Third
Apprentice
(Dated Sunday, July 21st, noon.)
Watching the bustle of the Festival of Crows drawing to a close, Third glances at the sky and winces. "Midday already. I need to be gone from here."
Matching action to words, he quickly gathers his gear and leaves Faybridge, striding steadily towards Calanhelm. Soon Faybridge disappears behind him, and the last few sounds of the festival fade into the sounds of the forest as he walks. After several hours, as the afternoon wanes, he abruptly turns off the road and strikes deeper into the hills, clearly seeking an uninhabited area. Progress is much slower in the thick brush, but he stil puts several miles behind him as night falls, and even more as he continues on until moonrise.
Stopping abruptly, he feels a tingle chase itself down every nerve in his body. His head, as though drawn by a string, turns to look at the moon as it rises, round and full, over the hills. With a spasm of pain, the change begins, and he falls to the forest floor, writhing. A series of gristly pops and unpleasant wet noises, accompanied by agonized groans, silences the nearby wildlife, only the pervasive mosquitos seeming unperturbed.
Soon, panting, the wolf hauls itself upright and tastes the air. It remembers being Third, remembers his pressing desire to get away from people, but the concerns of the human seem to weigh less on the wolf as time passes. Catching a tantalising scent on the rapidly-cooling air, he slips deeper into the brush, the man's worries seeming frail and insubstantial against the wolf's pressing need to hunt.
Watching the bustle of the Festival of Crows drawing to a close, Third glances at the sky and winces. "Midday already. I need to be gone from here."
Matching action to words, he quickly gathers his gear and leaves Faybridge, striding steadily towards Calanhelm. Soon Faybridge disappears behind him, and the last few sounds of the festival fade into the sounds of the forest as he walks. After several hours, as the afternoon wanes, he abruptly turns off the road and strikes deeper into the hills, clearly seeking an uninhabited area. Progress is much slower in the thick brush, but he stil puts several miles behind him as night falls, and even more as he continues on until moonrise.
Stopping abruptly, he feels a tingle chase itself down every nerve in his body. His head, as though drawn by a string, turns to look at the moon as it rises, round and full, over the hills. With a spasm of pain, the change begins, and he falls to the forest floor, writhing. A series of gristly pops and unpleasant wet noises, accompanied by agonized groans, silences the nearby wildlife, only the pervasive mosquitos seeming unperturbed.
Soon, panting, the wolf hauls itself upright and tastes the air. It remembers being Third, remembers his pressing desire to get away from people, but the concerns of the human seem to weigh less on the wolf as time passes. Catching a tantalising scent on the rapidly-cooling air, he slips deeper into the brush, the man's worries seeming frail and insubstantial against the wolf's pressing need to hunt.