Cillian tumbled backward. He rolled uncontrollably till his back slammed into a pine tree. The impact forced the air out of Cillian’s lungs and left him gasping desperately. Each breath filled Cillian with a freezing feeling, yet failed to alleviate his exasperation. The beast roared in his direction and charged. Cillian scrambled to his feet, his hands slipping on the fresh snow, and stumbled down the direction he had come.
The beast exploded forward and pounced at the place Cillian was moments ago. Its powerful arms tore into the trunk of the pine tree, causing wood shavings to erupt out in a cloud.
The impact Cillian suffered handicapped his body, making his movements slow and uncoordinated. He fumbled with each step, doing everything to maintain his balance while trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the beast.
The tremors that the incoming behemoth caused knocked Cillian forward onto his hands. He drove his feet hard, compacting the snow and keeping his momentum. The white monster closed the gap between its prey and swung again. Cillian felt the air behind him get catapulted by the swing, as it barely missed his neck.
Cillian sprinted up one of the snow mounds and slid down on his back. The beast’s charging energy was too strong and its foresight was too limited. It launched itself off the mound, right over Cillian’s head. It landed with its face down into the snow.
Cillian used the moment of chaos to dive behind a tree. Snow drifted gently onto Cillian’s face. He curled himself into a small ball. His breath was frantic and inconsistent. Cillian heard the beast get up out of the snow.
It groaned and moaned while it meandered around. Cillian clenched his eyes shut as the noises grew closer till they were right beside him. His mind was screaming that the wind he felt on his head was the beast’s ghastly breath. He did not dare turn to check.
Every muscle fiber in Cillian’s body was poised to contract. His skin tingled as it anticipated the sensation of claws piercing. The gashes on his arms burned and ached to the beat of his hammering pulse, like musicians of pain playing to the instructions of its conductor: the heart. All his senses begged in unison for him to run. But he did not move.
The noises of the beast lingered above Cillian, before drifting away. He didn’t move, even after the beast stomped off out of his threshold for hearing. It took several minutes of silence before Cillian opened his eyes, and several more before he could muster the courage to turn and check behind the tree he was using as cover. Nothing was there, only the dimly lit aura of the forest.
Once his racing heart abated and his breath steadied, Cillian got up and started to move down the incline. He did not know where he was, but he knew that he could only climb down, for the beast lay waiting above.
After some time, Cillian heard the rustling of the branches behind him. He jumped into a ready position and turned to see what danger had found him now. Moments passed like lifetimes as he watched the rustling pine needles. Suddenly, a squirrel climbed down onto the trunk of the tree. It squeaked at Cillian and scurried back up into the warmth of the evergreen.
The injured boy relaxed.
What should I do? If I go back up that thing will kill me, but if I go back I will fail the test, and if I stay here I’ll bleed to death.
Cillian raised his arms to see the wounds. They were deep and oozing blood that soaked into his coat. Using his knife, he cut strips off the bottom of his shirt and wrapped them around the wounds on each arm, like a makeshift bandage. He hoped it would slow the bleeding long enough for him to figure out a way past this plight.
Wandering about the forest had led Cillian to a part he recognized. A little further and he found himself out of the forest and facing the ledge where he made his precarious walk around the mountain. As soon as he arrived there, Cillian knew what he had to do.
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***
Cillian was crouched beside a strong fire. He was sharpening the end of a wooden stick to a point with his knife. As he put the finishing touches, he blew away the wood shavings.
He stood up and examined his spear. It was taller than him by almost two heads, and it was just thick enough to barely fit comfortably in his hands. He sheathed his knife and stuck the tip of the spear in the flame. The spear was heavy and rather unwieldy, so Cillian worked with it with the back end of the shaft on the ground. He pushed the spear in and out of the flame and rotated it around. He was careful to avoid leaving it still for too long so that it did not catch fire.
After a few minutes of repeating the process, Cillian took the spear out of the fire. He gave it some time to cool and then knocked his knuckles against the now blackened tip.
Hard as iron.
The forest wasn’t all pine, spruce, and other evergreens. Cillian was happy to have found a sapling this size. Now that he fashioned his weapon, he was ready to face that beast.
Cillian turned his attention to his fire. He had prepared two piles of lumber. One was dry and dead wood, and the other was freshly cut pine branches. He tossed the entire pile of dried wood on his fire and watched as the flame devoured the wood like a hungry animal. While he waited for the fire to reach its pinnacle, Cillian checked that he had everything he needed.
Spear, knife, flames. That’s everything.
Anything that wasn’t with him at his temporary campsite would have been deadweight. The bonfire reached a roar and Cillian threw the pile of green branches on. The pile was big. Cillian needed it large for what he had planned.
For a moment, Cillian enjoyed the comfort of the warmth. He didn’t want to leave. He could just stay here and forget about everything. He remembered the warmth as he watched his home burn.
Cillian gathered his spear and climbed deep into the forest.
***
The center of the woods, or where Cillian thought it was, is where he stood. The little camp he set up was at the edge of the forest, so it took him some time to get here. This was the place he was comfortable with. This was the place he would make his stand.
Cillian stopped to reflect. He never felt like he was a particularly intelligent person, and it appeared that his stats agreed with him. He never saw the world. He never got a chance to even leave the village. He didn’t know much, but the one thing he did know, the one thing that kept himself and Amalea alive for so many years, was working with wood. Today, it would save him again.
“Hey! Ugly!” Cillian shouted at the top of his lungs. “Big, fat, and ugly! I know you’re hungry! I’m right here! Come and get me!”
There was pin drop silence after Cillian’s screaming. One may have been able to hear the sound of a single snowflake finding its resting spot amongst its millions of brothers. Then, the rumbling came. At first, it was subtle, but it quickly grew until it was the rapid trembling of the ground that Cillian was all too familiar with.
Just as fast as the sound and earth vibrations came, so did the beast itself. It tumbled out of the thicker foliage to a clearing where Cillian could see it. The monster paused for a moment to locate its prey and then accellerated.
Cillian raced towards it, letting out a battle cry as he lifted his spear. There were no breaks on his momentum as he thrust his weapon, leaning into it with anticipation.
The beast clashed with the spear. Its legs did not stop moving while its body was forced back by Cillian’s attack. The resulting push and pull toppled the beast onto its back, and the power of the fall nearly lifted Cillian off the ground with it. The force was too much for Cillian, and the spear was ripped right out of his hands. The back of the spear just barely missed Cillian’s chin as it flew into the air.
The beast let out a whimper. It was motionless on the forest floor. Its fur blended naturally in with the blanket of snow. Cillian panted, but he did not get a chance to catch his breath. Just as fast as the grotesque thing had fallen, it got back to its powerful feet.
It let out a thunderous cry louder than anything Cillian had heard before, louder than anything this forest had heard. His spear was stuck firmly in the beast’s chest. Trickles of blood stained the white fur.
Cillian readied himself and whispered, “Let’s do this.”
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[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1008571124440911943/1009581507733639280/bugballer_campfire_in_a_dark_snowy_forest_b724bf71-e5ee-4917-826d-043ad5887949.png]
Preparation for the encounter