PURSUIT REKINDLED

  The night crept closer, pulling the darkness across the sky like an ebony curtain. The Black Thorn stood just beyond the reach of human farmlands, his figure hidden in the shadows cast by a sparse cluster of trees. His green, feline eyes reflecting faintly in the dim light, scanning the landscape before him. From his vantage point, he watched the last flicker of lamplight snuffed out from a nearby home, plunging the area into still obscurity.

  A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Humans were always so easy to predict, so trusting of the night from within the perceived comfort of their dwellings.

  He crouched low, moving silently from the cover of the trees, his padded feet barely brushing the ground. He stayed close to the earth, his cunning eyes scanning for any sign of life, while his ears focused on the slightest of sounds. Occasionally, the bark of a restless dog or the bleat of some farm animal broke the silence, alerted by the faint trace of his scent. None saw him, though. He was one with the shadows, and the field creatures that noticed him were too few, and far too insignificant, to raise alarm.

  The hunt is always the same, he mused, slipping between a series of tall hedges. He had spent the previous night prowling similar homesteads, narrowing his search with unperturbed patience. One by one, the farms revealed nothing of use. Tonight however, the air carried the faintest scent of something different. The subtle but unmistakable musk of a direhound lingered on the wind, telling him that his prey was near.

  Always closer.

  His narrowed gaze fixed ahead as he reached the edge of the next property. It was larger than the others. A vineyard, judging by the endless rows of vines that spread across the field. The land sprawled wide, but the abundance of cover worked in his favor. He darted between the vines, his black vest and fur merging with the darkness. No moonlight penetrated the thick clouds, and the vines swayed gently in the breeze, concealing his presence as he made his approach.

  The main house loomed before him now, its wooden beams framed by the night, quiet and seemingly undisturbed. His eyes flicked to the barn at the far side of the property, a tall, sturdy structure that seemed to be rarely visited at this hour. He circled the residence, keeping his breath steady as he scanned the ground, looking for something out of place, anything that would reveal his target.

  His keen sight caught something. There was a faint impression in the soft earth. He halted, crouching low to inspect it. The disturbed spot on the ground was large, triangular shaped with four distinct claw marks cutting into the earth. His lips curled into a predatory grin.

  A pawprint—direhound.

  He traced the outline with a clawed finger, the size and shape confirming what he already knew. Nalli had been here, no doubt. The scent was faint but still present, woven into the soil. He inhaled deeply, taking it in, letting the subtle clues guide him forward.

  Good, he thought, rising from his crouch. I'm close.

  The Black Thorn narrowed his eyes. Nalli... She had been more elusive than he anticipated, but with every step, the puzzle was falling into place.

  Her faint scent lingered around the property, but it grew stronger as he neared the barn, mixed with more telltale paw prints pressed into the soft earth. He moved cautiously, his ears twitching as he listened for any sign of her.

  As he reached the barn, he pressed his emerald eye to a crack between the door’s frame in a need for caution, and a quick scan confirmed his worst fear.

  She wasn’t there.

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  He slipped inside without a sound. The air was thick with the smell of direhound, interwoven with the remnants of human activity. His gaze swept the room while irritation crept up along the fur of his neck, deliberately taking in every detail with crisp clarity.

  Then he saw it. In the corner was the dull gleam of a steam-bike tucked between a pair of hissing pipes. It fit the description from the bandits he had... persuaded. A farm boy with a steam-powered bike, and now the telltale scent of a direhound substantiating the barn’s interior.

  The Black Thorn prowled deeper into the space, his movements sleek. Toward the back, he found the final confirmation: a pile of hay scattered with strands of light gray and purple fur.

  The posek assassin crouched, collecting a tuft of the purple fur between his claws and guiding it up to his scrutiny. This was where she took refuge, this was her hideout, and he was closing in.

  The Black Thorn's slitted pupils swept over the interior of the barn, searching for further clues. Based on the thick stench of direhound in the air, he concluded that Nalli had been here for perhaps even several days. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, filtering out the scent of hay and oil, focusing on the faint traces of dried blood and sweat, layered beneath.

  Nalli had been nursing her wounds, gathering her strength.

  He moved through the barn in silence, his soft footfalls masked by the quiet hissing of the steam pipes. A collection of tools lay scattered about, haphazard and disorganized, along with scraps of leather and twisted bits of metal. The place was less of a workshop and more of a nursing station, hastily assembled for a purpose he couldn’t quite discern. Yet there was something odd about the scene, something that preyed on the edges of his instincts.

  His keen eyes darted to the far wall, where a crude drawing of a direhound caught his attention. The figure was rough and childlike, but the telling details were glaring in their probability: the saddle drawn over the beast’s broad back, and a human rider perched on top. The Black Thorn paused, narrowing his eyes as the pieces began to fall into place. He studied the drawing for a long moment, his mind sifting through each of the possibilities one by one. The human had clearly been planning something with Nalli. Training her? Taming her? The idea was laughable. Still, it explained the tools, the equipment, and the sketched blueprint.

  So, he thought with a cruel smirk, Nalli thinks this frivolous act will guide her through the human lands…

  He turned away from the drawing, continuing his survey of the barn. Toward the center of the barn, near a series of human steam-pipes, his eyes landed on the workbench cluttered with various supplies. However, catching his attention was a letter, lying almost too neatly atop the mess. Its placement was clearly intentional, left in the open for anyone to find.

  The Black Thorn moved to the bench, his claws extending as he picked up the envelope, his touch delicate despite the lethality of his hands. He sliced it open effortlessly with a sharp claw and withdrew the folded paper inside. He read it slowly, the small script pinning down his suspicions, and at the bottom, a signature.

  —Drak

  According to the parchment, the human male had left. He didn’t know when he’d be back, but the letter made it obvious he wasn’t returning anytime soon.

  The Black Thorn let out a quiet, mocking chuckle as he reread the message, almost amused by the simplicity of it. So the farm boy had decided to join Nalli on her little adventure. How quaint. Except, the letter gave him something far more valuable: confirmation that they were gone, and they were together.

  Folding the letter with care, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his vest, the grin on his face widening. A human vineyard worker traveling with a wild Nightmoon Veil direhound… what a delightful quandary. And yet, no matter how resourceful they thought they were, The Black Thorn knew where they were headed. His masters had imparted that wisdom onto him before he began his initial hunt. Nalli’s destination was clear, and now she had the added burden of dragging a human along with her.

  Good, he thought, savoring the change as a plethora of new sinister ideas populated within. It will only make the hunt more satisfying.

  He stalked out of the barn like a shadow slipping through the night. The cold breeze greeted him as he stepped into the open, rustling the vines of the vineyard as he contemplated his next move. They couldn’t have gone far, not with the direhound’s injuries and a human’s limitations slowing them down. And, he mused, even if they have gained some distance, it won’t matter. Out in the open, they would leave a trail easy to follow.

  A human male, inexperienced and naive, with a direhound for a companion… The Black Thorn had faced far greater threats in his time, and this was little more than an amusing distraction. It didn’t mean he would take his time. No, he would track them swiftly, intercept them before Nalli even had a miniscule chance to think she had escaped.

  When he found them, he would set loose his trap, and there would be no mercy.

  The chase was back on, and he intended to savor every moment of it.

  With one last glance at the darkened barn, The Black Thorn melted into the shadows once more. He would hunt them both, human and direhound, and there was nowhere they could hide from him now. The boy called Drak was irrelevant, a mere pawn in Nalli’s game.

  Although, he thought as his fingers brushed against the smooth handle of Demon Fang with epicarious delight, even pawns can bleed.

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