Ril jogged, then walked, then finally he trudged. Always heading east. The fading light casting a long shadow to guide his way. He had started walking on a road, flanked on either side by fenced in land. The left side of the road contained the barren results of a field post-harvesting. Ril had no clue as to what the crop might have been, but it was currently a dry-grass color and cut short. The right side of the road contained a pasture that lay beyond a wood post fence. The short grass, that still retained its green color, covered the pasture, stretching as far as the eye could see. The packed dirt of the road itself had been dampened by the recent rain so that every footstep that Ril took, left a clear indentation on the soft soil. Ril had realized this, just about the time he had slowed his jog to a steady walk. A small spike of fear tightened around his heart as he had realized this. With a furtive glance behind him, Ril had made his way to the wood post fence on the right side of the road and crawled underneath it. Once he had made it across, he reoriented following his shadow towards the Chromagnum.

Soon, Ril noticed that in the distance, the tops of trees were visible. The trees radiated a calm menace, appearing nearly black in the pre-dusk gloom. Near the base of forest, Ril noticed that the fence that surrounded the pasture that he currently trudged through stopped several hundred feet short of the forest. Off to the south, an old watchtower stood patiently.

Unsure of the occupancy of the watchtower, Ril avoided the watchtower as he stopped in front of the fence. He put his hands on the top of the fence. Suddenly unsure. Doubt creeped into the confidence that suffused Ril’s character up to this point. The forest lay directly along the path that Ril wished to follow. Also, and perhaps more importantly, the forest was awfully dark.

He reached underneath his tunic, pulling out his bronze locket. He gripped it, as his fist blinded the carved eye from seeing the path that lay in front of him. With a few hops to psyche himself up, Ril crouched down and crawled underneath the fence. Walking towards the forest, Ril realized that the darkness, while foreboding, was not unnatural. Simply a result of the dense foliage blocking the already meager light. Thus bolstered, he confidently made his way into the leaves. 

Within the leaves, the sounds of nature changed. The clicks of crickets that made their home in the open field were immediately replaced by the raucous cries of crows. The creaking of branches and the rustling of leaves accompanying the bird’s orchestra.

Rather quickly, it became apparent that travelling through this forest was something that could only be done during the day. After stumbling for the third time over a fallen branch, Ril finally called it quits and searched around him for a place to sleep for the night. 

Nothing particular stood out to the city boy. Most every direction that he looked, darkness ruled. Shrugging, Ril plopped down at the first hollow that he saw, setting his meager possessions down. He scratched in the dirt a little arrow, to remind himself of the direction to travel in. Then with nary a glance around the looming trees, Ril hugged his pack and fell asleep, curled up tightly around it. 

* * *

Ben Fuller was a simple man. At 5 feet 5 inches tall, he was not a tall man. And yet, he was not short. Neither he nor his friends commented on his height, for there was not much to comment on. His appearance was rugged. He preferred to stay unshaven as the trouble of shaving was often far too great. His beard, although scraggly, was not unclean. The rough brown strands providing a warm layer over his cheeks during the blustery winters, and an even warmer layer during the humid summers. He wore heavy leather and canvas clothes. Tailored to suit his stature. Across much of the surface brown and green splotches covered his garments, almost as if he had just gotten up from rolling in the dirt. A keen observer however would notice that the splotches were painted on, and no dirt covered his clothes. Well mostly no dirt.

This was because Ben Fuller was a hunter. Not a spectacular monster hunter that spends his days taking down mawbeasts, and trading their still cooling corpses for ransom at the city hall. No Ben Fuller was a simple hunter, spending much of his days traversing between the traps that he laid in the forests and fields surrounding Elkshire. The traps were well made, by himself of course, and sized for small prey like rodents and birds. None of the larger game that other hunters seemed to dream about. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Ben Fuller was a trapper. However, Ben Fuller was not a trapper, and would deny such a claim should any arise. Because to Ben Fuller, trappers were stupid people who simply litered the countryside with dangerous contraptions. Although Ben Fuller was a simple man, he was not a stupid man. And so, Ben Fuller called himself a hunter.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Hunters of Elkshire are often assumed to be able to track their prey. And while it is true that Ben Fuller could follow footsteps through wet mud, Ben Fuller was not a tracker. He was a simple man so he had no desire to be a tracker when he was already a perfectly good hunter. Unfortunately for Ben, the lord of Elkshire did not care that he was a hunter that was not a trapper who did not desire nor need to learn how to track. So late on a particularly wet day sometime after dinner but before the sun had fallen below the horizon, Ben Fuller found himself trudging along a muddy road following a set of muddy footprints.

“Blast it all.” Ben grumbled, reaching into his pack to grab a piece of jerky. Munching on the aged meat, Ben felt better. There really was nothing like walking down a nice road, eating some nice jerky as the sun set behind you. 

‘Unless.’ He thought to himself. A frown creeping over his face. ‘The only reason you are walking down a nice lonely road, eating some nice jerky as the sun sets behind you is because you were forced into doing this by some noble brat who couldn't be bothered to do it himself.’

Now thoroughly annoyed Ben continued down the muddy path, nearly missing it when the footsteps veered off the road and past the fence that ran parallel to it. 

“...And this is why I don’t track things. Bloody inconvenient it is.” Ben said, finishing off his jerky with a savage chomp. Although he complained, he did continue following the footsteps, hopping the fence with practiced ease. 

This continued for nearly an hour as Ben continued following the tracks and periodically vocalizing his troubles. It was not clear to whom Ben was speaking to, but perhaps it was the jerky that was rapidly disappearing into Ben’s gullet. 

All too soon Ben arrived at another fence, beyond which lay a veritable wall of dark trees, swaying gently in the wind. 

“That be the Dread Thicket, that is.” Ben said in surprise to his jerky. “Can’t make me go in there, not for all the gold in the world.”

Leaning up against the fence, Ben slung his pack out in front of him. He pulled out a pencil and an expensive looking journal wrapped in red leather. Flipping to the first page, Ben began to write:

TARGET ENTURED DREAD THIKET LIKLY DEAD

Satisfied Ben began to whistle a carefree tune as he watched the forest darken as the sun plunged from its perch in the sky. After but a few moments, Ben looked back down at the open journal he had propped up on the fence, and found underneath his shaky handwriting a flowing script that read:

Return to Elkshire for payment

-Theodore Glotsk

Squinting at the flowing script, Ben shrugged, put the notebook away, and began the long walk back to Elkshire. 

* * *

Back in the Dread Thicket a young leopard crouched in the dense underbrush that had given this forest its name. The leopard was small, no more than 4 feet in length and barely breaking 50 pounds. Yet the sharp claws that the cat kneaded into the dirt showed how it’s small frame belied the violence that it could bring to bear. 

In front of the cat, slept a boy in the hollow of a twisted oak. The boy slept oblivious as the leopard slowly stalked closer to its midnight snack. The leopard paused. Tail twitching in the air, the leopard watched its prey, its eyes unblinking in the moonlight. 

Then, it pounced. The powerful muscles in its hind legs bunching up, to send the predator flying across the intervening space between it and the boy. Midway, however there was a flash, and a gurgle. The leopard who had been flying mere moments before towards the boy, was rolling away, its head neatly severed at the base of its neck. 

Silence reigned in the Dread Thicket. 

A creature much larger stepped away from the darkness underneath the boughs of a nearby tree. Its head approached the leopard’s fallen body. Serendipitously, a shaft of moonlight illuminated the head of the creature. It looked much like a panther. A black coat covered it's tremendously powerful body. It’s tail lashed behind it, nearly doubling the creature’s length.

However that is where the similarities to a panther ended. While it did have a black coat, the black was chalky, and looked as if even the barest touch would leave a coating of the powder behind. On the monster's back, where the shoulders met the spine, two appendages grew out. The appendages were long and looked very similar to the tail of the creature. However unlike the tail these two tentacles ended in wide pads that were covered and dangerous looking spikes. Additionally, the creature seemed to shimmer. Fading in and out of view as it approached the leopard’s fallen body carefully. 

In utter silence, the creature sniffed the dead body. Once it was satisfied, it looked on at the young boy who slept, oblivious to the carnage happening around him. Then, the air itself trembled around the creature, and it seemed as if its entire bulk faded into the murky blackness of the night, leaving the human boy alone with a corpse.