The river carried Giles until the sun went down. The stars and moon showed pale upon the bank, and rippled a white glitter across the current. His body had lost near all its strength, but his will had not yet abandoned him.
The thing would be out there, looking, sniffing him out. While he had not seen it since it had gone over the hill, the unmistakable howl sounded off twice during his floating journey. Always far off, but distance gave Giles no comfort now.
Sloshing his way up the bank he took stock of the wooded area he had been brought to, and chose to go straight in. Low hanging branches caught at his clothing and hair, snatching in their attempt to tear him backwards. Perhaps begging him to not bring his pursuer within their shelter after him.
But he did not listen, and wrestled against them for nearly a mile, unsure of where he might be heading. The heat of the past months being suddenly driven away by a cool Eastern breeze, driving an endless shiver through his soaked body.
The wailing rang out once more through the trees, some distance off. The figure had entered the forest after him. He had no way of truly knowing, but Giles' spirit felt it.
He ducked behind a trunk, and listened. The sound of small bugs buzzing near his ear and birds conversing high above in hidden branches filled the air. He moved from tree to tree, always taking care to look about and listen. Sweat gathered with the river water along his forelocks.
Before long, he came to a small clearing no bigger than three leaps wide. Giles looked about and found a patch of ferns standing pale in a beam of moon light. He dove in, laying flat on his belly, and waited.
Manic it came through the trees to his right. It had somehow gotten even further down the river than he had with the speed of the current. At this realization, Giles had lost any hope of outpacing the thing, and knew that, with no weapons, stealth became his only chance.
He would not move. Though every muscle in his body now pulsed with newfound heated vigor. He would not move. His spirit and mind screamed at, this is his time to run. His first, only, and last chance to flee to cry out for help to pray. He would not move.
Up the eastern hill it came, bounding with a haste that no man could hope to overcome. No sounds to accompany it. No screams or grunts. No words. Only the swift overtaking of ground as it made its way directly to the clearing's edge. Then to the edge of the ferns, but no further.
Giles felt sweat dropping into his eyes, stinging them shut. Dirt sucked through his nostrils as he had practically mashed his face into the ground, hands over his head. The birds stopped. He listened. It made no sound. It found me, the thought exploded in his mind. The sound of steps sounded one after the other towards where he lay. Ferns rustled as they brushed against it. It stood directly above him.
Then he felt it. Upon his knuckles laced over the back of his head, the sensation of a soft breath brushed delicately. It had found him.
Giles' whole body tensed and, without conscious thought, he sprung from the ferns, leaping high into the air and raised his hands up to fight. Dirt flung from his face. A cry of fear and desperation broke from him echoing off the walls of the clearing. His last moments would be standing.
The wild buck bolted in the opposite direction. If deer could scream, this one had a look that suggested it tried. Off it shot, leaping over ferns and downed trees until it melded away into the darkness.
"Oh goodness save me."
Giles forgot himself, and let out a laughter as he palmed some of the dirt from his eyes. Too loud.
There came the cry. It rang up into his ears. Then the forest fell silent.
The buck came hurtling back through the woods narrowly missing Giles as it went West up the direction the river had taken him from. Giles watched it go, then turned back to where the animal had come from. All shadows beyond the trunks suggested something might step beyond them and into the moonlight.
His original hiding spot now useless as a fig leaf, a feeling of nakedness overtook the man, and he glanced about for some new shelter . Then he spotted it. A pine, growing tall and wide. A single branch hung lower than the rest. Giles went for it.
Once, twice, three times he leapt and missed its outstretched offer. Glancing over his shoulder, feeling something coming up behind, but seeing nothing there. Fourth time. His hands gripped around the rough sappy bark and heaved himself up.
Branch after branch he ascended until they became too weak to hold him. Wrapping both arms around the narrowing trunk he pulled himself tight against its scratchy flaky surface. And, from his perch, he looked down.
Branches and needles obscured the majority of the forest floor. Glances through them appeared for only moments at a time, when the wind swung the blockage out of his view. The silence hung over the world. All birds and beasts had long since left. No fireflies dared dance their way through the branches. All ran, or all hid.
It is down there, something spoke in his mind. He knew it. Before the logical side of his mind attempted to speak up, a great gust pulsed through the forest, and he could see down to the fern batch below. A dark figure stood, looming over the ferns.
Could it sense him? Was this thing capable of tracking, or sniffing out its prey? The branches snapped back into place obscuring his vision once more. He clung tight to the pine, thoughts of the figure walking over to it and ascending up after him filled his imagination. That at any moment he would feel those fingers around his dangling legs and be pulled to his death made his mouth dry.
He saw himself left in the ferns, organs and bones strewn about his corpse. Forgotten there for all eternity. Cold sweat ran down his back.
Hours passed and the moon went down. The stars faded away to a pale blank sky. A bird fluttered onto the branch next to him and tweeted a song at him. Giles felt an aching run through his stuff body. His throat had become sore from the cold and his head began a terrible throb. His arms threatened to give out on him and let him plummet to the earth below.
He had to check. One look. If he lowered himself a couple of branches, then he would be able to see if it were there. But then, it might see him. But he had to try. Out of time.
His legs shrieked in pain as he extended them downwards to find footing on the lower branch. Squatting upon it, he attempted to hide himself behind a large grouping of pine needles. Reaching out his shaking hand, he pulled them aside. The gray world below looked all together devoid of life.
He fumbled his way back to the forest floor, making an effort to stop every few branches to reaffirm his isolation. Pine bark scraped from the trunk and clung to his ruined garments. Face and clothes now filthy, he placed both feet on the forest floor and looked about. Nothing other than himself stood in the clearing.
He took a moment to observe the ferns and the grounds around them. He saw his imprint clearly now. Had he stayed, he would have been discovered.
Next to his imprint, something caught his eye. Two tracks. The tracks of something standing for some time. In front of them lay his own imprint, and within that the mark of a hand.
He made his way through the woods. Where the tracks lead off West, Giles went North hoping that this thing would find some other prey to track. Though something in his spirit knew it was just a hope.
Slowly, ducking from tree to tree, he made his way all the time wondering, what had he seen at the bridge? No doubt something like a man. Though, even that he could only assume. The shape seemed human enough. However, what he saw running back over the hill the day before seemed anything but. Its tracks. The way it crawled. That voice. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt like it had been really happening. Ever since he got on that damned road, things had gone all wrong.
The sun was still down and the sky still pale when he had gotten out of the woods. The sight of a village had never been a miracle to the man until that moment. It had shot a jolt of joy through his whole body to such an extent that he lost himself for a moment and ran several yards into the open area before it. Catching himself, he ducked below some tall grass and looked to see if anyone had seen him.
Around the village stood a wooden palisade. Behind its top spikes, on the nearest corner to Giles noticed a man. Very young, with curly red hair. He looked over the wall, as one who tries to spy out something that has just alluded them. Damn, he thought, he spotted me. Only seconds before the watchman's gaze spied him again and took action.
With no other choice, he approached the gate.
The young man perked up when Giles arose from his hiding spot. The two never broke eye contact. Each holding a stern look of unease. Then, hoping for the best, Giles put on his best smile and waved his hand high. He returned the wave, though hesitantly. Giles knew this would be an easy victory.
While closing the distance between himself and the gate, he concocted a story. He was a huntsman. One who had been going about the wooded area for the past months conducting his profession. He had indeed come across the farmer, but had only stopped and attempted to track down the terrible beast that had killed the poor man. When he got to the bridge the monster had confronted him and he lost his horse and all his collected pelts. He even told the full truth of his escape down the river and near death in the forest. Why lie, after all, when the truth does the trick. But perhaps this final truth did more than end his story. The look of fear on the guard's face came through white.
The gate opened. Noah brought him through town, leaving his post abandoned, and to the tavern where he used his own money to buy Giles a bowl of stew and a pitcher of water. The young man saw another in the tavern and called for him to come over. He referred to the man as Humphrey, and insisted that Giles tell him of his story.
Giles recounted what he had told Noah. When he accidentally left a detail out, the boy was kind enough to bring it up, helping his story stand up to any real scrutiny. In fact, when he felt his tale lacked any real depth, Humphrey suggested his own additions.
"Ah, yes old Bertram's farm. I know it well. No surprise you'd be the first to find him. Can't say I know anyone who would want to visit that old shit."
The details of the location and its owner seemed nothing important to Giles, until a new party entered the tavern and Humphrey called them over, requesting that Giles recount the story to them. As the morning progressed, he found himself growing deeper and deeper into the lie's details as each newcomer seemed to add to his knowledge and forget that they were the ones that had told him when he added these details to his story during its next retelling.
Eventually the story went on until it had constructed the men into a gathering of fear. According to this huntsman, a terror prowled about the countryside, killing its residents in a most gruesome manner, and with no patrols around to help them, questions of what they were to do murmured around the group. Giles searched for a moment to slip away. Each time he had found one, a newcomer would enter and he would be forced to recount his adventure once more.
Once more, the door swung open. Once more a man stepped through. Only this time, no one called him over. Instead, a muttering of contempt passed between his audience. Statements of an easily spooked old man, and a relic of times passed were made. But Giles saw something in his eyes when they met his own. This man, while much older than the others, looked deeper into his eyes than any man in recent days had ever done.
One more newcomer came in. And one more time Giles would have to tell his story, the whole time aware of being watched. Aware that, while the older man pretended to not notice him, he studied Giles through the corner of his eye. And Giles felt as though his story were made up of straw and thread before the man's judgments.
When all was finished being told, Giles stood up and placed the bowl upon the table.
"Gentlemen, it has been nice speaking with you, however I must be on my way. A long path is ahead of me, and the sun is already coming up."
The gathering bemoaned his words, but understood his situation. Humphrey arose beside him.
"We would all rather you stay here within the walls, after hearing your tale. Not safe to go about the countryside it seems. However, you seem like a man who knows his stuff better than any of us. If you must leave, then you must." He pulled a coin pouch from his tunic, and withdrew from it three copper pieces. "This ought to get you a mule to rent. Look by the stables near the East gate. Should be someone willing to take this price."
He held out the coins in his open palm, and Giles pinched them up with a nod of gratitude. He felt a shift of guilt go through his mind, if only for a moment. It went away fast as it came. After all, his information was good to them, informing the people of a hostile in the area. This seemed adequate payment.
Pocketing the money, Giles finished his water, thanked the men, wished them well, and walked back out into the town. The sun, still behind the walls, ran through the sky red. In the west, a wave of solid dark clouds washed over the horizon, and where the two colors met in the middle directly above head, Giles spotted birds filing far above. The air grew colder, and the wind from the previous night had made its way to the village. Moisture hung in the air, with a musty taste. Giles pulled his stolen tunic tighter around him, and made his way down the wooden steps onto the cobble street.
With each step, the coins jingled in his tunic. One mule. East gate. That would send him down river again. But anywhere would prove better than here. He halted, and looked behind him to the houses making their way down to the West entrance he had come from. Beyond those walls, something stalked along the countryside. Something he did not understand. Something he did not want to understand.
His eye caught a figure standing on the top step leading to the tavern door. The man who had been watching him so secretively now did so openly. He stood, brow narrowed at Giles. Gray thin hair whipped about his leathery face in the wind. In the darkness of the building's insides, he had not noticed the club tucked into the man's belt. He had not noticed the powerful hand resting on it. Whether he wanted to or not, the choice was made for him. He turned back to the East gate, and made his way through the streets to the stables. Just one mule.