drip, drip, drip
there was something wet on Fred's face
drip, drip, splish
there was something wet but Fred wasn't sure what
drip splish drip splash
Fred wasn't sure because he couldn't open his eyes
"You two rest," said Lem. "I'll take first watch."
That's how the evening began. Camp had been set up, a meal prepared,
watch set. The ever-present deadrels were still in the branches of the
trees, the dwarves were conversing in their own language, and Fred was
left to his own devices.
His thoughts had fixed upon the grim discovery of the glade, and the
sense that they were lost within some malignant maze made of root, bark,
limb and leaf. ~~am I mad?~~ thought Fred. ~~three days and still no end;
noise and silence, flittering shadows and unalterable shade, and the stink
of death~~
drip, splish, drip
Fred tried to open his eyes - but he couldn't
First watch had come and gone, as did second. By third Fred layed his
head upon his swath of cloth which served as pillow and closed his eyes.
splish, drip, drip
Fred had felt something press gently against his belly and then as
quickly it was gone. Opening his eyes all he had seen was darkness punctuated
by the few burning twigs of the campfire. Two dwarves had been on the ground
in bedrolls while one was standing some distance away as guard. Fred had
felt too tired and so closed his eyes again.
splash, drip, drip splish
There had been noise in the night, long after he had gone to sleep
- horrible and grotesque it was. Fred had felt his body heave as if some
unseen worm crept underneath his bedroll. He had flailed about in the darkness
feeling for his sword. He had looked wildly about yet saw nothing: the
fire had gone out, extinguished! The fire was gone and the air full of
croaking, shouts and other sounds. Finally Fred had found his sword...
drip, drip, drip
Fred, left blind, had felt the flap of wing, the bump of bark, the
screech of claw, and the buttress of some stone-like bodies. He had swung
in that blackness; had swerved and leapt; he had pounded the forms that
attacked and backed off when pressed too much. And then something had grappled
him and knocked him to the ground.
drip, splish, drip
Fred couldn't move, he couldn't see, he couldn't speak. He was like
a dead man - just like the parchment had said.
Then he felt a weight upon his belly and his sight returned, and with
it his strength. What he saw as he looked about made him sick to his stomach.
He found himself as before, in the same encampment, yet now the fire was
burning brighter than ever with new wood. He saw a dwarf leaning against
a tree not three meters from him, yet he was leaning upon it and his head
was inclined at an unnatural angle - the result of having a broken neck.
There were three deadrels perched upon his shoulders feeding upon his face.
There was also a dwarf-sized lump in a bedroll by the fireside, yet the
roll itself was drenched in red. Another small group of deadrels were hopping
about the pooled blood sipping at it. The last dwarf was the worst; it
was Lem. He was hanging in a tree right above Fred, wrapped in moss and
upside-down. It was his blood that had been dripping upon Fred's face -
his dwarven blood. The look on Lem's face was one of utter shock and surprise.
And then Fred saw the sword in his hand, the sword dripping red, and
he noticed how his armour glowed in tandem with the fire. Then he heard
the voice: "Come here, killer."
Turning, Fred saw a woman, tall and beauteous with flaming red hair
and glowing pearl eyes and, almost unnoticeable, two tiny horns protruding
from her forehead.
"What have I done!?!" screamed Fred.
-
 and
then Fred woke up
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