Encounter

Rising to her feet, she blinked the welling moisture from her eyes, and started toward the empty house once again. She walked the circumference of the house carefully, checking with all her sharp senses to be certain that she was, this time entering a truly empty home.

There was no sign of any living soul––she heard, saw and smelt nothing. Rounding the house back to its entrance she could clearly see four sets of different footprints in the dirt leading to the path and away from the house. One of the sets of prints was notably bigger and heavier than the others, but also set further apart. This was undoubtedly a very large male.

This might be an Ohun Clan household.

If it were indeed a Hunter’s home, she would most likely find plentiful supplies inside, so this would very much work in her favor, but there was a significant risk attached to exploring such a bounty.

Fawn completed an even more thorough investigation of the area, and having satisfied herself that there were no concealed children, she opened the unlocked door and made her way inside.

This is a Hunter’s home.

There were no locks on the doors of the Ohun’s homes: none had ever risked uninvited entry.

Walking through the home was, in some ways, a surreal experience for her given that these places that the villagers all lived in, had come to represent nothing but sadness and misery to her in recent life.

The pull to leave and go back to the anonymity of her tunnels and caverns was strong, but the taste of badly burnt food on her palate was stronger, so she resolved to press forward.

Obsessing over the events of when she last entered a home, she went from room to room, in utter silence, checking every corner to be certain, there was no one there.

Her diligent reconnaissance paid off, as she found the cloak of a youth, discarded in the corner of one of the smaller rooms. It was relatively well made and suitably sized for her. She gathered the extra garment and proceeded to the eating area and the preparation space.

There was a cellar of sorts in the building, covered by a rough, wooden door. She opened the door and went down, preparing a rough cloth bag she found inside as she went, so she could take more of what she needed this time.

There was the familiar smell of dried meat, and an herb of some kind, that she remembered her mother using to create a drink.

The meat she discovered had variation to it as well. There were some that appeared to be made of a mixture of various kinds of meat and herbs, rather than just being hung and dried flesh.

She amassed enough to sustain herself for a week or two, hoping that by then she would have a better solution.

I need to learn to hunt without the Veil.

A feeling of guilt was creeping over her for stealing from another household that contained children. Pressing the twisting feeling down as hard as possible, she filled her bag, made her way back up the stairs, and took one last look through the home.

Just as she was readying to leave the house, cloak and bag in hand, she saw something new, hanging above the doorway. It was a thing she recognized as a high-density item, stone or metal, contrasted against the wall behind it, a tool, or ... a weapon.

The refraction that caught her eye immediately became the thing that held her attention entirely.

For a moment, she forgot the risk of where she was standing. Curiosity took over, she dropped her spoils and jumped for the implement.

The blade fell from the mantel and stuck into the dirt floor, point first. It was a semi-metallic sword with strange striations through the blade, composed of different materials.

The sword was an alloy of metal and crude ceramic formed from the Razor Rocks. It bore a hilt and pommel of wood and bone. There was no hand guard.

It was wider at the point than the handle, forged in all straight lines with a thin, primary edge and a jagged pattern along the spine.

It had various corrosions all over it, some following the trail of once-present liquid.

Fawn looked at it, stuck in the ground, trying to decide whether she should take it with her. Confident that her claw was a better weapon and tool, she stepped around it and reached for the door to leave.

The door opens: she smells the change in the air.

He’s here!

She jumps back away from the doorway as a scuffling noise announces the removal of a Hunter’s sword from its sheath.

Before her movement is complete, his sword clips her wrist as it trails her into the house.

It cuts her: a short slice, but deep. She snatches up the sword that is stuck in the ground, but with no idea how to use it, she simply lifts it and hopes.

A second swing comes from the darkness. This time she has her footing and skips back away from it, holding her stolen blade out vertically, pointing down.

The strike misses her and parries off the weapon she holds. Within a moment he has made another swing: her instinct moving her again, with ease and speed.

Third and fourth swings slice the darkness. Pinging off her sword, she can only hold it out to fill the space she once occupied.

“Please stop! I ... was just hungry.”

The attack stops.

A heavy voice comes from the shadowed space before her.

“Child.”

She heard the sound of a sword returning to its sheath.

“What are you doing in my home?”

The voice was steady and insistent.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“I ... was just so hungry, and—”

“Stealing is punishable by Drawn Death, or at least the loss of an ear and eye.”

The tone was not angry, just absolute.

“Why is it worth the risk?”

He moved to the main space and ignited an Oil Brush lamp. Fawn could see as he turned his bare back to her, that there were a series of scars along his spine, like alternating triangular cuts pointing inward.

She kept herself in the shadow, waiting, sword still shaking in hand, breathing carefully, hoping for mercy.

“I asked you a question, small thief.”

He walked straight to where she was hidden.

“Starving ... ”

“I present no threat to you, small human.”

He turned his light to shine it on her face.

Fawn tilted her head up a bit.

“I don’t believe you.”

“The Cast are the true threat we all face child, including my family.”

He moved in closer to Fawn, his light striking some of the shadows as he did.

He was a truly massive man, who bore a thick, dark-gray beard framing his jawline, evidence of age and vitality. He was heavily muscled and wore the braids of the Ohun.

A series of small, tightly woven cords at the scalp, and long, thick rope-like plaits ran down his back. His dark hair was intermingled with the glint of metal adornments that protruded from his head, making a protective and somewhat decorative circlet designating his rank and position.

He had markings tattooed over intentionally created scar tissue on both shoulders, and metal edges where the bones of his face were most prominent.

Fawn recognized the marks from the man who she saw lose an ear, as well as the one who fed the Veil. His movements were purposeful, he had no indecision in his actions.

“So ... ”

He moved in.

“You’re stealing from me because you what, have no provider?”

He was close now but had stopped moving any further forward. Crouching in front of her, he held the light to her face.

Fawn turned her eyes away. The light was too bright for her, and the feeling of someone looking directly at her was disquieting at the least.

“You will need to look at me, child. I have told you I am no threat to you.”

His voice was more insistent than before.

Fawn tightened her grip on the sword and turned her head very slowly toward him.

“I have been attacked a lot by people like you.”

She started to look in his direction. He was still making no movements of aggression.

“Listen, my kind do not attack your kind, huma––”

He drew a sharp breath through his nose as Fawn brought her gaze up to meet with his. He caught her eyes in the light for a moment and turned quickly away.

“ ... not? ... ”

He muttered and moved back for a moment.

“You need to go now.”

He was looking in her direction, but not at her.

“Ok ... ”

Fawn, puzzled, began to pull herself back into the shadow.

“You can’t take that with you.”

He flicked the sword from her hand with his, and grabbed at the bag of stolen food she had so carefully gathered.

She let the sword fall to the ground, having no real interest in something so heavy to swing anyway.

He ignored the cloak on the floor and snatched up the food bag. As he did, Fawn’s starvation drove a feral reaction. She captured part of the bag, and threw her body backwards, pulling it towards herself.

Before he could bring a second hand to bear, she placed both her feet against his throat, pushed off hard against it, and spiraled her body: up and away from him.

The bag came free from his grip, as she had built a great deal of force and momentum. Turning her body to land on her feet, she clutched at the food.

“I have to eat something.”

She quickly moved out of reach.

The Hunter stood up, holding his throat, looking at his empty hand, muttering.

“Such force for a child ... ”

He refixed his gaze at her feet.

“Where have you come from?”

Fawn, clutching at her food bag, turned to leave.

“Wait, child, from where do you come?”

He moved toward her again.

“If you are truthful with me, you can keep the food.”

She held tighter to her sustenance.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

He took another step toward her.

“I told you huma—child, the Cast are the threat we all face, even you. Now, where are you from?”

Fawn could feel that he meant no specific harm, at least not yet.

“People keep hurting me, I don’t want to ... ”

He moved away from her.

“I think you are not from this Village.”

“I am!”

She blurted out a response before she could stop herself.

“I said you must tell me the truth.”

He sounded annoyed now.

“I told you. I am from here.”

“Ok, I believe you ... but you need to go now.”

He sat on a chair in the corner of his home and took his sword from its sheath to clean it.

Fawn stepped carefully, and surreptitiously retrieved the cloak as she went.

“I can ... keep the food?”

Immediately, she regretted her choice to speak.

“You were honest with me, that was the deal, you may also keep the cloak you’re trying to conceal, my one has no use for it.”

“Ok, thank ... you.”

She cautiously moved towards the door.

“Child, be careful of us. Hunters are born killers, but the next time you meet an Ohun ... you look him right in the eye ... ”

Standing in front of the door, she looked out into the safety of the True Dark, and waited a moment.

“Why?”

He stood, watching her carefully.

“ ... How well can you see out there?”

She looked down, then turned her head toward him, surprised at being asked.

“Very well, but why?”

He walked toward her slowly, his head down. She prepared a movement, the muscles in her legs coiling and her whole core tight. He continued to come closer, his hand reaching out and head down. She still felt no threat from him, and it made no sense. She was looking at a killer, a man made to hunt, punish and slaughter. Yet, he posed no threat to her.

“We do what we are made to do, child, that is all. But you are not one of the Hunters.”

He quietly placed his hand on her shoulder.

“You are a ... well, you’re only a little one.”

He lifted his head, looking out into the darkness. He saw living things, due to their warmth, color and pattern of movement distinguished by size and speed.

Watching them move, like a reptile watching prey, he took a small stone from the pocket of his pants and threw it against the neighboring house. He noted as Fawn reacted to the impact, and then to unseen images. Nodding slowly, he turned back to go inside.

“Be merciful, little one, merciful.”

Fawn, utterly lost as to what had just happened, secured her bag, fastened her cloak and walked away from the house, aimlessly. There was a time for questioning what happened in detail, maybe even sitting still to think, but now was not that time.

Now was the time to move while safe, eat from her bag, and drink from her waterskin.

–Garrick M Lynch–