Chapter 1- A birthday to remember.

      For Avato, today was the worst day of his life. It came every year and every year it was the worst. Twenty-five times over soon to be twenty-six. His birthday. His father tried to make it special. As special as he could with the limited resources he had. But every year one thing always scuttled from the filthiest bowels of the underworld to make it awful. His mother.

Whether she showed or didn’t. Her mere presence or lack thereof had a way of souring the day. Like spoiled milk beneath the summer sun.

All his life he wanted to love her. But she made it difficult. She was different. Different in a way that could not be put to words. Like the spotted eyed owl. A creature thought to have eyes in the back of its head. A creature that at first glance seemed like something vaguely reminiscent of the species it hailed from but fundamentally different enough that it seemed painfully obvious it wasn’t what it claimed to be.

The more he thought of his mother the more he shuddered. The woods around him grew quieter, unnervingly so. Avato looked all around through the covering of trees and shuddered again. His stomach curled up onto itself. A sickening feeling shot up into his throat. Even at mid-day the forest had an all too eerie atmosphere, to it. As his eyes continued to scan in a circle around. A fear crept into his throat. A primal sort of fear. Not one born from seeing bear or a mountain lion or a wolf. Oh no, he could handle those. Those fears were manageable. Easy to tame and rein in. The man’s hulking size and frame coupled with his long bow and arrows saw to that.

This fear was of seeing something far worse, something truly frightening. Something neither his wits, nor his bow, his strength nor his knife could handle. He feared seeing his mother.

Avato completed his scan of the woods and nothing, at least nothing visible to the naked eye. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he pushed the thoughts back down into the farthest darkest pits of his mind. He slung his bow over his shoulder and returned to his hunt.

         Shade blanketed, the forest floor. Very few thin rays of sunlight managed to slip past the canopy of leaves that nestled overhead. Deer tracks laid imprinted in the soft dirt leading deeper into the woods. A snapped twig jutted out of one along the path. Avato followed the tracks quietly tuning his ears to any of the beasts sounds.

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         Deeper and deeper into the woods he went the darker, and eerier it got. The canopy of leaves grew thicker, the trees denser and more tightly packed. Any sounds as faint as they were deadened to silence. Ancient rubble and debris littered the surrounding forest. Nature had all but consumed the man-made structures of stone and the bones of beasts long dead.

Shit. Avato thought. Once again eying his surroundings. He ventured past the brush and through a clearing. On the other end, at a small stream stood a tall white stag. Huge antlers and plenty of meat. Avato’s eyes widened at the sight of the beast, the sheer size of it would offer more than enough meat for him and his pops to eat. Plenty of spare parts to sell or trade to others in town too.

Avato unslung, drew his bow and notched an arrow. The deer continued to drink not a care in the world. Unaware of the danger that was coming its way.

Avato slowed his breathing and struggled to release the fear that took root in his shoulders. No matter how many times he hunted. He never could let go of the fear of failure. How could he. If he missed, the stag would flee knowing full well it was being hunted. The beast would not be so easily taken by surprise a second time. With daylight in short supply. He needed to do this now.

Avato gulped down his fears took aim and fired. The arrow soared through the air driving hard into the beast’s neck. Blood gushed as the deer, leapt onto all fours and shrieked. A mere moment passed before the beast toppled to the ground splashing into the nearby, stream.

Nice. He smiled, slung his bow back over his shoulder and hurried to the fresh kill. Observant of his surroundings and any possible predators lurking to steal what was rightfully his as he went. Damned vultures they were.  

The stag wheezed and choked on its last labored breath. Its glassy eyes stared up at him. The arrow lay buried deep in the beast’s flesh, scarlet blood stained, its pure white fur. Avato drew his knife up from its sheath on his belt and knelt beside the fallen beast. Letting it suffer a moment longer would be an act of cruelty reserved only for the truly depraved and vilest of men.

Without a second thought, he drove my knife. down into its throat more blood spilled as the beast spasmed and jerked before laying limply on the ground. Avato let out a heavy breath cleaned his knife and slid it back into its sheath. He heaved and slung the beast over his shoulder. The woods fell quiet, again. Nothing but the sounds of his own footsteps and labored groaning as he lugged the stag all the way back to town.

A chilling sensation washed over him sending shivers coursing up and down his spine. A sensation of being watched. That loomed over his head the entire way back. Not the worst birthday.