Hiking is a worthwhile activity. Going on a nice established trail is a good way to spend the afternoon. Cross country hiking is a little different. For both, the rate of travel is an important factor to keep in mind. Not exhausting yourself to quickly, keeping track of your precise location, and not stumbling into any number of dangerous situations. Doing this cross country, those concerns could be said to be magnified. Doing it without an accurate local map, well things can easily get dicey. These thoughts sifted through the mind of our stranded protagonist. He tried to assuage himself to follow his own advice, but it became a matter of “Do as I say not as I do”. He knew that he was taking a risk moving as quickly he was along the river. Still, being dropped into an unfamiliar setting with little knowledge of what is going on can be a stressful experience.

There is something to be said for taking a calculated risk. However, this was not one of those situations. The fact of the matter is that even in a controlled practice emergency people can flub up. In an actual crisis, people tend to be just as fallible as everyday life. This not quite mad dash was brought up short by a rustling in the brush up ahead. The man paused, attempting to blend into the surroundings, with debatable success. An animal came into view to begin drinking at the river.

At first, he thought it was a moose, which would put him somewhere in North America or the Northern parts of Europe, but a second look proved otherwise. The size was similar to what would be expected of a moose, but the coloration was lighter, and it had different proportions. A black stripe ran down its back splitting towards the haunches, and another around its neck towards its chin. The antlers were expectedly grand, but this was definitely outside of what could be expected for an aberrant moose.

It was undoubtedly a magnificent beast, the man thought to himself, carefully watching for signs of aggressive behavior. A wildlife photographer would be quite taken with this tableau and might happily risk danger to capture the moment. Sadly, the viewer here had neither the equipment nor expertise needed for that. He could, however, imagine appreciating a rack of its proud antlers adorning the walls of a lodge. The thought connected with a memory, and he blinked, thinking back to an image taken of a skull pulled out of a bog with an artistic representation of the animal beside. The words “Irish Elk” had been written beneath. This didn’t make sense to him, because the related article had mention them being extinct for many thousands of years. They were supposed to have roamed parts of Europe during the Ice Age.

If any had survived, it would be incredibly unlikely for them to go unnoticed. Then again, he justified in his mind, the coelacanth is called a living fossil because they were found to be alive despite being thought to have gone extinct millions of years ago. Small as that slim chance would be, Occam’s Razor said that that would a better explanation than some type of time traveling displacement mumbo jumbo. Species had been discovered with people somehow missing them previously, and if cryptozoologists are to be believed there are a number of creatures snooping around under peoples’ noses.

One was breathing not too far off in front of him, hard to refute that. Then again, mental faculties were still in question, and outside of that he wasn’t an expert at identifying obscure animals or their outlier individuals. Maybe this was a weird moose, maybe this was just a delusion, or maybe this really was a sighting of a species recorded as extinct. Regardless, it would be a wise idea to avoid the business end of those antlers, or hooves for that matter.

"̴̲̿M̴̹͋a̶̤̚ĵ̴͎ě̷ͅs̶̺̓t̷͍̕í̸̧c̶͇͂ ̵̈͜á̴͉s̸̯̉ ̷̱̀i̵̯͐t̵̠͌ ̷͚͂m̸̟͠ȁ̸̫ȳ̵̝ ̷̣̐b̴̛̹e̷̢̕,̵̦̋ ̵̥̋ḡ̶̡l̴͚̓ạ̶̀d̴̘̉ ̸̼̚t̵̠́ó̶̘ ̵̣͆s̶̒͜e̶̼̽ě̴̯ ̸̢̉i̴͉̊ť̸̪ ̷̌ͅl̴̲̔e̸̛̘ä̸̤v̵̗́ë̵̦ ̴͚̿w̸̮͘ĭ̷̗t̴͈͌h̸̤̕o̵͔͂ù̷̺t̸͚̀ ̶̮̅i̷̯͐n̸͝ͅc̴̝͑ǐ̵̩d̶͔̍ȩ̶͂n̶̮͝ṫ̸͖,̸̨́"̶̨̑ was the comment once it left after finishing its drink. If all was well, that would have been the only thing of note on the way towards the suspected settlement, but that was not to be the case. Walking along the river, a sound began to rise over the babbling water. A rhythmic plodding on several beats as a caravan seemed to resolve before him. The sight gave an uncanny foreboding, a visceral dread that something was terribly wrong.

Stolen novel; please report.

The sound of plodding became footsteps and hoofbeats as the caravan drew nearer. The hunched shadows heaved forward with a heavy rhythmic inevitability, joined by a heartbeat in a music of grave onerous staccato. A shadow came, bringing a storm of whispers to fall on covered ears. Huddled in a small ball, he could not stop the half-heard names from slipping past fingers to still be perceived. Now the shadows revealed the true ghastly spectacle of this caravan.

One an all this grisly group carried their own heads in their arms, the now visible mouths shown to be the source of whispered names. A silent footman began walking to him, head tucked under one arm, a coiled whip made from a spine at the hip. He stopped, their eyes meeting, and the footman’s lips began to move.

P̶̖̻̝̮̬̘̝̭͂̎̀̉̄̑̍̕̚Ą̸̢̨̨̘̳̯̹̞̦̺̯̹͔͓̦̮͓̺͇̼͚̱̖͍̫̙͕̲̗̻͙͔̥̻̖̹͈̥̫̺͓̟̩̯̦̣̤͍̫̼́̀̅͗͊̊̓͛̀̊̓̊̑̃͘̕͝ͅͅỊ̸̢̧̢̨̢̧̧̛̳̺̯̞̮̳̝̻̫̬̥̠̟̥͇͖̳͕̺͎̩̻̪̺̪̭̜̙̙̗̙̱̮̪͓̳͇͙͔̳͔͖̦͉̹̫̼͍̦̯̼̳̞̙͖̫͉̘̻̙̩̭̘̻̱̜͚͉̺̝̠͓̐͂̒͂̓̔̄̇́̄̐̑͐̂̎̉̽͋͋̎̓́̈͐̐̄̐̄̓̎̿̀́͘ͅͅͅŅ̶̢̢̨̛̛̛̯̻̱͔̟̬̪͔̙̙̝͍̖̰͈̣̲̃͂͐͗̌͊̑̾͒̆̇̆̓̔͆͆̏̃̀̔̒̐̆̎̔̅̔̊͂̂͑̓̍́̂͛̑́́͆̋͐̈̓̉̄̈́͆̈̈́̎͋́̆̑̄̽͊͑̃̀̐̇͒͗̆̓͘̕̕̕̚̚̚͘̚̕͘͝͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅ.̷̡̧̡̡̧̢̡̧̢̡̨̭͚̹̞͎͇̯̘̬̯̳̠̰͎̭̠̰̲͔̟̘̫̱̤͉͙͓̙̙̦̼̳̪̩̫̜͇͇͔̺̤̩̯̠͉̩̖̱̝͎̟̤̪̯̭͎͔̩̺̙̫̹̩̩̮̝̭͈̥͇̲͈̯̩͓̯̬̗̗̩̦̯̻͖̘̥̘̗̺̤͎͈̘͍̺̬͔͓͚̤̲̱̺͖̟̯̘̻̰̳̤̜̺̿̓͂́̄̊̾̌͗͊̏̐̈́͛̓͆̏͛̇͐̅͗͊̌̓̀̈̌̑̌́̐͑̅́̍͂̃̓̇̏̎̓̽̑̿̅́͌̌͛̍͑̅̒̀͊͆̆͗͊͑̓̌̈́̀͌́͊̈́̅̓̇͂̔̀͌̍̌̚̚͘̚̕̕͜͜͝͠ͅͅ The footman rocked back a step, and odd look showing on his dismembered head. A carriage of bone pulled by a headless horse stopped, and a lady primly stepped out. She held her head with both hands before her, displaying the visage of sculped bone it wore. Deliberate steps brought her to stand before him beside the footman. Her lips moved behind the mask. P̶̖̻̝̮̬̘̝̭͂̎̀̉̄̑̍̕̚Ą̸̢̨̨̘̳̯̹̞̦̺̯̹͔͓̦̮͓̺͇̼͚̱̖͍̫̙͕̲̗̻͙͔̥̻̖̹͈̥̫̺͓̟̩̯̦̣̤͍̫̼́̀̅͗͊̊̓͛̀̊̓̊̑̃͘̕͝ͅͅỊ̸̢̧̢̨̢̧̧̛̳̺̯̞̮̳̝̻̫̬̥̠̟̥͇͖̳͕̺͎̩̻̪̺̪̭̜̙̙̗̙̱̮̪͓̳͇͙͔̳͔͖̦͉̹̫̼͍̦̯̼̳̞̙͖̫͉̘̻̙̩̭̘̻̱̜͚͉̺̝̠͓̐͂̒͂̓̔̄̇́̄̐̑͐̂̎̉̽͋͋̎̓́̈͐̐̄̐̄̓̎̿̀́͘ͅͅͅŅ̶̢̢̨̛̛̛̯̻̱͔̟̬̪͔̙̙̝͍̖̰͈̣̲̃͂͐͗̌͊̑̾͒̆̇̆̓̔͆͆̏̃̀̔̒̐̆̎̔̅̔̊͂̂͑̓̍́̂͛̑́́͆̋͐̈̓̉̄̈́͆̈̈́̎͋́̆̑̄̽͊͑̃̀̐̇͒͗̆̓͘̕̕̕̚̚̚͘̚̕͘͝͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅ.̷̡̧̡̡̧̢̡̧̢̡̨̭͚̹̞͎͇̯̘̬̯̳̠̰͎̭̠̰̲͔̟̘̫̱̤͉͙͓̙̙̦̼̳̪̩̫̜͇͇͔̺̤̩̯̠͉̩̖̱̝͎̟̤̪̯̭͎͔̩̺̙̫̹̩̩̮̝̭͈̥͇̲͈̯̩͓̯̬̗̗̩̦̯̻͖̘̥̘̗̺̤͎͈̘͍̺̬͔͓͚̤̲̱̺͖̟̯̘̻̰̳̤̜̺̿̓͂́̄̊̾̌͗͊̏̐̈́͛̓͆̏͛̇͐̅͗͊̌̓̀̈̌̑̌́̐͑̅́̍͂̃̓̇̏̎̓̽̑̿̅́͌̌͛̍͑̅̒̀͊͆̆͗͊͑̓̌̈́̀͌́͊̈́̅̓̇͂̔̀͌̍̌̚̚͘̚̕̕͜͜͝͠ͅͅ She too rocked backwards. Now as one, the two pallid figures spoke together. P̵̧̡̡̨̧̡̢̧̢̛̙̥̩͈̩̩͇͕̻̖͚̩̝̰̼̤͙͕̠͖̘̗͚̦͙̳̙͍̮͇̖͍̯̟͙̫̻̗̬̙̪̻̘̞͎̹̲̰̱̜̖̱̳͉͔̣̦̯̥̘̻̻̗̘͕̦̝͕̟̮̼͚̣̯̞͙̠̘͓̻̬̣̬̟̜͚͙͇̟̟̠̝͈̘̼̟̖̞̀͊̓̓͂̓̍̆͐̉̑̉̆̿̓̆̐́͋̅̓̊̉̍́̋̋̄̀̽̍̔̎̏͛̑́̏̿̆̈́͐̇͗̀́̈́͂͒̾̉̅̈́̀̊̀́̔̓͗̏̀͛̊͌͋̽͑̏̚͜͜͝͠͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅĄ̶̧̡̢̨̢̡̛̛̛̛͍̯̺͍̙̖̳̯͇͔̣͎̝̲̮͎̜̟̫̜͉̬̰̖̤̖̞͎̺̯̘̱̟̲͓̫̮͉̰͇̞̜̺̟͙̞͚̪͉͎͍͇͉̖̤̩͙̰̝̥̮̭̳͈͈͕̣̤̮̯̪̰̮̲̘̩̥̙̩̬̦͕͉̟̠̹͙̹̹̹̠̪̪̺̟̩̝̰̯̎̔̐̔͌́̈̂̅̏̓̐͊̃͊̈́͒̇͌̒͗̒̈́̇̆̈́͑̍͐͐̓̏̐̏̑́̈͆̽͒̎̆̂̊̔̏̏̐̓̾̅̇͋́́̂̽̊͌̋̓̓̿̊̈̽͐̒͌͂̀̋̑̌͛̇̿̌̆̽̍̋̃͊̾͐͆̈́́̓́̾̊̎̉̅̽͑̈̊̐͋̃͗̐́́̓̋͌̀̈̉͗̒̂̆̃͛͂̏́͆̂̾̈͑̊̃͆̈͒̇͊͆̀̋̓̓͒̇̅̿̐̅̂́͊̏̓͒͗̿̄̽̍͋̈̆̀͐́̈́͌͋̏̓͋͌̃͆͋͋̌͗̓̑̿̓̽̓̂̓͐̏̈́͋̃̌̔̂̐̓̽̋̎́́̇̎̔͐̍͊̈́̊́̅̉̔̎͋̇͂̈́͛̈̑̌͌͛̓̈́̈̋̒͒͑̔̕̕͘̕͘̕̚͘̚̕͘̚̕͘͘͘̚͘̚̕̚̚͘̚͜͝͠͝͠͝͠͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅĮ̶̨̧̧͍̱̮͎͎̭̪̞͚̲̹̪͍̳͈̗̟̺̝̬̽̆͗̍̀͊̐̉̆̽͑̿̾͐̐̄̍̌̾̅͑̇͋̓̈́̔̑̓̈́̄̇̂͌͂͂̌̈́̑͐̂͌̉͌̆̍́͛͊̽̉̔̿̏̾̍͆͊̂̑̐̑͂̀̐̆̀̓͊͆̎̇̍͗̑̀̉̃̒̆̚̚̚͘͘̕̕͘̕͘̚͝͝͠͝͝͝͠ͅN̷̡̧̡̡̢̨̡̛̛̛̞̮͕͚͚̣̩̰͈͚̻͚̰͕̫̬͔̼͇̯̩̜̤̮̮̝̠̻̤̤̰̳̲̝̺̜͍̤̜̠̬̯͉͈̞̜͍̟͓̮̪͍͉̙̼̯̮̱̘̩̳̤͓͈̞̻̘̣͕̪̹̥̱̣̟̤͖̘̩̩̜̖̜̯̭̳͉̲̫̖͕̅̌̂̉͛̓̔̀̈́̀̑̈́̉̿́͋̄͐̆̒̈́̆͋͐̉̓̾̐͛̂̓́̂̐͑͑́͗́̒̉̇̃̔̊̓͑͆̊̐͒͐͋̏̐͊̃̂͂͒̎̎͗̇͂̅̄͆̏̓̐̾̌̎̈͆͌̐́̈̉̄͂͆̎̏͋̉͌̾̀̃͛̂̂̏̓͗̂̏̊̓̄̾́̽̐̌̇͗͐͆͛̌̄̀́͌͒̇̋͂̎͊͒͆̒͊̀̉̓̃͛͆͊̔̓̊̀̌̃̽̍̏̀̽͗̌͌͗͑̒͋͒̎̇̽̾͒̓́̓̓͊̀͐̉̈́͐̋͐͂̆̏̈́̃̅͑̈́̽̌̔̇͌̃̋͌̐̎̊͆͒͒͒̓͗̌͒̍̑́̃̓̌̒͒̍̋̈̓̈̍̄̔͗͒̄̄̐͆͛͐̐͗̀̾̅͌͋̈́͛̂̇́̀͛̇̈́͛̕͘͘̕̕̚̚̚͘͜͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͠͠͠͠͝ͅ.̵̡̧̨̨̢̢̢̧̢̧̡̢̧̧̛̛̛̬̹͈̥̗̥̤͕͍̲̪̗͙͍̬̯̮͙͙̞̘̦̗̻͖̹̗̫̳̰̜͇̗̻̹̟̼͍̭̳̫̠̹̻̯͚̬͇͈͇̰͚͖̣̣̠͔̣͍̞͎̗̞̯̯̮̲͔͎̗͎̺͇̠̮͈͕̻̘̞͉̞̮̥͓͓̱̼̱͓̮̗̪̩̭͕͖̦͚͈̝͔̭̩̬̳͕̠̲͓͇̙̭͎̤̼̻͉̯̣̩̗̪͇͙̘̖͈̱̬̩̥̖̱̭̫͚̮̻͎̹̜̫̻̘̣̪̬̞̺̬̬͕͎̬̟̬̳̝͕͙͕̝̼̲͚̼͎̮͚̥͔̤̹͖͇͈͎̜͎͙̹͕̘̭̩͉͈̦̫͎̺̝̱̱̥͈̍͑́̄̂̂̈͛̂̍̍̉̑̇̅́̿̈̈́̾̆̈̇͋̄̅̔̎̃̌̽̅̅̋̿̈́̔̏͌̾͂͆͐͋̓̾̐̀̋̑͆̅̍̽͐̏͗̄̔͆̋̈́͒̅̊̈́̂̇͗̈́̒̋́͆̎̂̄́̎̑͗͒́̈́́̓̇̊̒̋̅́͊́̐̓̔͂̑̿̄̈̃̓͐͛́̏̀̑̊̌̂́̀̈͐̆̎́͂̐̚͘̕̕͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅ

The man was woken an indeterminant amount of time later by a fluttering sound reaching his throbbing head. Incoherently, he stumbled in the opposite direction, falling to his knees. Eyes wild, fingers white as they gripped the walking stick like a club, preparing to strike recklessly. A hand touched his shoulder, “Peace. Whatever has scared you so is gone. I did not come as an enemy. I am not here to harm you.”