Project Dream Preview, Chapter 8

Afore the newborn light, Hinto woke, “revere the day,” powder was kicked over the smolders, “one you should’ve seen…” his ascensive gaze drifted t’ward the latent Alo; he crouched, reaching for his sorrel, jagged mane. 

“H-…Hinto?”

“—Ah,” his hands hid, “r-revere the day, I…I was about to wake you…”

“Wake me…?” asquint, he languidly surveyed the nival scenery, “t’is too early…let me dream…”

“I would, but we’ve a buck to catch; the longer we wait, the farther it roams…”

“…Urgh, it won’t…”

“ …You’re certain…”

“…I may not even rest,” his limbs grudgingly stretched, “fine…keep pace.”

Arove along the Clearing's treeline, they shielded from the peripheric dawn and plagued one another with infectious yawns; Hinto imparted one especially emphatic.

“Ah…no creature roused?” he scratched his chin, “no scampering hares nor morning songs, no prints aside from these?”

“Only now you realize t’is barren? If only the others would; if we fail, I’ll be blamed regardless—”

“I’ll vouch for you, you’ve my word.”

“A foreigner’s is no worth; despite your claims, to Keenda, I’ll ever be the cursed, drunken runt, the cause of all misfortune…” 

“Ah, well, you’d be spared one label if you could hold your liquor—”

“I can.”

“You’ve forgotten?” he airily snickered, “the other night, you–”

“Enough.”

“You don’t recall–?”

“Enough,” Alo hunched, pointing near the Clearing’s end: their plume-tagged prey sipped from the frosted runnel, “as afore…” he primed his bow, “near the last–” yet flinched when he felt the lone, stout lonesome arrow.

“…Fear not, Alo, I’ll use my crossbow…”

His glances whisked from the target to Hinto, yet Alo found no favorable recourse, “okay,” he crouched behind, “make haste, lest risk a breeze…”

With an eye sealed, Hinto peered through his scope. 

“……T’is still…” obsessively Alo tapped his maw, “take it…”

“At ease…t’is too low, I’ve no lethal shot; we’ve neither we’ve time to further track…”

“You haven’t a choice…”

“Ah, but I’ve a notion…” 

Past his bitten lip, a sharp whistle slashed the stagnant air: the buck sprang upright, yet soon met three blinding bolts; t’was lent less than a second to claim its final rest place…

“…What…?…You…” Alo warily approached the dahlia pool around the metal embroidered skull, “…you……did it…?” 

“Seems so,” on Hinto’s shoulder, his weapon proudly perched, “though t’is quite a gruesome sight…” 

“…Your bow…is so powerful…”

“My thanks, t’was…a ‘gift’ from my forebear.”

“It launches…three,” correspondent (somewhat shaken) fingers rose, “at once…?”

“It can, yes.”

“With precision…a-at a lengthy distance…?” Hinto nodded again, “then…in the previous encounter, you could’ve…? You…you could’ve…oh,” sank Alo’s ears, “you are a finer hunter…”

“I merely—”

“T’is truly my end…” 

“Pardon?”

“T’is…my end,” he yanked his arrow free, “more akin to you will show…I…I’m obsolete…”

“No, Alo-”

“I’ll lose the lodge…my right to live–”

“To live? Calm yourself,” from their burrows, Hinto also retrieved his darts and refilled his barrel, “learn to use my weapon: with practice, t’will be intuitive.”

“You understand not…mine…can’t be replaced…”

“Why not? Contemporary hunters require modern arms, yet yours are—with respect—antiquated; you lack no skill, simply proper…” Hinto’s nostrils flared, “equipment…Alo…do you smell…?”

“…Fresh soil…”

The ground shuddered: Keenda’s Weald awoke—avian hordes silently poured from above into fluid formations, bizarre, taboo. 

Alo’s veins throbbed, his heart, like Hinto’s, shook with every tremor: the world itself parted, and from it emerged a pale, immense monstrosity—a clawed scourge on all fours, yet nearly larger than any conifer. Its visage was infested with countless tendrils, with a triagonic blink aside its right, mirrored eye…the winds, nor those aloft, dared taint its solemn presence…

“By the Pylan…Alo…run…” 

“What of…” his hand was seized, “the buck…?” yet he remained ensnared in its reflective gaze, “I…can’t See–”

“Alo!”

“…What becomes of Keenda?”

“We must leave, now!” It drew: all trembled, for it walked with the weight of the sky, yet left no traces: not a single snowflake felt its step. “I beg you!” Ashudder, Hinto reached for his pistol, yet aimed the crossbow instead, “move, Alo!”

The creature’s chest engorged, though its roar was stifled by shots arbitrarily placed in the shoulder— 

“Flee, Alo!” past rows of razored fangs, it boomed, “go!”

Aggressively shoved, the runt finally heeded direction: from the  pursuant quakes, they desperately kept their footing and sprinted to the grove, deep amongst the thicket; not once did either think to relent ‘til the Clearing was wholly eclipsed.

“W-wh…?” Alo panted, propped on his knees, “what was—?”

“I know not! I…I’ve never seen…?”

“…Hinto…the game–”

“Forget it! We’d no choice! W-we must return to Keenda—we must inform the Chief!” 

“They’ll not believe us–”

“They must! But t’isn’t safe: w-we need shelter.”

“Where…? How can we travel while that lurks about?”

“Ah, f-fear not, I-I-I’ve a map,” Hinto scumbled about his pockets, “c-can you mark our location?”

“Uh…somewhere…?” Alo noted home, then the glades, “likely…here? Near the brink of Keendan Territory…”

“I know an innkeeper in Holon, a town further South; t’is far, though closer than Keenda…”

“Holon? I-I can’t, I never strayed that far–”

“We’ll not debate, it may follow us.” 

Alo tilted skyward: not a single bird… “if we’re swift, we’ll arrive by night…?”

“I hope, the Pylan willing…”