Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN. All rights go to BBC and Moffat.
A/N: Sorry if there are any grammatical errors. I hate re-reading things I write. Feedback would be lovely, and highly appreciated. If anyone has a better idea for the summary I would love to hear it.
John had miscalculated.
Terribly so.
He was told that the creature lay dormant on the top of the center mountain of the hills, alone and barred off from the world by the streams that ran curiously down the mountains steep ridges. Unfortunately, the villagers had been wrong. The Center Mountain was at least a four day hike, and John had carelessly only packed for two, maybe three. His water supply was already running dangerously low.
But in the end he chose to forget about this little detail and push on. Strangely enough he hadn't seen anyone, and he hadn't fallen into any traps of any kind. It made him slightly paranoid, and he decided to get off the road but keep it in his sight. If the others would leave traps, something to slow him down, they would do so by planting them either on the edges of the road or literally in the middle of the trail. So he made sure to keep his distance and his blade on hand. It was an easy hike through the dirt of the forest, there was barely any grass, but moss grew heavily on the barks of trees and stones and John was aware of the trees tall arms stretching like a protected shield over his head. It was frighteningly peaceful, but he kept his ears pricked and his grip firm. The last thing he needed was to die two days in by having an arrow fly through his skull, or shoulder.
It would certainly be a waste. The forest itself stretched across the whole width of the mountain, and the sun shone lazily through the thick grey clouds that had begun to gather. Rain wasn't an issue. Not at this point anyway. He had a tarp he would just make camp if it got too bad, and honestly John had already grown bored a long time ago. Maybe the rain would make things more fun. After four hours of hiking straight John settled down onto a log with his notepad in hand and pencil balancing on the tips of his fingers. This would pass the boredom, some small thing at a time.
He really was in no rush, even though he had the feeling he should be. But he allowed himself the liberty of dazing away as he drew and when the loud cry shook him from his revere he hadn't the time to look at his new drawing before ducking himself away under the cover of ripe foliage. He crouched, waiting with tense muscles and apprehensive breaths. His palms had grown slightly sweaty from his kick of adrenaline and he gripped his knife tighter in his palms, the wooden handle cutting into his palm. He dared not move.
In the clearing appeared three men. One flung the third onto a log without any hesitation. The same cry echoed around the stills of the trees and stones and the man who had been thrown cried out softly before giving a violent cough, which earned him a kick to the ribs. The man who had thrown the other hadn't said or moved since, and John noticed the second man standing dangerously close to the first, his hands weaving slow and suggestive around the others arm.
"He got too close." The clinging man whispered, eyes looking glazed and out of focus. "Sebastian, I'll leave him to you. Catch up." And with that the male turned and frolicked away, a skip in his step and a hand running over his hair as though in effort to smooth it down. John turned his attention back to the man who must be Sebastian, just in time to see the man's foot rise and fall back harshly on the younger man's head. John felt his stomach churn as Sebastian continued stomping repeatedly down on and John saw his neck snap back and his body go limp.
John could taste the acidic flavor of bile rise up in his throat but clasped his hand over his mouth to prevent any noise that could give away his position. Sebastian was tall, but lean, and although John had a knife he didn't want to risk his head being mashed into a lump of red and grey. After a moment Sebastian straightened himself and headed off in the direction the other man had made his exist. And John sat quiet for some time afterward, used to seeing people die but not really wanting to believe that that was what he had just seen. After some time he uncovered himself from the vegetation and cautiously approached the body. It was already beginning to stink. It was a child it seemed, the way the face still had most of its youth, a young man in his early twenties. He was downed in brown clothes, tattered trousers used to long days in the field. He undoubtedly belonged to the Village in the West. So the two men who had just left…East perhaps?
Just the thought of that alone made John leave in a haste, tripping over his own boots as he desperately tried to distance himself from the mangled body. His notebook was still tucked away under his arm and he glanced down at his left hand. His tremor had returned.
With a grunt he hoisted himself over a fallen tree taking out his pad and looking precariously at his new drawing. A pair of almond eyes stared back up at him, dark curled bangs aligning across his pictures forehead, just above the eyebrows. John felt a pang of nostalgia at the piece, but quickly shook it off as paranoia crept its way in and John packed up his drawing and hurried on his way once more.
The woods at night were something totally different than it was during the day. John had never seen anything like it before. The trees seemed to give off their own glow of bioluminescence sheen, and the flowers and fruits that had been tucked away during the day had bloomed beautifully. Every step he took felt softer, and every gust of wind felt cooler. The air was still warm but this weather right now was perfect, with the light of the forest and the smell of an aftermath of rain. And John continued on, unaware of the silver eyes that followed his every step.
Reveiws are LOVE.
They keep me going.
:)