced him to gouge at those black peepers. A phrase that could mark his headstone.

  ‘He couldn’t do it, nor shall you.’

  His eyes throbbed under sausage thumbs, but it helped oddly—do not follow his methods for headaches, seek out guidance from your local shaman or alchemist.

  Whatever that was, it stopped. He gripped his head as the words slowly echoed once more before fading with an internal pulse. ‘He couldn’t do it, nor shall you.’ Who couldn’t do what?

  Sid slowly lowered his hands and leaned against the tree for a moment. A sharp and vivid pinch in his shoulder forced a hand to reach up.

  Not like the axe bite, that patch of ouch was partially sealed over. No this felt more like—like the snapping teeth of a dramatic bite. A bite from a mouth that hang wider than humanly allowed.

  The vivid image of a mental thought reminded him of that feeling. He eyed the recovering bruises along his arm. Each losing touch with that dusty pigmentation. Same was true with the leaky punctures. The swelling was reduced, the cavities capped with a dark scabs.

  That bite at his shoulder though. The bite that left no mark. It was a feeling that worried him. A sense that made him check his own for a fresh wound. There was no new marking. No fresh blood. No dense yellow smoke. What was that feeling?

  “Alex!”

  From the sound of that call, Darren wasn’t to far out there.

  Sid could practically put a silhouette to that smell. He focused, only seeing trunks in any direction.

  What if he—no that wouldn’t work, ….or could it?

  An absolutely mundane thought seeped into his noggin. Like an unsuspecting gas-leak that flares at the strike of flint. That menacing spark of thought exploded from Sid’s maw. The aftershock roared through the pines. One could nearly see the waves ripple against the branches as his idea exploded. He even tried a waving hand of comfort.

  “Darren!”

  That silhouette out there caused a kick-up thrashing throughout the underbrush.

  A spike of adrenaline dilated those beady eyes. An evil lip-coat curled with a dramatic lifting. Reflecting a sinister smile. Even the hot steam of breath had a taunt.

  He listened with the tightest ears imaginable. Like I’ve said no stars in Tracking. He couldn’t tell a snapping twig of evasion from his ass or elbow, whatever the saying was—didn’t matter he didn’t know what he was listening for anyways.

  He smelled the air, it was soaked with a juicy panic. He didn’t know what that panicked smelled was, but it was something that hang sweetly. Something he wanted to chase.

  “Darren!”

  He roared again. A bare foot and boot pounded after one another.

  Like said before this wasn’t something Sid would typically do. However, the man was not quite himself right now. There was a spark or feeling inside him. Something was pushing and pulling. It was a calling.

  He didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the guilt he felt. The protection he failed to give. Or the enlightenment that came with cleansing the timbers of this disease.

  Whatever it was—he unwillingly pursued it. He ignored the whipping branches he rushed through. Never minding the jagged splinters that carved.

  He was quick too. Not a speed he could keep though, he wasn’t a runner. He knew how, he just didn’t do it much. It takes a lot of energy. He slowed because he was winded. The man had no stars in Endurance. Sure he could work a forge all day, but that was different. Once he got ahold of Darren he would show him how.

  Leaning against a tree he gulped for air. In those deep breaths a distressed command was made. Nothing of his own words. Darren was screaming at Alex.

  “Get up Alex! Now get up! Get up right now! He was just behind me! Get up! That is not important anymore!”

  Sid looked around. He couldn’t tell where exactly these demands came from, but the two were together.

  His nose confirmed that not just once but twice now. Pushing from the tree he stood straight, smelling the air. Clenching his fists with each pull of scent. Honing in on that putrid aroma. He started in a direction.

  It was a slow stalking. He was no longer in a hurry. There was no need. These two were close by.

  His steps were careful. Only moving when nostril gave direction. Creeping around trees and dense brush. He was so close now. There was a vibration in the pines. He came to a stand still. Grounding with that pulse before turning. Sid cocked his head at the sight, before a mustache made a subtle announcement.

  “I found you Darren.”

  The vampire was attempting to pull his goon from the ground. Ripping for Alex who never budged.

  A shadow shifted under the both of them. The purest whites met his sights. In a heartbeat Sid felt it.

  The rage toward the one who harm the baby.

  He watched while Darren gave up on Alex. Tripping over his feet as he ran deeper into the trees.