The forest of Elgone was old and set in its ways. In a choreographed dance, the sun would rise in the East, slowly chasing away the darkness until at its zenith only the strongest shadows dared remain. But what goes up, must come down and as the sun would descend towards the mighty peaks to the West the shadows would grow bolder, and just as the sun would set the shadows would hungrily swallow everything back into darkness.

Inviting summer meadows that burst with colorful flowers, teeming with hardworking bees and sun soaked butterflies by day, became something entirely different by night. From the rustle of small animals hidden in the brush that startled at any nearby noise to the calls of birds singing lullabies to the encroaching night to the creatures that were just waking up to feed, nights in Elgone forest were dark and hidden in the darkness was danger.

But with the danger came rewards. There were plants and creatures that lit the dark places with a magic of their own as well as potion ingredients that could only be harvest during the night and by those brave enough to find them and animals that couldn’t be found during the day. There were beasts and monsters too.

Two children steadily made their way towards the safety of home as darkness crept its way into the forest. The siblings were in a hurry- they knew the stories about what happened to kids out alone at night.

Weston's body ached like he had been trampled by one of the oxen the villagers used to plow fields or pull heavy carts. How was it so dark already?

According to Sarah he had been as still as a dead man for some time after he hit his head. Well, she said that he had floated in the air shining like a screaming blue sun before dropping and then hitting his head, but Weston didn’t believe that part. Sarah had a reputation for telling stories about seeing floating lights in the ruins beyond their farm or the whispers of wolves in the forest and other things that weren’t true.

Weston wished that their father would tell her to stop, but instead he would patiently listen to her stories, looking into her eyes and nodding instead of laughing like Weston would. Weston felt that it was giving her a credibility that she didn’t deserve.

Sometimes his father would go as far as to grab his longbow and the sword from his time in the army, and tell his children to bar the front door behind him as he disappeared late into the night to check. Weston couldn’t sleep on those nights. And now she was coming up with this story.

It was strange that Weston had lost track of the light. He was careful, and even if he did sometimes tiptoe over the line by venturing too far from home or coming home after sunset, he wouldn’t pull that stunt while he was babysitting his sister. Also his body felt different, but he couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t because everything just hurt. He focused on his status ledger to see if anything had changed.

Name:

Weston

Race:

Human

Class:

n/a

HP

42/50

MP

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0/100

SP

1/50

He could see that he had lost 8 hp due to his face injury but the weird thing was that his stamina was really low, and that his mana points had shot up from 10 points to 100 and that it was bottomed out. He had never even used his MP before, having never used a magic object or scroll, nor did he know how. How could it increased and suddenly be at zero?

That might account for his splitting headache- the stories said that magic users would get a backlash if they let their MP bottom out. He knew from experience that the same was true for stamina and as a 9 year old boy who had climbed up and down the mountainsides from the time he could walk, his stamina shouldn’t have been this drained. He’d need to ask his father about what it could mean.

He looked towards his sister walking by his side, but because a person couldn’t normally see someone else’s status ledger, all he could do was identify her.

Name:

Sarah

Race:

Human

Class:

n/a

Other than the dirt smudges on her face, earned from a day spent playing outside and the streaks that cut through them from the teardrops she cried, she looked just like she normally would on a late summer day.

Sarah wore a gray hooded gant fur cloak and homemade sandals with a small satchel full of ‘treasures’ on her back. Her hood was up but he could see her head moving as she scanned the forest for threats as they walked.

Weston wore nearly the same outfit, except for the addition of his hunting gear. And while Sarah's backpack was usually full of piles of unique rocks, interestingly shaped sticks, snails, leaves, pretty flowers or whatever caught her eye, his pack usually held dried rations, rope, fresh game or snares and sometimes medicinal herbs that he borrowed from his neighbors garden.

He wouldn’t have it any other way- he admired the way that she could find beauty in anything. She wasn’t big enough to carry her own bow and knife yet but she always brought along a big stick that she sharpened into a crude spear.

Weston lost his trail of thought as he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked out into the gloom but couldn’t make anything out.

It wasn’t the first oddity he thought he’d seen, but it was getting hard to pick out distinct movements or sounds from among the animal movements and insect chatter that was slowly increasing as the light faded. The forest sounded like the usual natural song the insects and animals sang every night which was a good thing because it was never a good sign if it was too quiet.

“Did you see something?” Sarah quietly asked.

She must have noticed the subtle change in his body language. She had a keen eye for reading people, even in low light.

Weston was about to shake his head no, but he still felt he was being watched, like a persistent itch behind his ears. He knew they shouldn’t be out here alone.

Then he thought he did see something. Whatever it was, it was large and it was crashing through the brush without trying to be quiet, heading right for them.

Weston stepped in front of Sarah, his hunting knife coming to his hand and his feet wide in a defensive stance, as a towering shape loomed out of the darkness.

Weston let out a sigh of relief as he lowered his knife.

It was just a domesticated gant that must have escaped its owner’s pen and was on the run. Gants were a tall gentle herbivore that could be found all over the forest. It had a long neck and tight curly hair the color of ash from the tips of its fuzzy ears, down to its hooves.

They were valuable to the village, as their wool could be sheared in the spring to make clothing, rope and other necessities. It looked down at Weston and Sarah and studied them with one of its big eyes, before it bent its neck and started chewing on a plant it found in the undergrowth.

Gants were herd animals of the forest, but the domesticated ones seemed to lose their survival instincts and sometimes managed to escape to find their favorite plants to eat. Without the safety that came in numbers, they could be easy prey to the beasts or monsters in the forest. Weston knew the right thing to do would be to catch this one and keep it safe in the family shed tonight.

‘Who knows what will happen to you if you stay out here tonight, big guy’ Weston thought.

Just as he started to unsling his pack to grab a length of rope the animal gave a frightened “Gahh” as its head snapped up towards the darkness behind them before it clumsily bolted back into the brush.

An instant later something large broke cover nearby and charged after it, chasing it through the sloped undergrowth and down into the distance. The frozen children huddled close, holding their breath and listened as the animal tried to outrun its assailant. Seconds later they heard a final crash followed by a high pitched scream that was abruptly cut off, and then silence.

A victorious beast let out a low mournful howl that rose high into the air. The call seemed to echo, but out of sync, as other howls rose throughout the forest, and it was answered by its pack.