---Chapter 1---
He persevered since every tragedy he had faced, a martyr to suffer the burden of chronic death around him. He had never learned to swim in the endless expanse of sea that life was. His life flashed by around him every way he turned. This was a lone fisher, an outsider among other mustelids. The fur covering his body, like most fishers, was longer and darker than any ordinary vermin. He wore his enemy's colors as a cloth whilst remaining the prey from his unshakable shadow. Over his shoulder was slung a massive hide canteen, long ago emptied and allowing quicker movement.
The fisher easily escalated himself over the unsteady highland mountainsides, around plateaus and through the depths of valleys, all the while keeping his eyes always concentrating on the dot in the distance growing steadily nearer. From this half-minded attempt to watch where he was headed he was constantly falling over large rocks in his way. He cut his paw on a rock; now he resolved to pay no mind to the hunter as he grew closer to meeting his destination.
A shallow fold in the surface of a nearby plateau indicated this objective. He ran faster than a speeding hare until he reached the wall, and then hugged the surface away from the sunlight slowly descending in the slight west. The fisher stood not a moment to regain his breath, and swiftly ran into the depression on the tableland, veiling himself from direct sunlight. His pawsteps would be near invisible in the glaring sunlight above, but a scent was better to a blinded person than visibility. Not that his tracker was, indeed, sightless as a broken mirror.
The recession opened even more, opening to form a small cavern, tight around the edges. No badger would be able to fit through these edges, though a more medium creature such as the fisher could easily. Slinging his canteen into the hole ahead of him, he ducked silently in. A squeal of surprise sounded from the inner depths, where there were lines of lit torches along the walls. The familiar face jumped out of the darkness, wielding a hatchet in offense and screaming out. The fisher, unarmed, cowered.
"It's me, me, remember!"
In an instant, the beast sprung back, dropping the axe and showing himself as an awakened shrew. He came to the newcomer's aid, lighting a tangle of wood in the center of the circular cave with one of the torches, and welcomed him.
"Orileth! Me ole warrior you, what brings you back here, eh? Surely you're not being stalked by your midday shadow and runnin' from it all the way back 'ere?"
The shrew, Skeen, knew not how correct he was.
"Oh, here, I'll make ye some tea," said he.
Wetting his parched throat upon a form of beverage, Orileth was more prepared to converse with the shrew.
"His shadow is more irritable than you would think," he said, smiling, to which Skeen laughed heartily. "Yes, he's been quite a nuisance over this long deserted plain. I'm amazed that I was able to locate this place, he said, looking, unimpressed, at his surroundings. "Though it looks just about the same as last time, it's nice to see a friendly face amid such dark times."
Skeen nodded. "You wouldn't believe what's been happening over on the isthmus. Those damned ermines went at it for some time, in civil war. And a few days down this path the temperature changes drastically, it's snowed like a rat's backside down where the forest lies."
Relaxing on the ground, Orileth decided to take the risk of his stalker finding him. Using the canteen as a pillow from the tough rock interior, he watched the smoke from the conflagration empty up through a crack in the far ceiling of the hollow plateau as he spoke. "I only left temporarily, to go seek the aid of others to defeat those ermine lords. I found very few creatures who wished to help, and those who were died soon after by the hand of Martin's shadow."
The shrew shuddered. "Wouldn't want to be them. How'd ye get away?"
"It was no simple thing. I was on the receiving end of several seasons of stealth training. Hopefully it hasn't worn out by now. Well, the forests were easily navigable by themselves; I could escape more easily from an enemy than this desolate topography."
"Did you ever find the second volcano, eh, whassitcalled. Sallamannasron?"
"You mean Salamandastron? Negative."
The conversation faltered for a few seconds. Skeen decided to break the silence with a practical conversation. "So, guess we can get away from this wretched place," Skeen said, glaring hardheartedly up at the roof. Yew wouldn't imagine how hard it is to live 'ere in some hollow rock."
"Actually, I can," said Orileth huffily.
"Oh," Skeen said, averting his eyes. "...Right."
He persevered since every tragedy he had faced, a martyr to suffer the burden of chronic death around him. He had never learned to swim in the endless expanse of sea that life was. His life flashed by around him every way he turned. This was a lone fisher, an outsider among other mustelids. The fur covering his body, like most fishers, was longer and darker than any ordinary vermin. He wore his enemy's colors as a cloth whilst remaining the prey from his unshakable shadow. Over his shoulder was slung a massive hide canteen, long ago emptied and allowing quicker movement.
The fisher easily escalated himself over the unsteady highland mountainsides, around plateaus and through the depths of valleys, all the while keeping his eyes always concentrating on the dot in the distance growing steadily nearer. From this half-minded attempt to watch where he was headed he was constantly falling over large rocks in his way. He cut his paw on a rock; now he resolved to pay no mind to the hunter as he grew closer to meeting his destination.
A shallow fold in the surface of a nearby plateau indicated this objective. He ran faster than a speeding hare until he reached the wall, and then hugged the surface away from the sunlight slowly descending in the slight west. The fisher stood not a moment to regain his breath, and swiftly ran into the depression on the tableland, veiling himself from direct sunlight. His pawsteps would be near invisible in the glaring sunlight above, but a scent was better to a blinded person than visibility. Not that his tracker was, indeed, sightless as a broken mirror.
The recession opened even more, opening to form a small cavern, tight around the edges. No badger would be able to fit through these edges, though a more medium creature such as the fisher could easily. Slinging his canteen into the hole ahead of him, he ducked silently in. A squeal of surprise sounded from the inner depths, where there were lines of lit torches along the walls. The familiar face jumped out of the darkness, wielding a hatchet in offense and screaming out. The fisher, unarmed, cowered.
"It's me, me, remember!"
In an instant, the beast sprung back, dropping the axe and showing himself as an awakened shrew. He came to the newcomer's aid, lighting a tangle of wood in the center of the circular cave with one of the torches, and welcomed him.
"Orileth! Me ole warrior you, what brings you back here, eh? Surely you're not being stalked by your midday shadow and runnin' from it all the way back 'ere?"
The shrew, Skeen, knew not how correct he was.
"Oh, here, I'll make ye some tea," said he.
Wetting his parched throat upon a form of beverage, Orileth was more prepared to converse with the shrew.
"His shadow is more irritable than you would think," he said, smiling, to which Skeen laughed heartily. "Yes, he's been quite a nuisance over this long deserted plain. I'm amazed that I was able to locate this place, he said, looking, unimpressed, at his surroundings. "Though it looks just about the same as last time, it's nice to see a friendly face amid such dark times."
Skeen nodded. "You wouldn't believe what's been happening over on the isthmus. Those damned ermines went at it for some time, in civil war. And a few days down this path the temperature changes drastically, it's snowed like a rat's backside down where the forest lies."
Relaxing on the ground, Orileth decided to take the risk of his stalker finding him. Using the canteen as a pillow from the tough rock interior, he watched the smoke from the conflagration empty up through a crack in the far ceiling of the hollow plateau as he spoke. "I only left temporarily, to go seek the aid of others to defeat those ermine lords. I found very few creatures who wished to help, and those who were died soon after by the hand of Martin's shadow."
The shrew shuddered. "Wouldn't want to be them. How'd ye get away?"
"It was no simple thing. I was on the receiving end of several seasons of stealth training. Hopefully it hasn't worn out by now. Well, the forests were easily navigable by themselves; I could escape more easily from an enemy than this desolate topography."
"Did you ever find the second volcano, eh, whassitcalled. Sallamannasron?"
"You mean Salamandastron? Negative."
The conversation faltered for a few seconds. Skeen decided to break the silence with a practical conversation. "So, guess we can get away from this wretched place," Skeen said, glaring hardheartedly up at the roof. Yew wouldn't imagine how hard it is to live 'ere in some hollow rock."
"Actually, I can," said Orileth huffily.
"Oh," Skeen said, averting his eyes. "...Right."