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10
THALI
The air feels thicker today, and I can’t put my finger on why.
Perhaps it’s the rise of so many factories, filling the air with smog. It’s true that Python has been expanding at an unprecedented rate, and we haven’t exactly been able to keep up with the pace of it all.
Perhaps it’s the stiff chill of winter approaching. Life here is already cold, but our winters are brutal. I grow more and more tempted to just stay indoors with each passing day, and I might, were it not for moreurgentpriorities.
But no. As I trample through the brittle grass, reflecting upon these woods I often take for granted, I realize it’s none of those things. I reach up to touch a tree, and its bark is dry and fragile to the touch. The grayness of its wood, normally so rich and great for lumber, is instead malnourished, not even suitable to feed a pilla climbing along its trunk.
There’s a sickness in these woods today that goes far beyond the approach of winter, or the irritation of the air. I can feel it in my bones, as real as the erection I carry for Brielle or the jeweled collar in my hand.
I chuckle. She really has no idea what she’s in for. I have been planning this for some time, though I had to wait for my idiot brother to get off of my trail.
An iypin crosses my path, and I draw my bow, ready to take aim. I’ve always hated iypin. Their petulant whines grate on my ears. But their meat is delicious and rich in mana.
But its expression as it looks at me is pleading, in an atypical way. It doesn’t run from my arrow. If it’s going to get in my way, the least it can do is put up a fight.
It looks frightened. And for that level of fear, it hardly seems worth killing.
“Very well, little runt,” I say to it. “You live today.”
The iypin scurries off. I wonder what could have scared it so much.
Something my brother has never understood is that animal creatures have a powerful effect on their surroundings. When you neglect an animal, the world around it slowly falls into disrepair.
That’s only speaking to the power of magical creatures – iypin, worgs, batlaz, and the like. You can mistreat your livestock, and your humans, as much as you like with no real fear of repercussion. But when you abuse your hunting companions, it starts to affect the world in subtle ways that become gradually more noticeable. It’s why the world becomes so twisted around monster dens.
I stop in my tracks, my shoulders rustling an overgrown bush when I pause. I’m sure I’m not alone in these woods. I can hear movement through the branches. And as I listen more intently, I initially hear another pair of footsteps, followed by more steps and the sound of several large animals growling. But their growls are high-pitched and nasally, as though they’re begging for care.
I sniff the air. I try to pinpoint where in the forest the noise might be coming from, feeling something in my gut.
Very slowly, I continue walking. Every step I take toward the noise brings me more anxiety because I am also taking my intended path toward the clearing. It’s where I go to see Brielle most of the time, leaving gifts to better tempt her. And the farther into the forest I go, the more clear it becomes that I won’t be alone in the clearing and that I can’t expect Brielle to be waiting for me.
A lump of ice drops into my throat, not from the cold air, but from my own realization. If Brielle is in the woods with a hunter, she could be in grave danger. These creatures are not the playthings of humans.
I accelerate my pace, dashing through the grove, snapping brittle branches on my way forward. My hand is on my quiver as I sprint, my other hand hanging at my side and ready to grab my dagger at a moment’s notice. Through bits of densely wooded forest and clearings alike, I run, tearing through everything in my path.
In the distance, beneath the lowering sun that casts the forest in a golden glow, I see a thin figure draped in a cloak, whose face is obscured by a porcelain mask. Beside him are two worgs, whose fur has fallen off in many places and who limp forward, their skeletal pink stomachs reflecting the light. Their starvation is pronounced, their drool falling steadily onto the soil beneath them.
I cannot let this man endanger Brielle, wherever she might be. He’s a mere human, no threat to me. But he is in our territory, and I have no qualms about removing a potential problem for her, especially since the mask tells me he is up to no good.
Without thinking, I draw my bow, aiming for the tree where I have left gifts. I let loose the arrow, intending to intimidate the man from taking further action. If I can find out who sent him, I can make them pay for their actions. I can already tell he’s not here of his own accord but doing the grunt work of somebody else.
He looks out toward the source of the arrow, following its path toward me. I do not intend to hide. As if on command, the worgs following him get my scent and snarl at me.
I can tell from his posture how furious he is, but from the way his eyes pause on me, I can tell even from behind the mask that he’s confused. I have the element of surprise on my side.
As he goes to withdraw his weapon, I ready another arrow, firing it into his hand.
I can imagine the bones breaking on impact. The arrow flies with such a speed that it drives through his hand and into his waist, where he was preparing to procure a weapon. His arm is pinned to his side.
He screams. Blood is trickling out from both points in his body, falling to the ground quicker than the drool from his abused companions.
“Put down your weapon,” I tell him, unwilling to escalate so close to Lowtown, where I might be discovered and Brielle might be drawn into the fight.
I can see him reaching to pry the arrow out with his other hand. I feel vicariously pained from his attempt, and my hand tingles with a small, sharp sensation.
