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Earl Garner - Many hours prior

I sit in an infirmary, chewing my fingers in anxiety. So much shit has gone down in the past two days; I can't fully believe it. A fight for our lives ensues that we barely make it out alive, but one that Elizabeth might not get out of. The doctor said she has a brain hemorrhage and'll die if something is not done quickly. And even if she doesn't succumb, the man isn't sure if she'll ever wake up. He did say, though, that if we were even six hours later, she'd be done for.

I guess that's one good thing the monster that guised as our friend did. I bet he was waiting to use us as a cover or make us join his sick crew. I had always ignored his oddness, but it all came together when I looked at and read that bounty poster.

Why he never spoke about his teacher by name.

Why he knew so little about Sigils despite being a "Hunter".

Why, when we saw him, he was about as rabid as a starving beast.

Why he fought just like an animal with rabies, uncaring for his safety.

Why the Nain Rouge chased him down so far and even ignored the bandits nearby in favor of him.

Why he had such an odd look on his face when Elizabeth said he only killed the deserving.

Why he had no issue killing men and women alike, striking first before a shot was even fired.

He was the Wendigo all along. He killed one of the biggest legends within probably a thousand miles or more. Edmund Dudley was a hero. I grew up hearing stories of his hunts from Ernest and all the terrible odds he had beat. But I guess not even a great man like him can see that psychopath coming. We certainly didn't.

I'm sure the Bloody Palm fits like a glove to him. I hate myself for not seeing all the signs. How he never once seemed scared doing any of our fights. How he would just eat deadly wounds and shrug them off like death was never in sight. I don't think I ever even heard him scream in anything other than pain. How he always kept just a little bit of distance, never truly getting to know any one of us.

But I found it out eventually, thankfully, before he tried to do anything to any of us. Or at least that I know of. Who knows if he did something to Elizabeth. She's not here to confirm or deny.

The second I made the connections and the realization hit, I pulled Leonard and Esther with me and ran to find a doctor while furiously channeling Reshuffle with Ether to escape the monster. Luckily, a doctor was nearby, and he took in Elizabeth as his last patient before closing the sign. There is only one thing that nags at me now that we are safe, where did the monster's baby fox go? Esther had it last, but she said she couldn't find it.

While he told us of her diagnosis, a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and a flowing coat opened the door.

The Gunfighter, Johnny. A 6th Sigil. A well-known veteran hunter. Not quite a legend around here, but strong enough that I know about him. It's said his Sigil allows him many abilities that enhance or complement firearms and inhuman dexterity. A new leader of a rebellion against the Hunters. I don't know how much I believe in his claims about the Hunters that he spoke of, but he is a veteran. He used to go as the Handcannon for many years until people realized he could use any gun like an extension of his body and deal disastrous amounts of damage with them.

Johnny walks in with a rattling cough that surprised me. The mighty man he is sits beside the doctor, Floyd Heath. He then gazes at the group of Leonard, Esther, Elizabeth, and me.

"I ain't ever seen the four of you in Rustbank before; you kids new?"

I nod and get an idea. I need to warn the man of the monster entering his city.

The man listens to my whole story and nods before yelling outside. A lady in a pink scarf then walks through and nods at him. Then, they whisper for a bit, and I only catch a bit of the conversation before she leaves.

"Yes, deary?"

......

"Go find a kid for me. About sixteen, this tall, with a face like this bounty poster."

"Do you want me to bring him dead or alive?"

"Don't bring him. Don't spook him. Just make sure he doesn't do anything dangerous until I make time to see him."

......

I smile as I look at Elizabeth on the patient's bed, who is sickly and getting treatment.

The Wendigo will get his due from the Gunfighter himself.

**************

Wyatt Graves

I slowly walk out of Rustbank, trying to bleed as much out of this opportunity to look for my friends as I can, even as it hurts me inside. But all I see are rough-looking men, women, and hooded or cloaked figures I can't even see the face of as I stumble back to where I came from. No one even resembles my friends, and I'd like to look longer, but the Deadman's switch on my arm and the Ether Killer in my guts makes me move.

It all happened so suddenly. One day we were just traveling through the dunes, not entirely full of peace, but at least we were together. Then a close fight happened, and we barely made it out alive. I did all I could to help and bring them to safety, and this is how I'm repaid? It's just not fair. Now I got pounds of dynamite stuck to me and a ticking time bomb to see if I return. All because of this damn hand. Without it, none of this would be happening.

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

But I guess without it, I'd be dead too.

While I walk out of the noisy town of many people enjoying themselves on the streets and in the building, I kick rocks and sand beneath my feet in frustration. I move forward, full of anger and resentment toward almost everything. This only changes when I pass by the bone shaft I used to carry my friends to Rustbank.

Seeing the ropes still attached to it that I can't remove without wasting time, I feel a deep sense of loneliness. I knew this would happen deep down if they ever figured out my lie. I kept pushing it to the edge of my mind, hoping it wouldn't happen. I enjoyed having them around far too much to not hurt when they left.

It hurt me when Lonnie became a Bakwa, but not too bad. I hadn't known him for very long, and he was often quiet. Not to mention he didn't speak to me very much. I didn't ever get very close to him. Only after he died did I spend more time with the group instead of distancing myself. But I think I more so just tried to follow the other's emotions more than my own because it just felt a bit forced to care. I don't know why that is, though. Esther's reaction hit me much harder than my own. It was more of the failure than the death, I think.

Now, on the other hand, it is very different. I got close to Earl, Elizabeth, Leonard, and Esther. Earl and I discussed Ether and Sigils almost every night, which helped me learn much more. Plus, he saved my life, even if it might have worsened my future life. He's a brilliant man I'd like to be around more, even if he's a bit too much sometimes.

Now that I think about it, Elizabeth was always kind to me and everyone else. That only makes the fact that I can't check to see if she's alright so much worse. I just have to trust that Earl took her to a doctor, which he probably did, but I'll never know for sure. I felt that we started to grow very close. That one morning we had together watching the sunrise made me relaxed and happy like never before.

But as it would seem, that might never happen.

There is also Leonard. He's a bit slow but a reliable man who came to my aid whenever I needed it. I can see why Earl relied on him to take him out to gather materials for his alchemist training before the break. I hope the doctor can handle his concussion and make him well.

Last to come to mind, but not least, is little Esther. Over time she's grown on me, even after her tantrum against me in the wagon after her brother's death. She's quiet like Lonnie, but she's always nearby and watching. It's odd for a child like her to be willing to watch or even help in fights to the death and not be scarred, though. Even young me would be severely affected by death and bloodshed.

The whole time I think about my friends who left me, I stare at the slab of bone I carried them on just yesterday. The constant noise and discussion between Earl, Leonard, and I are gone. The brightness of Elizabeth has dimmed and is too far away to be seen. Esther's quiet yet motivating presence is no longer present. I feel a tiny movement by my ankle as I wallow in loneliness.

It's a subtle movement, like moving grass, so I merely look down without reacting. What I see brings light into my currently bleak world. It's something that I have always ignored despite making a promise to myself to protect it.

The kit I picked up over a week ago scratches at my boot and the bottom of my pants. Its fur has already turned partially orange, and it's grown quite a large amount since I woke up with it on my chest. Earl told me they would take a long time to mature from their newborn forms, so why has this one changed so much? And how did it even get to me? I'm almost a quarter mile from town. What the hell?

I kneel down to reach it as I feel regret and guilt for not focusing more on it, even though it is willing to run and find me from wherever it is. When my hand touches it, I notice something with my newly enhanced sense of Ether since becoming a Forward Daydreamer. I feel a small bundle of Ether emanating from the kit.

Now I'm even more confused. Does this kit have a Sigil? How did it possibly get one? I gently touch and pick up the baby fox, being very careful not to hurt or freak it out, but it just looks back at me calmly. When my hands touch it, I sense into its body with my mind and encounter almost no resistance compared to when I sense something like the Bloody Palm or other things with Sigils. Inside, I feel a primal and nearly animalistic Sigil. The word of the Sigil enters my mind as its traits are evoked from memory.

Comanche. A Sigil that focuses on the senses and reaction speed. Perfect for a tracker, guardsman, or archer.

I look into the eyes of the baby fox as I sense the Sigil within it, and it looks back at me with a small piece of blossoming intelligence in its amber eyes. A bit of information from the manuals about beasts gaining Sigils returns to my mind that I read recently.

It said something about how most beasts are limited in the Sigils they can attune to based on their species. Humans, Demons, and Otherplanars are unique in this aspect in that, as a species, they can have a wide variety of Sigils, with humans having the largest. All it takes is for the right man or woman to find the Sigil to bond with it. But that's not the case with animals.

Most animals can only resonate with one or two types of Sigils and rarely three. But in return, they gain very high resonance and commonly don't even have to kill the creature to take the decaying Sigil from the corpse. Once an animal gains a Sigil, it becomes a monster, and depending on the nature of the Sigil, it may become an aberration. Like humans, monsters with Sigils gain power over time, but they do it differently as their bodies are more resilient to Ether.

Instead of gaining more raw power and capability of Ether, over time, with a Sigil within them, they also gain more intelligence. After many years, they can eventually achieve human levels of wisdom. Suppose a pup, kitten, or baby of a beast gains a Sigil. In that case, they experience rapid physical and mental growth until they reach the equivalent of adulthood or adolescence, depending on the beast's lifespan.

The information helps me realize what happened to this kit. It must have resonated with the Comanche Sigil and somehow gained it from one of the killed bandits. I didn't take its abnormal growth when I woke up from the battle as anything special, but it makes sense now. I wonder how long it'll take for it to grow; I mean, it's only been two days since it got its Sigil, and it's already grown over twice its size.

It looks back at me and mewls for my attention while I ponder deeply about its situation. It must be starving; the kits ate all the time, if I remember correctly. I didn't take much care of him or any of the others, and I wish I did. It feels weird that he came to me despite me killing his parents and not spending much time with him, but he did nonetheless, and I won't complain. I could use a companion right now.

And I think that's what I'll name him, Dakota. It means friend or companion in an old language from one of the few peoples who are not protected by the Hunters. I should have named him much sooner, and there are many things I have neglected in favor of others. That needs to change, at least for Dakota. He whines at me once more for food, eliciting me to open the pack that Primrose gave me for his nutrition.

"I'll feed you, Dakota; just give me a second."

I slowly shove some small berries and a little chunk of meat into his mouth as I continue my walk, a friend in hand. He gladly eats after sniffing his nose and looking at the food. It appears he is no longer blind like the other young kits. Is that the Sigil he gained that did so or his rapid aging? I have no clue.

All the sights we pass by as we leisurely walk because I'm still recovering from yesterday's overuse of Ether are familiar and already seen. I see a few people walk near me but turn away once they get close enough to see my attire. I think they can see the Deadman's switch on my arm and prefer not to engage.

I am forced to stop relatively soon as we walk, only a little after lunchtime. The reason is apparent, and I should have expected it when I woke up this morning. The limit in my body for how much Ether I can handle is approaching its limit. The constant use of Daydream is slowly exhausting my formidable resistance.

Pushing through the pain and exhaustion is an option, but not a very good one. If acute Ether saturation were to kick in again, I'd be dead this time, with no one to save me. Not just that, but so would Dakota. He's growing very fast. In fact, I think he's developed an ounce or two during our travels through the dunes over the past several hours since the morning, but I doubt he'd grow fast enough to survive in the Bonedunes alone. Mainly since foxes are meant to live in woodlands or forests.

But that makes two of us, he and I, are a long way from home.

So, instead of foolishly pushing on until I break mentally and collapse, I sit and eat with Dakota, feeding him as much food as he feels like eating. Watching him chew food from my open hand and drink water from my cupped hands, happiness rises in me. I got something new to protect. Well, something I should have been shielding this whole time, but for a new reason.

Not because I promised I would, but because he's a friend. The only one I have right now with me in this cold, expansive, heartbreaking land. I'll do all I can to make sure he's alright. And something tells me he'll do the same, the look in his eye with some hints of recognition.

After I feed him, I take him and place him on my chest as I lay by a rock in a shady part of the sandy dunes. The headache is getting tremendous, almost distorting my vision, and I need to rest. I need to sleep and allow my body to expel the Ether that is building up in it.

To do so, I have to release my Daydream. But the only way any recovery will happen during that is if I fall asleep. The murmurs are too powerful when I'm awake. When I slept before waking up the first time after it was attached to me, it breezed by with no voices in my mind or dreams. Just quick, instant peace like a dreamless sleep.

I attempt to do that again, with Dakota lying on my chest for a quick nap. I close my eyes, and before I do so, I hear the almost inaudible snoring from Dakota on my chest. The vibration on my chest and the sound in my ears bring a smile to my face as I release the stream of Ether into the center of my pupils that is Daydream and quickly drift off into sleep.

Fitful sleep. Full of dark images and gory sights. Of war, of murder, and of survival. Like a series of episodic nightmares of death and trauma from a first-person perspective, almost like I'm seeing from someone else's eyes.

The last and only bit of the many dreams that I remember when I wake up is bleeding out on a battlefield with the roar of cannons and the stomping feet of monsters. I reach outward toward a nearby fallen ally with my left arm as much as possible, and blood slowly trails toward my left hand. A want, no, a deep desire, no, not that, an obsessive yearning for survival floods my mind like an infectious plague.

Just as my finger dips into the small stream of blood and flows onto my finger, a crashing hoof from a mighty creature falls down towards me and upon my head.