The thing sniffed at them, Tarquin feared he was shaking but then it pulled away and headed towards the meat still on the spit. It took the arrow with it and started eating as it trudged along the path.
They didn't know how long they stayed there until the dawning sky came.
Tarquin felt like he could breathe again.
"How'd you know that would work?"
"I didn't."
"What?!"
"Just wash, the blood smelled horrible enough I hoped it would deter it."
The river ran red again, by the time they both finished. Tarquin stared at Fletcher, more specifically his head. It wasn't shiny from natural oil.
"How do you keep your hair like that?" Tarquin asked.
"Like what?"
"Neat. Not as greasy. I swear, mine's getting worse and worse as the days go by… " Tarquin pushed the hair back from his face.
"I'll get you the berries needed. Let's just get back to moving."
Dressing quickly, they listened for any external causes of movement.
"Alright, I saw the cliffside again, and we're further out. I saw a few caves, so he wasn't lying about that."
"Pardon?"
"The man with the tunic."
"So, he wasn't lying."
"Yes... Anyway, we can probably camp out near there in a few days time."
Tarquin recalled the man's words. "Don't enter the caves." Or something along those lines. but he didn't see why. He could have guessed the thing they saw last night was the reason, but he hoped it wasn't the case.
He strapped his sword sheath around his waist and adjusted it accordingly.
Tarquin felt like Fletcher took his time, but he had both his sword and his bow, he reminded himself.
"Are you finished yet?"
"I don't want my sword to be stuck in the scabbard."
Fletcher finished oiling his sword before sheathing it.
"It looks like we can go down this river, with the water. Maybe we can find a foot hold to get up, from there."
"That might work."
"Hopefully, the others started a search party. Let's just hope we make it easier for them."
He adjusted his quiver then his sword sheath on his back. He patted his belt for his skinning knife.
They started the trudge down into the mud, and damp dirt. - - - "Hurry up, I think I hear something."
"Oh, Shut up, I'm only human!"
Fletcher hitched his trousers up, as a few more rustling leaves caught his attention.
"Alright, don't leave yet, I hear something."
"I hear it, too.
There was a silence as Fletcher nudged the lump of dirt back into the hole before he realized why Tarquin probaably hadn't come into view yet. "I have my trousers on! And it's buried."
There was no response.
"Tarquin, I swear—" He gasped.
It was about time he'd seen the damn thing, but he regretted the wish, now. It was the beast from the night before, there was no mistaking it. It was large, almost twice as. Big and a full grown orc, and it held Tarquin in one hand like he was a doll. The only hair it had was on its head, long and stringy and it went down to its knees, veiling its chest. Until it turned to face him, Fletcher guessed it was female.
"What are you?"
He drew his khopesh, having no time to string his bow and nock and arrow before it took off into the woods with Tarquin's unconscious body.
"Hey!" Fletcher took off after it without thinking but he lost it in a matter of minutes. Its heavy foot steps left large prints in the dirt, much to his relief. But he doubted he could find Tarquin in time to save him.
Fletcher cursed, as he started to follow the prints. - - - Tarquin jerked awake, reeling about the last encounter with Fletcher.
"You're awake," the voice didn't sound like it was alone, like multiple people at once spoke.
"What?" Tarquin attempted to speak, but his voice was lost, and it came out as a meager squeak. He reached up to his throat, embarrassed at his own voice.
"Don;t feel too bad. I'm sure your little friend will come for you," the thing said.
"He's not my friend," Tarquin sputtered out.
"Then he should have no problem abandoning you for the cliffside."
Tarquin went silent, wondering what the thing would do to Fletcher if he did end up finding them. "What do you want with him?" He asked.
"Simple. A hunt." The thing said it so normally, like it was discussing the weather.
Tarquin wondered how long this thing had been doing this. Years? Decades? Centuries, even?
This thing wanted a hunt. A human to hunt at that, what kind of sick thing would do that?
"Why?"
"I've been watching you and him. He's loyal to a fault, even to an ass like you. He would volunteer his own life for his friends, but, since none of them are here, you'll do. Fortunately for me, he knows what he's doing and he'll track me down to find you."
"What makes you think he'll succeed? He will. How do you think he found that elf girl in your first year?"
Tarquin's blood froze. The thing had been watching them for a long time.
"The forest isn't in a crater for nothing, you know." The thing finished.
The gravity of the situation seemed to dawn on Tarquin. He wasn't sure anymore if he could live without a helping hand. He would have been more comfortable with someone he knew personally, but Fletcher had to do. Then there was the frightening question Tarquin didn't want to ask.
"What happens if you catch him?"
"Well, I figured it would be obvious to you. My hunts tend to be practical."
"What does that mean?"
"You're hungry, aren't you?"
Tarquin's stomach churned, audibly and more out of sickness than of hunger.
"Don't worry. If you help me with this, I'll let you have first bite, and a way out," it said, noting Tarquin's expression.
Tarquin turned away from the thing and dry-heaved before he knew it.
He felt the large hand stroke his back, which didn't help matters.
"Don't worry, He's nothing more than a commoner to you. I'm sure when he's gone, you won't lost anything."
"This is... " Tarquin gasped. "...Barbaric!"
"This is nature," The thing cooed. He tilted Tarquin's head to face him again. "Don't worry about him, anyway. Besides, it doesn't make a difference whether he's alive or dead, now that you have me. Remember, I can get you out of here."
Tarquin was silent, still struggling to process he was nothing more than bait.
"Why not do it now, then?"
"Someone's eager... " The thing sneered.
"That's not—"
"I told you. I like to hunt my food. It's no fun when they just give up."
"Why?"
The thing seemed to shrug.
"It's just not as fun."
Tarquin looked out into the forest again, expecting to see or hear the target. - - - Fletcher swiped at the branches and shrubbery in his path, limping as he did. He stumbled forward, catching himself on a tree before he hit a rough patch of dirt.
"How'd I get in this again?" he whispered to himself. He recalled the fight. The demon they tried to fight was large, and it backed both him and Tarquin by the cliff before he turned the tables. That backfired.
He began shouting Tarquin's name, in hopes he was still alive, or awake for that matter.
By the time dusk came again, he settled in another spot near a waterfall. He had a deer leg over a spit and roasting. Fletcher drank heavily from the water, not realizing he had exerted more out of himself than he did the past few days until then. Under the water, he rinsed his mouth out and spat before stepping out.
He froze when he did, taking a single glance at the scene. The meat was gone, but the arrow sat above the fire, charred beyond use.
He swore loudly before dressing and stringing his bow.
He trudged along the path, irate at his luck before nocking an arrow. He stayed by the river and watched for a sign of life. Something, anything. Fish, deer, rabbit, anything.
He watched with intent as he took aim at a doe lowering its head to the water. He also noted the calves with it. He paused, lowering the stress on his bow, pondering. There had to be a father around here, if they're out there.
Fletcher raised the bow again and took aim.
The arrow flew through the eyes, missing the other side's by a hair.
He thanked whatever was watching him that he'd get dinner that night.
he started the climb down but a blue of grey, green flew across it. The thing took the deer and the calves, leaving a small trail of blood in its wake.
"Hey!" He shouted and jumped the rest of the way down. He landed in the river, his ankles sting at the sudden landing. Then he tore after it once reaching land.
"That's my dinner!" Fletcher shouted after it. He ducked and wove through the branches and shrubbery in his way.
If he had the back legs of a deer's, he would be grateful. He always wondered how those thing could get away so quickly.
He could hear both his heart and his stomach as he began to lose sight of the thing.
His heart jumped when his foot caught something and flew forward into the base of a pine. His head thundered and he no longer heard the sound of footsteps.
He pulled his head up, his sight blurry with the ache and his nose was bleeding. He spat out a tooth and adjusted himself to roll over on his back, the quiver being the only thing to keep him off the ground.
He shook, reaching up to his face and trying to keep from bleeding all over, but his hand dropped at his chest, having no energy left to do that simple notion.
He listened to the rustling twigs snapping and he tried to move his head.
"Tarquin?" He gasped before the darkness took hold. - - - He felt the hands of someone on his chest and his entire body clenched. There was no light. And he couldn't scream.
GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME
The mystery being didn't stop, and the hands kept up their path towards his belt.
GET OUT
Fletcher couldn't breathe, his time in the cells came back to him. Was it all a dream? Had he dreamt the trial? Had he dreamt his freedom? The reality started to come down on him, even as the hands continued to move.
STOP
There was no use stopping it as Fletcher started thrash violently.
GET AWAY
The hands struggled to hold him still. The single pair of hands turned into two, and they held his legs down. A larger pair of hands, colder, clammier, held him down by his shoulders.
The first pair started binding his legs with thick cloth.
The larger hands hung him upside down, as the first took both wrists and tied them behind his back.
STOP, YOU SICK FUCK
Fletcher gasped through his gag.
He let out a muffled yell, shortly after. Maybe someone in the darkness could hear it? He could only hope.
The dark space reminded him of Pelt's Dungeons and his breathing began to increase. Where was he and why?
He let out another muffled scream, this one was cracked, less bold than the first. The humid air was making it harder to breathe,
"Ahh! You're awake! I was afraid you'd knock yourself out before the fun began."
"What are you?" Fletcher tried to say.
The thing threw its head back and laughed. "Hang on."
With a swift swipe downwards, with the precision Fletcher had never seen in anything before, the cloth fell onto both sides of his neck and Fletcher heaved a breath. He breathed too quickly and he started coughing.
"Come now, don't be too dramatic." The thing scoffed.
"What—" another cough, "—Are you?"
"For now, I'm your host. And it's not nice to say 'what'. It's 'who'. As for that question, call me Porthos."
Fletcher looked behind the thing—Porthos—and saw Tarquin behind him, bound and gagged.
"You son of a wh—"
"Ah-ah! Language! And don't worry about him selling you up the river. On the bright side, it's only you I want. Well, the bright side for him, at least." Porthos pointed his thumb over his shoulder, at Tarquin.
"What do you want from me?"
"Hmm... I'm sure by now you've notice the forest isn't in a cliff."
Fletcher froze, staring up at the thing. It seemed to go on forever, he had said.
"See, I've been watching the two of you for a while now. All of you. And thank god my latest brought you here. I aimed for all of you and your friends, but, two should fill me until then."
"You said I'd be free if I helped you!" Tarquin shouted, then he realized his mistake.
Fletcher shot Tarquin a glare so hateful it would outmatch his own. If Fletcher didn't get to the boy first, then the monster would.
"Well, now that that's settled. Here's how it'll go down. You will have a day's head-start. Plot, trap whatever, until you hear the horns. Then you start running. If you can outlast me in three days time, I'll help you up the cliffside. If not... Well, you know."