This chapter is dedicated to my grandmother who is really interested in Native American lore and has been begging me to tell her 'a stick indian' story. I hope that I do justice to the Salish culture and their story.
Gems: Responding to you on A03 :)
AvatarNia: Thank you so much. I plan on it. Though, since it is just going to be an anthology, updates are going to be more random and sporadic than my other chapter fics. There's so much to work with I have plans to have them face Mothman (my favorite cryptid), the Ozark Howler, and many others. Honestly, if there's a creature you want to see in the fic feel free to drop it in a review or my inbox and I'll try to fit that one in.
Pacific silver fir and western white pine tower over them, creating what looked like an impenetrable wall of woodland. As if the forest isn't dense enough already, black cottonwood and mountain hemlock fill the spaces between. It is a wonder to Zuko that they have managed to get here at all.
His mood had already been dreary before, with Zhao officially recruited and having rambled for hours, during their flight, about life on the Scottish highlands. Zuko stands before a large and crystal clear lake, littered with massive boulders and small stepping stones. Normally this may have lifted his spirits, but a light and billowing snowfall steals that away.
He shivers, cursing his sister for renting a tent instead of booking a hotel. "I thought that you like to plan ahead." He finally snaps.
Azula looks up from her work. "Zhao, prove your worth to this team and finish setting up camp." And she turns to Zuko, "yes, this is part of the plan. Don't you think that it will be easier to hunt down forest dwelling beasts if we are in the forest?" She shrugs. "Besides, I figured that we could save a little money this way."
"I think that it's easier to hunt when I'm not freezing my ass off." He grumbled.
"When Ah was a lad…" Zhao starts and Zuko groans loudly, sorry that he had spoken at all.
"Try to relax a little." Azula comments.
He only folds his arms over his chest, muttering, more to himself than her, about how she always has to have things her way. How they can never do what he wants, never mind that he had chosen the final say about their destination this time around.
Azula sighs, "come over here and look at this."
For a spiteful moment, he thinks of ignoring her, but he comes to sit next to her on the log she has perched herself upon. "Ever hear of stick indians, Zuzu?"
"No?"
"Neither have I." She replies. "According to uncle, there have been reports of them. Apparently, they're becoming a bother tourists and locals around here…"
"And you want to look into it?" He asks.
"We're here." She replies. "I don't see why we shouldn't."
"Because we're here for the wendigo."
"I think that we can handle both." She insists.
"Ah shite!"
Azula flinches at the sound of the tent collapsing.
"You wanted him here." Zuko remarks.
.oOo.
The snow continues to fall, it would almost be soothing if it weren't so like the night their mother went missing. Azula rolls onto her side, thinking of Iroh's notes. He doesn't have much for her to work with aside from a basic rundown of what they are dealing with. They are supposedly hairy and not unlike the better known big-foot. They have a knack for trickery and leading people astray, if Iroh has his facts right. She rolls back onto her back and watches, from the nearest window as the snow falls around them. A gust of wind rocks the tent, but not jarringly enough for her to wake the other two. It is a wonder that Zuko sleeps at all. She supposes that he had spent all of his energy on pointless rage in the daylight hours.
She ought to be sleeping herself but for some reason or another, sleep doesn't want to come to her.
Azula tries to analyze her own emotions; she doesn't have angry or depressive thoughts to haunt her mind. She considers for a moment that she is afraid. Yet, that isn't it either. Her heart doesn't race, she doesn't feel the need to look every which way.
Perhaps it has to do with the flight and a time change.
The wind whistles outside of the tent.
With no sign that her body wants to sleep, Azula gives in and grabs her camera, she doesn't often take nighttime photography. As quietly as she can, she unzips the tent and slips from it. She makes sure to seal the flaps once more to keep Zuko from complaining about the cold.
She hears, again, the wind whistling against the tent. She wanders away from the sound and towards the lake. Under the moonlight it is ethereal. If not for the snow she know that its surface would be smooth and undisturbed. As things are, the snow puts a certain sparkle to the water. It is perfect, she lets the camera flash. Once and then twice more before she seeks out something else to capture.
She thinks, briefly, of climbing atop one of the large boulders and taking a photo from a new vantage point. She gets a rather vivid mental image of herself slipping on the slick snow and crushing her camera as she topples into the lake.
The whistle of the wind comes again, this time, a chill shivers down her spine. At first, she can't place why. She tries to push the feeling aside, but the snow in her hair, the deeply quite woods, she remembers the feeling.
Remembers the look Ursa exchanged with Ozai.
She creeps away from the pond and towards her tent, the only thing keeping her at bay is the absence of an abysmal odor. They always have a scent. A truly wretched scent. But the absence of woodland chatter it wakes the most primitive of her senses.
She hears the whistle of the wind again.
This time it registers.
Her hair isn't fluttering. She doesn't feel the gust on her bare face.
With that realization she comes to decide that the sound itself is distorted. The next time she hears it, she can swear that it is as though the sound is being played in reverse.
Azula goes tense, it is near the tent.
And tenser still when the whistling sounds from behind her and then to the side of her. There are more of them now and they create a disorienting whir. She fights down the anxiety that they've managed to rouse.
She hustles back into the tent. As long as she doesn't let them lure her out there she should be fine. Her dread doesn't waver, not even slightly. "Zuko!" She hisses. He grumbles something sleepily gargled. "Zuko!" This time she offers him a sturdy kick.
She dodges a reflexive punch. "Christ, Azula! What?" He shouts, sending her nerves skyrocketing. She clamps a hand over his mouth as Zhao bolts up with a "wha'cha fussin' aboot?" She hushes him too.
She almost regrets having done so. She can hear, with more clarity, a scampering from outside. Zuko turns to her and mouths a soft, "what the hell."
Azula simply points at Iroh's notes.
"Ah'm gonna shoot 'em." Zhao proclaims.
"Take one shot and you're fired." Azula whispers harshly.
He opens his mouth for a voluminous protest. Azula throws a hand up, "one word and you're going back to Scotland." She threatens quietly. She has a hunch that they were going to have to wait this one out. She chances a peek out of the window, hoping to see the deep blue of approaching dawn. The sky is still inky and spotted with stars and flecks of snow.
She knows that the night will be long.
Any desire to ignore the outside chaos and sleep it off is sapped away at the sound of laughter. Its quality is uncanny, human but with an off-putting edge too it. Something that licks and plays with the most instinctual recesses of her mind.
"Ken Ah shoot it now?" Zhao asks, keeping his voice low.
Logic yearns for her to say yes, but the part of her that is off-put by the laughter speaks first, "you'll only make it worse."
She feels vulnerable, terribly so. More so than when she had been sinking in Loch Ness. At least then, she knew what and where her foe was. Zuko's glower leaves her feeling worse. He had already been vexed by her choice to camp at all. She supposes that it is on her entirely if they tear through the tent and make off with one of them.
She hopes, for the sake of her conscience that they take her.
A stick hits their tent and Zuko jolts. She wants to day that she hadn't flinched, but Zuko gripping her hand tells her that she did. She can't remember the last time he had held her hand, but she thinks that it was when they were children.
Azula looks at her phone, it is only 3:14.
She swallows, suddenly four hours is dauntingly long.
Her eyes begin to droop at 4:00 and she fights to keep them open. Zhao snores softly, with his gun still in hand. Azula thinks that maybe he has it right. They can't be lured out of their tents if they are asleep. Maybe she should just cave to her body's demands. She can use the rest. Briefly she thinks of pulling out the novel she'd brought along and reading until sleep overtakes her. But she doesn't want to attract attention with the light of her phone.
Instead she moves further from her brother and wraps herself up in her blankets, the uneasy flutters never leaving her belly. Zuko seems to follow in suit, but moves his sleeping bag closer to her. She wants to scold him for the loud shuffling noises, but there isn't a point. The creatures already know that they are there.
Their eerie scuffling and chirping persists but the ruckus doesn't come any closer.
It doesn't make her feel any safer.
In fact, it only leaves her wondering why they aren't attacking. Perhaps they are waiting for them to let their guard down. Perhaps they are toying with them. She digs through her bag for her iPod. She puts her headphones on, the noise will drive her insane if she doesn't.
"Don't pay them any mind, Azula." The words play themselves back in her mind. "Some beings just like the attention." She remembers smiling up at him and nodding as he tucked her in. She wishes that he were there.