In the freezing gusts, ripping between the nearly barren forest, not that of flora but fauna,
The rocking of smaller saplings from side to side, the rustling of branches from the thicker trees as they stood against the wind, the twisting and cracking of wood, the bellowing of nature—this was a storm of a forgotten life to some and unknown to many.
A new rain took hold, floating down from above, abandoning the skeletal remains of the once lush trees from the fading autumn.
A slow shower fell; the fall of leaves was the coming of winter. For the ex-adventurer, this was home; for the common guard, this was the start of a nightmare.
Though the lord of the manor was spearheading this gradual march, one man beside him held the reins. When he stopped, so did they, and when he went forward, so did they. Even the lord couldn't escape this dance; he was bound by the orders of another.
Not a song of words, but of actions, all of them playing their part in this symphony led by Alvin the maestro.
The forest was only graced with the breathing of men, the shuffles of armour, and the occasional mutterings of one sole voice; lessons forgotten by one were lessons learned, for even Uill's tongue stood fast in his mouth.
The band of feet behind him stopped, all of them locking onto the halting movements of Alvin.
The man, who was old before his time, was now kneeling and squatting above the dirt, wincing from the aches in his joints.
He reached into the moist soil, pulling something out of the sludge of the earth and rubbing it between his fingers, coarse and soft but thick enough to hurt when pressed tightly. A horrid smell drifted into his nostrils as he smelt the tufts of fur; it was familiar and unsettling.
Alvin: (Snorting. Expunging the scent before it took hold.) Cara… (in a light whisper, pointing his arm forward and returning to a standing position.)
For what their eyes couldn't see, the ears of the guards behind Alvin picked up the slack, and as the muttering ended, the trudging of feet started again. The trail was getting warmer; all of them followed the footsteps of the man in front, deeper into the unknown.
None of them responded to Alvin's mutters. Yurn and Uill were scouring the rear, gradually moving their eyes in a scanning motion.
In the middle, Robert and Carl were nearly back to back, almost side-stepping instead of walking; if one were to jest, Alvin would have called them mud crabs, befitting of the habitat below.
For only the Lord was looking ahead; if it weren't for Alvin, he would have indeed been the point of the spear of the men, his eyes glaring into the path ahead. Turtling as they moved forward, following the invisible trail only known to one
Slow and easy never wins the race, but it makes sure that they cross the line in the end. This was surely a thought in the back of all of their minds until something broke the rhythm of the hunt.
A weak whistle came from the duo in the centre. They all stopped. Alvin pulled himself back into formation next to Vayreban.
All of their heads turned to the man locked in time, looking in one direction.
Alvin: Cara? (deep whisper.)
Carl: No… (cold tone) (His eyes locked onto something, then they went wide.)
All of them were now looking deep into the direction of the outstretched arm that pointed into the see of trees.
Vayreban: What did you see? (low, confused voice) squinting into the never-ending row of trees.
Carl: It looked... Human. Like a man, but... it was black, like a shadow, but it was hazy. I saw it for a second, then I blinked, and it was gone. It was by the broken tree—the one over there! (After a moment, he lowered his arm.)
Twelve eyes were scouring the view ahead, yet the twelve saw everything and nothing.
Yurn: You mean the big one over there? I don't see anything; are you sure it was a man? (confused.)
Carl didn't answer, only staring further ahead.
Uill: What the hell is he doing out here?
The nearly catatonic guard replied
Carl: I said it looked like one, but that was no man. (Sharp reply.)
All of them went frigid; the ailment of fear was in the air, and they were all breathing it in.
The guard, who was grouped with Carl, spoke up.
Robert: Well, whatever it was, it's gone now. (He saw his friend's eyes still locked in fear.) Carl, hey, Carl, snap out of it! (clicking his fingers next to the man's ears.)
The next words would ring chills through them all, more so to the one who spoke them.
Carl: It's eyes; it was looking at me...
No one spoke. For what was the passing of one minute felt like much more?
The tracker who let go of the reins for a moment shot back into life, knowing he had to get this march back on track, guiding his party once more with his coming words.
Alvin: If it is a man, we can't do much if he doesn't want to be found. Also, it could be the tricks of nature. (Looking to Vayreban,) do you know of anyone else who would be out here?
The lord shot back with confidence, breaking his own confusion, though it was still lingering around in his mind.
Vayreban: No, not that I know of (looking at all of the men). We are the only ones out here. (His eyes moved away.) The hunting lodge is closed, and all quests have been rescinded until spring. Maybe a rogue adventurer? Yarrow doesn't stop blooming until winter sets in.
Next to the lord, the tracker rubbed his head.
Carl: That was no adventurer or herbalist; its eyes... (muttering to himself)—again, his words struck into all of them.
Alvin: Maybe, maybe not; we won't know unless we cross paths... (pausing.) Until then, we need to get back to the trail at hand. Okay! Back in formation. Robert, Carl, both of you switch; the same goes for the ass end. Fresh eyes, fresh ears—we are here for a cara, not a lost sheep.
The four behind the two in front began to swap places.
The eyes can play tricks. If another man saw it, he would act on it. The rule of two was in force now; if someone else saw Carl's phantom, they were definitely not alone, and it needed to be investigated.
He didn't want to brush it aside, as he knew Carl's eyes were trustworthy. Sadly, all of them were running close to empty. Even with the help of Eral's amber slurry, which tasted like piss and stale wine made from rotting grapes,
Alvin: All good? (pointing his arm back in the direction of the potential route of the cara.)
One by one, the men nodded.
Walking ahead, leading his ruffled flock, hoping the moment that has just passed never shows itself again.
One thought was in the mind of Alvin: he didn't hear anything move in the distance; maybe it was a phantom of the eyes after all.
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The men fell back into the rhythm of stop-and-go. No more whistles broke the stride of the men, only the continued mutters of Alvin; they were becoming constant now, and they all picked up on it.
Turning in the direction of Carl's phantom, the snapped tree was in sight; the tracks were leading to this one spot.
From the partial prints in the ground that survived the flurry of rain and chunks of fur embedded in the ground, he looked ahead, and then, like Carl, his eyes squinted and went wide.
Alvin shot his fist up; no whistle came; he knelt, his fist still in the air.
The mantipede of legs came to a halt and nestled behind Alvin in a crouching position, like eggs in a basket.
Vayreban: Isn't this the spot where... (whispering, stopping himself at the end of his question upon seeing a fist getting closer, then unfurling into an open hand)
Another man mirrored the lord's concern, not seeing the gesture in front of him.
Robert: Are we following the Cara or the... (confused mutter)?
open-handed gesture shot back, this time aimed at all of them.
Alvin: SHUT IT! (inaudible mouthing.) - He was now pointing to the snapped trunk—the one Carl pointed out before.
This grabbed the attention of them all.
Something in the distance was out of place. Their eyes locked onto a mound. At first glance, it could have been mistaken for a thick brush in the shadows wedged next to the half-broken tree.
As the breeze that picked up around them moved the loose leaves and thin branches against the pull of nature's icy breath, another was also breathing; this wasn't the ins and outs of men. This was far deeper, almost crackling at the end of each breath, and then the ruffles of black fur-like grass shimmered against the sun.
The inaudible voice was now mouthing something else.
Alvin: CARA! (Mouthing. His hand moved to his chest, imitating a breathing motion. (He pointed to the mound by the broken tree, where the phantom man was spotted not long ago.)
All of them slowly unsheathed their swords, the low groan of Veralium against grover leather, the edge of the blade rubbing.
All but one. The man in the red cloak held something much bigger in his hands, dwarfing the guards as it moved under his cloak.
Alvin looked down at the tracks once more. He saw another tuft of fur. This was different; it was brown, not black. He picked it up with his free hand, then wiped away the mud with his thumb; the fur changed colour; it was grey; no, it was white.
The speckles of rain started again.
A voice came from behind Alvin.
Voice: The rain... It's warm?
A crack above them could be heard.
All of their eyes shot up and went wide.
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by the broken wall.
The guard, who was waiting for the return of his lord, He was not met by the sight of his master; he was met with distant screams, coming from the heart of the forest.
Locked in place, he broke free from the fear of bondage. He turned. Running back to the manor.
The night from before was now trickling into the new day.
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