It started as a quiet buzz in the distance that slowly, slowly, grew louder. Rowan was the first to notice. The hunters were the first to react. Trevor swore and Shaun abandoned the ribcage he’d slowly been disassembling in favor of pulling the already half full sack of bones shut. Both rose and pulled the sacks they’d brought with them to carry whatever they caught in with them over their shoulders.

“Time to go greenie. The bees noticed us.” Trevor didn’t look at Rowan as he spoke, instead he scanned their surroundings to determine what direction the buzzing was coming from.

Rowan, who could count the amount of times he’d been in the Pines on one hand, gave both hunters confused looks as he stood up and pulled his own sack over his shoulder. He’d gotten the one with the pelt. It was much heavier than he’d thought it’d be and the burden gave him a new respect for both hunters’ strength. The held both their backpacks and the large sacks as if they barely weighted them down. It made Rowan’s face heat up as he suppressed a groan of effort while holding his burden.

“They’re downwind. We’ll cut to the right of where they’re going to avoid them following our trail as easily.” Once again Trevor didn’t wait for a response. He just took off in the direction he’d chosen. Shaun followed without a word and Rowan soon found himself struggling to catch up after the shock lifted. It all went so fast, and the buzz in the distance was getting louder.

The going was rough, and unlike the hunters, Rowan felt himself caught up by the underbrush at every turn and twist of the terrain. The buzzing was still getting louder. Neither hunter looked back, but Rowan felt his gaze constantly shifting to the right as his pulse grew louder. There was something primal to it, to flee while something loud and unseen was getting closer. It was a feeling Rowan felt wholly unfamiliar with, the fear of prey. Call it arrogance, but he’d never once felt like something was about to come get him. He’d pissed off plenty of people before, but the knowledge that wounds would close in seconds and that every stab of pain would bring that intoxicating wave of excitement and anticipation crashing down on him as it did always dulled any sense of fear he held for people. At least when they chased him. He had plenty of fear for how his life would fall apart if he was ever discovered and branded a monster. Fear of scaring loved ones, few as they were. Fear of hurting someone he cared for. But never the fear of prey.

As the buzzing drew close enough to drown out the thundering of bare feet against ground and the drumming heartbeat pounding in his head he felt it. Fear. He knew that whatever was coming was far more than he could handle. They weren’t people. They didn’t care for emotions or morals or anything larger than life. They were coming and they would trample him without a twinge of regret. There was nothing more to it. Nothing he could do to prevent it but run. They did not care for him as anything but moving meat. It was fear and frustration and a screaming question bouncing around in his skull like a scared rabbit. ‘Why me? Why is this happening? Why am I put in this situation where I get no choices, no chances, and no way to prevent it?’

Those thoughts called to something else deep within his mind. To that distance corner where reason and guilt kept clear. Fear turned to frustration, and for just a moment Rowan indulged that feeling and spun on his heel to face these creatures that would dare do this to him. Why should he let this happen? Anger clouded his vision as his lips drew back to bare straining teeth. His white sclera clouded over into a greyish dim, then into a feral black as fear became frustration and gathered in his face. He heard one of the hunters yell far behind his back, but ignored the call.

What mad creature would think itself better than him, to the point where he himself let it scare him? Laughter bubbled up in his throat before he could stop it. Mad, shaking laughter, the kind people let out when they’re on the edge and ready to break. The kind of sound a werewolf losing its mind to emotion lets out. Rowan planted his feet and tensed his body, feeling the familiar rush of heat surge up his spin, into his chest, then up to his face to tug at his skin as if something just beneath was demanding to be freed. Why was he afraid? Was he even afraid? He felt anger, a swirl of frustration over having felt helpless wash over him again, sending a shiver up his spin along with the heat. What could possibly-

Then the black bodies crashed past the trees like a forest fire. Slick, dark, chitin swarmed over and against each other like a tide or a heavy trail of smoke, all fighting to gain a bit more distance over the others. They were the size of dogs and their wings shook the air for miles.

The bees did not fit their name, nor did they resemble anything Rowan associated with a bee. At least not when scaled up to that size and hurled into a swarm of at least a thousand. They were more of a tide of limbs and wings moving so fast that the eye only caught a blur of orange. The shape of their bodies were lost to Rowan, they moved far too quickly and too close to each other for him to tell where segmented legs and undulating abdomens were attached or where one bee ended and the next began. It was like staring into the depths of a toppled ant nest, squirming insides laid open to the sky for just a moment as the ants struggled to put the nest back together and move their eggs and workers back inside. It was both fascinating and deeply disturbing to watch. He didn’t see them fall down upon the bear carcass, it was too far away, but the swarm was massive enough to blot out all in its path even at a distance.

Rowan ran.

Trees flew past him as all that gathered energy and intent cooled down into a lump of ice that lodged itself in his stomach. Any confidence or delusion of standing a chance was long gone. Healing or no healing, the bees would destroy him. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if they didn’t. They would keep trying. For how long he didn’t know, but they would keep trying to kill him or worse and he had no intention of letting that happen. So Rowan ran.

It took him awhile to catch up with the hunters, but the rush the curse had thrown at him let him follow their scent until they slowed enough for him to catch up. The adrenaline might have helped too.

He found them by a creek, water to their ankles and sacks tossed into the bushes on the other side. When he stumbled out of the brushes surrounding his side of the creek they both looked up. Trevor blinked numbly for a second then broke into a string of curses. Shaun told him to get into the water. Something about the water masking their scents. Rowan was too winded to argue.

“- and if those sea cursed monsters don’t get us now just to spite you for that stunt, then I swear to Katrina and all her children that I will drag you back out there just to let them finish you, you stupid-”

“Alright easy Trevor. Oi!” Shaun flicked a handful of water at Trevor, who responded by throwing a half rotten clump of muck from the creek’s bottom at Shaun.

“He stopped! When a swarm of overgrown bees were after us! I take back what I said earlier, Esbi clearly wants him dead and we’re in no position to stop her if she tries again.”

“Trevor!”

Shaun stared the thin man down. Trevor glared back, spat, then turned his back on the other to pace around in the creek for a bit. Rowan just watched it all from the corner of his eye while his knees demanded he keep his hands on them to not fall over. Exhaustion had his blood rushing like a river through him. Fast, harsh, and boiling hot. It made the pulsing in his ears feel like something was breathing down his neck, which pretty much summed up what his curse was doing while he stood panting.

“Damned masochist” he to wheezed to himself under his breath.

“What’s that?” Trevor turned to give him a dirty look. Shaun tossed water at him again and the man reeled back like a drenched cat, hissing and spitting. The three blinked, then Shaun broke out into a tired laugh. Rowan felt his own giggling bubble up as his one track curse caught onto the mirth without a second thought. Sometimes he felt like a dog, so easy to make happy.

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Trevor remained glaring and huffing for all of 10 seconds, then he pressed his lips together into a thin line and tried his best not to show how the edges of his mouth started twitching upwards. His serious facade, already crumbling, broke down completely with a burst of laughter when Shaun kicked water at Rowan without breaking the stare off he had with Trevor. Rowan, who didn’t see the attack coming, yelped and nearly dropped his sack in the fear that a bee had managed to catch up on him. He only realized it was just water when his tired mind noticed Trevor and Shaun cackling like magpies.

Maybe it was the contagious laughter, the silliness he felt over being startled so easily, or the plain exhaustion sailing in after the previous wave of adrenaline. It was probably all three combined. The trio wheezed and giggled, then just wheezed as the situation slowly calmed down. A silence settled over them then, as all three steadied their breaths and dared look past that comfortable distraction. The buzzing was still present, but much fainter now. The three waited with bated breaths to see if it got louder. It should have been less frightening to wait for a sound to change, rather than to wait for one to break the silence, yet that distant buzz and the fresh memory of the thundering roar it had been up close was just enough to set their heartbeats running again.

It was Trevor who broke the silence and announced that it was time to start moving again. The other two nodded silently and followed his lead. The trees grew further apart on the other side of the creek. In some places so far that bits of the sky was visible past the branches. Trevor set a brisk pace for the group, all three of them hauling the sacks of bear parts in silence. Ever so slightly the buzzing disappeared beneath the other sounds of the forest. Only when his sensitive ears could no longer pick up that distant hum did Rowan dare relax again.

The three shared some strips of dried meat while walking. The tension lasted for a few hours before Trevor started cracking a few not so good jokes. Perhaps they were intentionally bad, as to not make too much noise, or he just found puns genuinely funny. Rowan wasn’t sure, but the mirth was contagious enough to make up for what the jokes lacked in quality.

By the time the light started fading and Shaun declared it a good time to set up time, all three of them were in considerably better moods than before. Rowan was told how to set up a forest camp in monster infested areas. Unlike camps in calmer places, a place full of monsters meant stealth was a vital part of the setup.

Shaun produced a pair of shovels from his backpack and directed Rowan to help him make a hole next to a few bushes that would cover the top. A tent went up inside the hole, half covered by the bushes and the rest concealed by the ground rising around them. It was heavy work and the sun was setting fast. Trevor busied himself with burying the sacks filled with bear parts a stone’s throw away from their camp. Something about making sure the scent of blood didn’t draw anything towards them, and that if it did, they would be far away enough for whatever dug up the sacks not to notice them.

To Rowan’s surprise no fire was built. “Smoke and light will get you killed or worse out here” Shaun had said. “Body heat and cover from the elements is the best you can do if you wanna remain undiscovered while sleeping.”

It sounded fair enough to him then, but after they’d all shared some more dried meat and crawled into the tent, Rowan was starting to feel a wee bit… Awkward. As cozy as the half buried tent had seemed earlier, being squeezed into it together with two other guys gave the place a much more intimate feeling. Especially since they were all huddled up practically on top of each other. Shaun and Trevor didn’t seem to mind at all, and Rowan had a feeling Trevor had already fallen asleep judging by his calm breathing. The calm breathing he could feel against the side of his head… Yup it was a bit too close.

“H-hey uh… Shouldn’t we have one of us guarding outside or something?”

Shaun grunted and waves a hand dismissively without opening his eyes “The nastier things come out at night. We’re proper hidden so the small fry won’t spot us. The stronger things know when they’re seen, which means they’ll spot you. Not worth the risk of pissing off something big just to avoid the small guys.”

Rowan nodded slowly, not too satisfied with that answer. He felt Shaun turn over next to him, broad back covering what little light slipped through the tent flap. Rowan made a disgruntled noise and tried to wiggle into a more comfortable position.

“Stop your squirming” Shaun grumbled.

“Couldn’t we have made a bigger hole?”

“Can’t make a fire. We’d freeze like corpses in a lake.”

Trevor started snoring. Rowan fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Why do I have to be in the middle?”

“Cause you’re a lil sissy from the city. You’re embarrassment will keep all three of us warm.”

Rowan felt his face heat up. He replied with a indignant stutter.

“I’m not and that doesn’t make sense. Switch with me.”

“No. You being in the middle means I can avoid getting spooned by Trevor for one night. I won’t miss that chance up. Now shut up and sleep.”

Despite the stern tone, Shaun sounded amused. Rowan was not amused.

“Spooned??”

Trevor let out a quiet snort and answered with the borderline evil tone of someone reveling in the moment of shock their big reveal will cause.

“He’s a cuddly sleeper. Enjoy.”

Not a second after Shaun said that did Rowan feel a arm slip around his waist and a leg flopping over his own. He could almost feel the way Shaun tried not to laugh, and for a moment he wondered if this was how stuffed animals felt when kids half hugged, half strangled them to death every night. Rowan made a strangled sound of frustration when Trevor nuzzled his face into his neck. This would be a long night…

When morning arrived ‘conflicted’ was the word to describe Rowan’s mind. On one hand, it did actually turn so cold that he understood the hunters’ insistence of sleeping so close to each other, but one the other hand, he was pretty sure he’d felt a foot touch his face at some point, which meant Trevor was either freakishly bendy, or that the man moved enough in his sleep to flip around all the way then back at some point. Trevor himself seemed completely unaware of this mystery when they woke up. The scarred man seemed well rested and happy when he woke up. Shaun too was in a good mood and had woken up second. Rowan himself felt like he’d been clobbered to death then made to sleep in a very small box while someone drummed on it all night. His body ached from moving about all day and Trevor’s ability to both starfish and spoon at the same time had left him tossing and turning all night.

Shaun had enough experience with the ordeal to leave Rowan to himself for majority of the morning, only approaching to give him some stale bread for breakfast. Trevor seemed confused, but followed Shaun’s lead and left the grumpy artist alone while they packed up.

The trek through the Pines resumed once the trio had eaten and gathered their belongings. The sacks of bear parts was dug back up and soon they were traveling once more. Around midday the trees grew small enough to seem normal and the branches finally gave way enough for the sky to peek through the greenery. An hour or so later the treeline broke up into a field, and in the distance Harwall waited for them. Rowan felt relief and warriness at the sight.

Luckily the pair of guards standing by the Pine gate didn’t recognize Rowan, and the three went through and into the town without any trouble. Once inside the trio said their goodbyes, slapped backs, then divided. Rowan found himself lugging a smaller sack of bear meat home with him as thanks for the help and company, a rare treat that normally would have cost him far more that he would be willing to part with. The feral part of his mind was already whispering and whining to be let out to indulge in the taste of the bloody cut. Rowan fought it down with a force of will while he searched for the key to his house around the potted plants he kept outside. He rarely kept keys or other valuable on him while out on his ‘runs’, just in case he lost his possessions somehow or ran too far to recover them.

The key lay where he left it underneath a pot of blue flowers. He grabbed both pot and key and unlocked the door. His humble but cluttered home greeted him like it had so many times before. Cheap furniture fought for space with tools, boxes, and unfinished projects. A small fireplace at the back of the room peeked past counters and a table set up for his kitchen related needs. A couch and several tables and shelves of varying sizes and uses took up the rest of the room’s space. The door to his bedroom stood ajar to the left of his kitchen. It wasn’t much, but it was home and it served his needs well enough.

The furniture tended to move about whenever he was busy working, mostly because he was what a tidier man would call ‘a messy and unorganized clutz of a craftsman’. Said man would probably only say that because he himself had a much larger area to work with, and thus an easier time keeping things in designated places instead of moving things when more space was needed. Rowan scoffed at the arrogance of this imaginary man. What did order mean as long as he got the work done and it didn’t show on the results. Sometimes he even found inspiration in the mess! This one time he’d gotten an idea for a wonderful sculpture from looking at a dangerously stacked tower of chairs. It was a daring and unusual shape, if you squinted with one eye and looked at it from the side. That was the artist eye for you, seeing wonders in mundane objects. Rowan nodded to himself. It had been worth it, even when the chairs had fallen over and nearly taken him with them after he bumped into them. Accidents happen.

Rowan snickered at the silly memory as he moved over to his kitchen to scavenge for something edible. The bear meat he would save for a special occasion, or until his feral side overpowered his self control and took it upon itself to wolf the entire thing down.

Stale bread and some cheese made for a nice meal, and soon Rowan found himself relaxed enough to go back to his usual routine. He made his way over to a table full of clay, sticks, and tools. A half finished statue of Katrina stood in the middle of the cluster, face tilted to the side in a motherly smile and her hands to her sides in a welcoming gesture.

Rowan felt a chill run down his spine as he looked at the statue. Despite her kind demeanor, the statue filled him with a sort of primal unease. She was no goddess of his, and her opinion of him would no doubt be on the less motherly side should he ever catch her attention. Perhaps it was a silly hope that she would one day accept him if he worked hard enough to stay human. A wiser man would no doubt keep his distance from the goddess of humanity and her following, but Rowan felt a sort of yearning to join her flock nonetheless. It would get him in deep trouble one day, he had no doubt, but for now he would work for the church and make them pieces of art to show their devotion to their goddess. It also helped that the church paid well for such work.

A growing settlement had few needs for artwork usually, but this one had a priest and so a church would be built for him to work in, and wherever there was a church there would be need of an artist to fill it with pretty things. That said artist spent once a month tearing up people and spreading fear among the populace was something best left known to the artist alone. All they needed to know was that he made statues and paintings that would please the eyes of the followers.

Rowan let his mind drift as he grabbed clots of clay and softened it up with the water in a bucket next to the table. Despite his flaws and murderous tendencies, his talent with the arts remained pure and beautiful. A convenient distraction for others and himself. If he was cursed to wear a mask for the rest of his life, then he would make damn sure that it was a pretty mask.