tales of the knotlands: molo 12: to find something

Timon and Serif were at the head of the party by virtue of them having assembled it – it was not a position that either of them relished; they always preferred to be advisors and stand further back. Tonight that was not to be that way – not that there would be much cover in a group of seven. They kept to that number out of superstition – not that ever did anyone much good, because the things that they were dealing with had a whole other set of beliefs that led to them tearing through the systems the people of L’undone had in place. It hadn’t always been so, but then nothing was as it had once been, and most likely it never would be again.

Where were those two fools Cairn and Bully? Every noise sounded amplified out here and Timon suspected that had little to do with the acoustics of the place – in fact he knew it had much more to do with the thoughts rattling around in his skull: that was what gave power to things in places like this. He often wondered if the people who lived in L’undone weren’t the midwives of their own horrors? Was it in the fertile soil of their fears that all these creatures grew?

They told how the first weaver was not a man but another bird, but what if that were not true? There were shamans out here that wore animal masks; that invoked the spirits of ancient gods said to have dominion over this place. but what if none of it were real? What is they assembled these chimeras out of the colours in the fire? The shapes in the smoke? What if they were nothing but the visions of overactive and feverish minds?

And then they heard it – the howl of a wolf nearby. That howl was answered by another and then another. He wondered if the rest of them were thinking the same thing – that Cairn and Bully were not worth risking this many people? Serif looked at him and he saw fear in his eyes.

When the first wolf attacked everyone, from the well-trained to the amateur, got too panicked to loose a shot. Three of them were lying dead within ten minutes – their throats ripped out.

Timon watched as two of the animals feasted on the carcass of his dead friend and he wondered whether that would be his fate, or whether he would join the pack as one of their number. He felt strange, light headed, could the blood pooling warmly beneath him; he wondered if had wet himself. Tears welled up in his eyes – he offered up a prayer to the Great Bittern, and then he remembered that she was no longer there.

Timon and Serif were at the head of the party by virtue of them having assembled it – it was not a position that either of them relished; they always preferred to be advisors and stand further back. Tonight that was not to be that way – not that there would be much cover in a group of seven. They kept to that number out of superstition – not that ever did anyone much good, because the things that they were dealing with had a whole other set of beliefs that led to them tearing through the systems the people of L’undone had in place. It hadn’t always been so, but then nothing was as it had once been, and most likely it never would be again.Where were those two fools Cairn and Bully? Every noise sounded amplified out here and Timon suspected that had little to do with the acoustics of the place – in fact he knew it had much more to do with the thoughts rattling around in his skull: that was what gave power to things in places like this. He often wondered if the people who lived in L’undone weren’t the midwives of their own horrors? Was it in the fertile soil of their fears that all these creatures grew?They told how the first weaver was not a man but another bird, but what if that were not true? There were shamans out here that wore animal masks; that invoked the spirits of ancient gods said to have dominion over this place. but what if none of it were real? What is they assembled these chimeras out of the colours in the fire? The shapes in the smoke? What if they were nothing but the visions of overactive and feverish minds?And then they heard it – the howl of a wolf nearby. That howl was answered by another and then another. He wondered if the rest of them were thinking the same thing – that Cairn and Bully were not worth risking this many people? Serif looked at him and he saw fear in his eyes.When the first wolf attacked everyone, from the well-trained to the amateur, got too panicked to loose a shot. Three of them were lying dead within ten minutes – their throats ripped out.Timon watched as two of the animals feasted on the carcass of his dead friend and he wondered whether that would be his fate, or whether he would join the pack as one of their number. He felt strange, light headed, could the blood pooling warmly beneath him; he wondered if had wet himself. Tears welled up in his eyes – he offered up a prayer to the Great Bittern, and then he remembered that she was no longer there.

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