Isa groans, her shoulder tense. This son of a… This pheasant resists being plucked. Each time that she tries to do it, some of its skin comes with the feathers, and it's already the fifth time that it happens. Worse, those events lead her to take longer than she should to prepare the meat. She clenches her teeth and goes at it once again.
— Isa…
This only word, Garm's tone while saying it, all frustrates Isa even more. She knows how to do it. She always did, and she will do it again. He seems concerned about her but she, will, prepare, this, meal.
— I'm fine !
The mercenary sighs and takes the poor game from her hands. She frowns and turns her head away from him.
— Isa. Tell me.
— I'm, fine.
— No. Talk.
Isa groans again. He won't let her sulk in peace, she knows it.
— You're… Fine. It's… I… I hate it ! I hate being unable to learn ! Reading and writing are fine, but I can't even memorize a Single. Damn. Spell !
Garm smiles softly, Isa doesn't see it since she keeps her head turned away. His hands expertly pluck and gut the pheasant while he let her vent her frustrations during minutes.
— Better ?
— Yes… Sorry… And thank you.
As Isa takes back her chore, running can be heard seconds before Gloria arrives to their camp.
— Isa ! Isa ! We received news ! Dorian arrived at Dunsmore, he's fine. Oh, sorry, hello Mister Garm.
Over the crackling of fire, despite the sweet aroma of their meal, both turn to the witch with eagerness. Two oxen, one for each of them, get out of their shadow and lie to their side. No need to hide, for those thralls, since their charges already know about their existence. A smile gracefully turns up Gloria's lips.
— He collaborated with a white witch and two witch hunters to stop a black ritual, saving a dozen children in the meantime. Now he will stay with one of Dunsmore's coven to learn about their shadow witchcraft.
Garm finds himself smiling proudly, his apprentice is doing good for himself and for the world. He knows about black and white witches, Isa told him a lot about what she learnt after all. She, on the other hand, sighs with relief. Dorian doesn't stay isolated, he still interacts with people now and then, and that is enough to alleviate a bit the guilt she feels about seeing him flee after he revealed his powers to them.
— Now, he should be already out of the city. The letter was sent more than a month ago.
Dorian sighs.
He walked for days around the city, his shadows combing every inch and cranny of this forest, but nothing was found until now. Not his land dwellers, nor his birds, were able to find even a subtle trace of this hiding rogue. Beside him, Gibbs progresses silently, aware of its master's inner turmoil.
— Gibbs. I need you to join the search please.
Honestly, the dog's presence won't add much to the search efficiency. It will, however, work against Dorian's feeling of not doing everything he can. As the dog leaves, the man finds himself alone in the woods, with the rustle of the leaves as only company. He sits against a trunk and closes his eyes, trying to calm himself with the usual environment.
*No one can help me…*
Another sigh escapes him as realization dawns upon Dorian. No Coven can help him understand his powers, nor train them. No one can help him to become strong enough to avenge his parents. Not, a, single, person. It's the same for this search, he is the Stalker, he is the best at what he does.
Mechanically, he grabs gibbs' toy and readies his arm to throw it, only to freeze mere seconds before doing it.
*Ah, yes, I sent him out… Well, later then.*
He puts the toy back in his jacket then closes his eyes once again, focusing on his shadows' movements. This time, he won't walk during this, nor will he pay attention to what happens around him. All his mind will stay on his thralls without any deviation short of being directly attacked. A full hour later, the man's eyes open as a grin appears on his lips.
— Found you.
With a thought, he calls back his horse from the forest while beginning his trek to the witch's hiding spot. Few minutes fly by before his thrall comes and Dorian finally can quicken his pace. His mount halts when they come close to the other shadows which encircle the hideout.
*She even led the birds astray… And over such a small zone, clever bitch.*
Once every thrall is positioned, he orders them to march. As they do, he sits with his eyes closed, Fen and Gibbs nearby to protect him, and focuses on redirecting them each time they begin to go away.
This, this takes time, way more than he would have thought. Every two steps, every two flaps of wings, the shadows are led astray once again. Once they are a couple meters from one another, they finally stop trying to turn and Dorian breathes easily. He opens his eyes, recalls Gibbs and Fen before swapping with a simple fox.
In front of him, a cave opening, hidden by the bushes around it. At first, nothing seems out of place, as if one could enter without risks, as if the witch was perfectly confident in its misdirection ability.
Dorian, despite this feeling, decides to send two foxes beforehand, to thwart any ambush attempt underground. He gulps immediately after, as both shadows dissipate as soon as they touch the bushes.
*Luckily, I didn't charge head on…*
One of his bandits walks to the bushes, sword in hand, and slashes at it, only for a metallic sound to be heard. Two others go and help the first to rummage cautiously through the branches, then gesture to their master. Hidden in the bushes' foliage, metal vines with thorns lay covered with a poor illusion. On those spikes, there is some liquid, either venom or poison.
With a relieved sigh, Dorian orders the shadows already near the bushes to use their sword and free a passageway for him. He then sends two wolves in front, as per his initial plan, while recalling every other thrall. Once in the cave, he recalls the bandits too.
Two steps. It takes only two steps for him to understand that he may have bitten more than he can chew. Both wolves begin to err, even when he feels that they are following his order to a T. Each one of them gives off a sensation that they are following the witch scent, no more than a few hours old.
— Hello there, mister. Who do I have the honor to host ?
A masculine voice, unknown to him, resounds all around. Dorian grits his teeth and walks with focus. He goes straight ahead, his wolves still erring around in front of him. The words told are clear enough, the witch knows that he's here. He won't give him the pleasure of answering.
— Don't worry, I lack the means to harm you during your trip to my house.
A shiver runs down his spine, immediately after the voice stops he calls another shadow, a bird this time. If he can mislead his wolves' smell, a bird who doesn't follow this cue should be immune to it in his mind. Despite the Stalker's actions, nothing changes as the man still chooses to ignore what his target tells him. He won't believe that the other will simply let himself be hunted without struggling however.
— How hurtful, you don't believe a word of mine, right ? And what a wonderful ability you have, dear, summoning helpers…
Another question, which Dorian still ignores, as he will not let the other learn anything more from him. Calling the bird was already a big enough risk, since it did let the other know that he can summon helping hands.
— I see… You're the new hunter in here, the one who makes big noise lately… The Stalker if I remember well…
Dorian hurries his steps. He decidedly won't acknowledge anything that the voice will say. He walks for long minutes under the unending flow of sentences from his target, until his bird shoots up and flies in front of him, as if finding something. At the same time, the voice ceases mid sentence, making the witch hunter grins.
— Nothing to say anymore ? My friends can see through your lies, you see.
In front of his incredulous eyes, his bird flies straight to a wall and crashes against it at full speed, disappearing on the spot.
— You said ? And thank you Dorian, son of Mathew, I could've thought you were mute for a moment.
Dorian freezes on the spot. Sure, it is widely known that the Stalker's name is Dorian, but no one, not even Garm nor Isa, know about his father's name.
— How ? How do you know that name ? Who told you ?
— Wait wait wait… I'll answer, please calm down. In reverse order, no one told me, I know because of you, and… Magic, my dear.
Dorian grits his teeth once again. Assuming that the man is telling the truth, he really should never have talked, even to taunt his target. In his turmoil, he fails to hear the tension in the voice when his target tells him to wait. As he begins to walk again, he blinks as a sudden realisation comes to him.
— Why… Why did you reveal this name ?
Seconds pass before the voice sounds yet again.
— Well, you're my first willing guest since a long time, so I simply thought… Why not ?
In front of Dorian, before he can fully understand the meaning behind those words, a mob appears in the tunnel. His wolves don't react to it, and the Stalker himself doesn't dare to draw his sword because of two figures that he recognises inside.
— Mom… Dad…