Everything hurt. It was dark, hard to breath, and everything hurt. Rowan felt as if he was buried beneath shards of glass. He was sore, tired, and everything felt… heavy. And it was dark.

That caught his attention. Things weren’t usually this dark. Not for him. Even during the moonless nights his eyes could beat that darkness. His night vision was on pair with any predator of the woods, a fact that often had him feel less human that he wanted to be. So why was it dark? Were there no shred of light for him to see? Was he blind?

His wolf had gotten out earlier. He knew that before he knew where he was. It had gotten out, done whatever it did, then gone somewhere to sleep, and as a result, shift back to human. The memories of its nightly escapades would return to him eventually. It was only the first moments of waking up that always had him groggy and lost. Sometimes he forgot who he was. Those times were always frightening. Not while they happened, but afterwards. Because when he didn’t know who he was, he felt none of his usual attachments. No compelling argument to not go back into wearing his fearsome pelt of black and hunger. He feared that those times would be the end of his human days.

Today was not that day thankfully. His memories slowly returned and sorted themselves. Chaos and screams, falling rocks and a rainless storm. But not a dry one. The lakewater had been torn and thrown into the air, a petty attack by the Maple rå that wouldn’t really accomplish anything but to spur the Lakeman’s rage. Rowan’s head hurt when he thought about this. Nature could be fearsome. Like a child with the with the power to change the lives of millions. Take them too if they felt especially nasty.

Putting such thoughts out of his mind, Rowan tried to focus on what happened after. The finer details so to speak. What had he done when the sky came down on Harwall? He’d gone with Margret. What happened in there…?

“...”

Rowan froze. He’d shifted in front of Margret. Had he killed her…? No… She’d driven him away somehow. And he’d stalked inside the town-... Fear’s cold fingers latched onto his stomach. What had he done inside the town? Who had he hurt? Fear and shock made a tangle of his thoughts. It took several moments for him to clear them back up again. Had he hurt anyone…? No.

“...”

A sigh of relief. They’d all hidden away in safe places to weather the rage of the guardians. He’d been locked out. But hadn’t he chased someone? Something. What had he found.

Something fell near him. A faint pitter patter of rubble and dust raining down a unevent slope. Rowan froze. The grogginess was fading now, but the pain and weight on him remained. He stayed still for a few tense seconds, a minute, longer. But no more sound came. He could hear his own breathing echo. Where was he? And what had he chased?

Rowan tried to move while fishing for that memory.

Something small… A child? Had he found a child in the streets? No… No it wasn’t a child. It was uglier, smaller, dangerous. It had hurt him… somehow. He felt dried blood on his nose and ears. A unpleasant feeling.

Something was pushing down on him. Rocks.Glass? No glass. Only sharp things. Splintered wood possibly. It dug into his body in places. Painful. Rowan grunted as he flexed his body and heaved.

More falling things echoed in the dark place. He felt the pile of things on his back shift, then fall to the sides, freeing himself from its weight. He’d been buried by broken things. He couldn’t tell what kind of things exactly, not without light. He had a bad feeling about this.

A second rush of sound came further away as more dust and debris pelted the ground. The artist froze, not because of the sound, but because he hadn’t been the one to cause it. A quiet hissing sound followed while Rowan stood frozen in place. A sharp intake of breath perhaps? Or something much more sinister.

The sound came again, closer this time. The hairs on Rowan’s neck stood up as he heard a faint shuffling start towards him in the dark. The unseen thing kept close to the ground. It was a hesitant, dragging, sound. Tiny feet on crude stone tiles. The hissing came again, louder this time. The thing repeated the sound every few steps, occasionally adding more to the drawn out garble.

“Sssssshssuuuh…”

Rowan couldn’t tell if the room was large or if the thing took very short steps. The faint echo distorted sound far too much to make an accurate assumption. The thought of many, many small legs working to drag the creature’s body forwards crossed the artist’s mind.

“Ckssshuuuu...nsh…”

The hissed gibberish turned into something slightly more intent. A short ‘click’ now started each hiss. The sound made Rowan’s skin crawl. He debated moving, since the gibbering creature was steadily making its way towards him, but the fear of the unknown held the artist in place. He didn’t know if the thing knew he was there yet. Had it missed him? Surely not… He’d been making sounds earlier when waking up. Was that why it was coming towards him? The next gurgling click came from a spot far too close for comfort.

“C-ck-hhhhuuUUUUnnhh….-t…h..”

Perhaps if he had waited another second or two, Rowan would have heard the first successful attempt at pronouncing the word ‘cunt’. Another minute or so and the thing might have even managed to croak out the rest of the sentence it had in mind. Something along the lines of ‘Cunt, bitch, fuck, that hurt.’ Not the most creative of profanities, but the speaker could hardly be blamed.

As it were, rather than finish his first and arguably questionable vocal accomplishment, Rowan instead pulled his leg back, waited, then kicked with all he had at the approaching mandragora. Said mandragora had no idea what was coming for him right until the moment the artist’s foot made contact with his stomach. Several new mediocre profanities came to mind as Luhnan sailed across the room. He forgot almost all of them the moment he felt himself hit a wall.

The room wasn’t that large. Not after the ceiling caved in and buried half of it. The resulting collision was therefore painful and far too close in time to the kick that caused it. Rowan felt a jolt of pain as the plantman slid down the wall and hit the floor again, all while letting out a pained groan sounding vaguely like a squeaky toy with a sore throat being stepped on.

Shock was felt by both people present, although in different forms. Rowan for one was feeling shaken by the experience of kicking something that definitely didn’t feel like a rat. He had been hoping it was a rat. A rat wasn’t a monster. Most of the time… Now he felt a creeping fear that he was stuck in a dark room with a vicious monster.

Luhnan on the other hand felt less fear and more pain. His shock came in the form that legs feel when something suddenly hits their knee at just that specific angle. Never a pleasant experience. He had sort of been hoping to never feel it again, given his lack of bones. Bodies made of roots feeling knee pain? Unfair. Even if it was more of a whole body pain rather than just a knee pain. Still unfair in Luhnan’s opinion.

Silence reigned once more after Luhnan had stopped groaning and hissing on the ground. The two young men of varying monstrous natures held their breath for a moment, both wary of their partner, blind as they were. The standstill only lasted for a few minutes.

Light slowly bled into the room from a previously unknown tunnel. Rowan had to shield his eyes as the bright glow of a torch passed a corner in the tunnel and came into full view. Luhnan choose the smarter option for once and dove out of sight behind a pile of rubble.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The man with the torch drew all the way up to the entrance of the room, then held his light out to light up the room further. It then struck Rowan that the torch man probably couldn’t see him yet. He was at the back of the room, still far away enough from the torch to remain hidden in the shadows.

Hesitantly the torch bearer stepped into the room, eyes searching the ceiling and walls for signs that another cave in was about to happen. He visibly relaxed as he found none, and as he lowered the torch Rowan finally managed to recognize his face.

Tomas Kelling jumped as Rowan cleared his throat. The gaunt man stumbled back a step, paused, then did a double take of the dark room. Only then did he see past the long shadows cast by his torch to where Rowan stood. The short man froze in place while his eyes widened and his lips parted open in startled confusion. Only then did it strike Rowan that he was naked.

Naked, dirty, and slightly bloodied. His transformation from wolf to man had healed any of the injuries caught in the cave in, but dried blood still stained several parts of his body. Rowan felt that a smile and a sheepish wave was in place. Perhaps caught off guard, Tomas waved back, still looking like he was watching a ghost. Nothing was said during that stare, which led to Rowan awkwardly clearing his throat again.

Near death experiences, the risk of a deadly secret being revealed, and the wrath of mother nature herself be damned. Gods forbid they would endure a moment of awkward silence too.

“Hi, uh… Tomas Kelling? Fancy seeing you here.” Rowan felt like a fool as he spoke, but him breaking the silence did the trick. Tomas blinked, opened his mouth, then pursed his lips while frowning. His reply came a lot less casual than Rowan’s.

“You’re ah… what are you doing here?”

Vague memories of last night flashed through Rowan’s mind. The earthquake, Margret’s house, the chase, falling…

“...I fell through the floor,” he answered. Tomas stared at him blankly.

“... The floor?”

“The floor,” Rowan confirmed.

“The one… Your own floor?”

“No…” Rowan drew the word out, uncertain. Had it been close to his own house? No… It had been further south. Too far from his own house then. “Not my own floor no.”

Tomas frown grew pensive. “And what were you doing there while ah… Naked?”

Rowan blushed slightly as Tomas gave him a pointed nod. Unable to think up any better excuse, Rowan went with the first lie that came to mind.

“Adultery,” he said matter of factly. This caught Tomas of guard. The man’s face grew confused, then paled.

“With old miss Josey??”

This time it was Rowan’s turn to pale. The tea seller? He’d slipped up. Tomas looked shocked. Oh well, it was fake it or break it. Suspicion could be the death of him. Determined to take this blow to cover his ass, Rowan steeled his face and nodded with as much confidence as he could muster. His cheeks burned.

“Yes.”

“But she’s ah-”

Rowan glared daggers at the man. Just shut up already.

“Ahem.. I mean.. Old Josey? Isn’t that…”

“In secret. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Right…” Tomas face flushed. He cleared his throat awkwardly while looking away. Rowan felt that he should drive that last point in a bit harder.

“Not a word about this to anyone, or I’ll break you.” The fist he drove into his other hand was maybe a bit much, but the smacking sound it made and the way it made the artist’s muscles bulge in the faint light of the torch was enough to convince Tomas.

“Not a word! Promise! So uh… Did she tell you about…” Tomas waved the torch at the room in general. For the first time it finally struck Rowan that a tunnel like this right in the city wasn’t exactly… normal. But he had no idea why it was here or where it led.

“No.”

“I see…” Tomas trailed off, then quickly caught himself. To Rowans great relief, he started to explain.

“A emergency tunnel. You know how paranoid some old folks can get. Mayor said the church and town hall would be enough shelter for stuff like this, but most of us won’t make it there if things happen fast you know? So uh, we dug some tunnels. Safe stuff I assure you. Even got a few architects in on it.”

The explanation felt off, but Rowan was hardly in any position to question things right now. He needed to get back to his house. If it was still standing. And pants. He needed pants.

“Has it calmed down?” Rowan asked.

“Excuse me?”

“The fighting. I need to get back to my house before people get back on the street.”

Rowan made a gesture at his lack of clothing. Tomas blinked, then quickly turned away again.

“Oh- of course. Right this way. We got a ladder up into another house. But uhm… Don’t tell the mayor or any of the boss folks aye?”

Tomas turned to walk back into the tunnel, but his words made Rowan pause.

“Why?” His question halted Tomas in his steps. The man thought for a moment, then replied a bit hesitantly.

“Mayor didn’t want to fund these tunnels being built. It’s kinda hush hush. They’ll be gone once we start building sewers any way. But it’ll be a pain if the leadership hears we built something like this behind their backs.”

This too felt off.

“Come on. I’ll show you the exit.” Tomas waved for Rowan to follow. Since he had no better ideas, Rowan followed.

Dust and debris fell behind them as they entered the tunnel. He’d forgotten about the monster… Suddenly alarmed, the artist turned back to stare into the dark room. The light of the torch was just enough for him to spot something small and lumpy dart behind a pile of rubble. A thick stem with a large bud at the top bobbed up and down suspiciously behind the cover. The flower was visible all the way down to it’s crown of leaves surrounding the base of the stem. The rest of the monster’s body was hidden behind the pile.

Rowan had a bad feeling about leaving it be, but Tomas had already walked off a fair bit without noticing that the artist had stopped. A moment of poor decision making lent itself to the artist. He left the monster be.

Sunlight framed by ruin greeted the pair as they returned to the surface of Harwall. At first Rowan feared that the town was lost, but a few steps forwards quickly reassured him. It was early morning, the air was crisp and just a tiny bit hard to breath thanks to the lingering dust from the guardians' scuffle. And what a fight it had been.

Most buildings had miraculously survived their raging surroundings. Only the one hiding the entrance to the tunnel lay crumpled like a stomped anthill. Perhaps it was proof of a poor foundation, or the tunnel beneath it weakened it.

Rowan spotted crushed jars and pots beneath the heavy planks that had been sturdy walls once upon a time. The air there was thick with herbal scents. Sweet and bitter. The smell of tea. Coupled with the fresh smell of morning and its chilling touch. It all urged a almost pleasant state of mind for the werewolf. Perhaps it was the vacant stare that caught Tomas' attention.

The shorter man shifted nervously and cleared his throat to get Rowan's attention back. He got it, together with a embarassed tint of cheek and a few quick blinks to regain his focus.

"Did a number to the place didn't it? Not to worry. We'll have a few people running all over to salvage what we can from the wreckage." Tomas smiled reassuringly, showing more confidence than Rowan was used to seeing in the man.

The change caught him off guard. Rowan nodded back. He was about to say something back when the loud cry of a horn rang out. The sound drowned out all words and thoughts of practically anyone within the town walls. Rowan flinched at the sound, sensitive ears ringing painfully along with the horn sound. Tomas flinched too, but the movement was more out of being caught off guard than of actual pain.

The horn sounded a number of times signaling the passing of danger. There were a few signals everyone in Harwall had been made to memorize just for times like this. This one along with the call for danger was the most frequently used ones. One as the danger arrived, and one for when it had passed. Not a minute passed before more sounds joined it.

Shouts from the direction of the church and the plaza, the two buildings serving as the main shelters when people were told to seek cover. Rowan caught a pat on his shoulder along with a string of words he couldn’t make sense of just yet. His head was still ringing. Apperently Tomas had said something about leaving because that was exactly what he did. The thinner man hurried off past the wreckage of Josey’s home and down a street. Rowan assumed he’d heard someone he knew or something of that nature.

The ringing faded after awhile, leaving Rowan feeling disoriented just in time to get caught up by the post-disaster chaos of people returning to check on their homes or friends. First now did he have a chance to take in the destruction. The maddened state of mind associated with his canine form rarely left clear memories.

While many buildings had survived the literal wrath of nature, very few of them had come out of the storm without a scratch or two. Rowan saw torn open roofs, walls with holes and diverse sturdy plantlife sticking out of them like living arrows. He saw an entire tree blocking one street as he made it out of the pile formerly known as Josey’s house. A maple one thankfully. Had it been one of the giant pines, more than just one street would have suffered.

With a building sense of worry the artist picked another street then begun the jog back to his own home. He lived on the northern part of Harwall, which placed him on roughly the opposite side of town to the church and town hall where most had headed. The jog took him a few minutes, mostly because more than one street had too much debris covering it to offer quick passage. By the time he made it to his own street the town had erupted fully into activity. He could hear people bustling about just a few houses over, followed by the growing sorl of a upset crowd. Disasters like this was nothing new to the north, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant to experience them. A lot of the settlement’s development would have to be put on pause until the damage was repaired.

Rowan was thankful to find his humble abode relativly unscatched. A few of his neighbour’s shutters had been torn off, leaving ugly groves in the wall where whatever hit it had scraped it badly. Aside from that the street looked pretty intact, save for a shallow crack or two through the packed dirt road.

The wooden door closing his home off from the outside world took a few heavy shoulder pushes before giving way, somehow jammed into place by a shift of the ground. A third push made it give way with a crack of wood and snapping metal. Rowan tumbled into the familiar chaos inside, glad to find it only slightly shaken from the Guardian fight.

Okay, ‘slightly’ might have been a tad too optimistic. The place was a mess, more so than usual. Overturned furniture, spilled paint, a clay jar filled with wooden beads laying shattered in a corner, beads spread all over the floor. It was chaos, but manageable chaos. Rowan prefered cleaning beads off his floor from having to repair a wall or replace his roof.

Drip.

“...”

Ahem, replace all of his roof. He could live with a few holes for now. Another dripping sound was heard, followed by a soft patter from outside. Gentle rain unleashed itself upon the recovering town, turning not a few sour faces into outright angry ones. This was not how the people or Harwall wanted to start their day, but better alive and angry than squashed under a tree dead as a bug.