u/Buildabuck7

“Bravery isn’t the absence of fear, but the presence of it during action.”

Those are the last words that My Friend said to me before he was torn apart by the feral men.

In the darkness, underneath a moon so hateful that it casts frost down unto the blades of grass that coat the earth beneath us. So frigid that the native creatures of the forest melt back into their holes seeking a warmer solitude, leaving the wild pastures silent, empty, cold, and barren.

Well, that is except for the feral men, the unkept, rotten, and horrid ideals they embody. Boasting torn attire and broken limbs, possessed by something evil something human surely not!

A human owns their own morality, their own choice to walk the path of wickedness or the path of righteousness, but these humans have lost their authority over the matter. Something vile has stripped them nude and cut through their flesh, reached into their soul and stolen their God given free will!

All that remains is a feral man, no perception of the evil he does, and no knowledge of the good he omits. Thus becoming a stringed puppet, doing the dreadful bidding of the decadent angels thrust unto the earth, in the time when the heavenly bodies above were as old as I.

Now, as I lay against the cold stone that makes up the brutalist architecture of this forsaken town. I fail to resist giving way to my emotions, overtaken by grief, anger, and denial. The feral men would surely hear my cries if not for My Friend’s screaming howling as his limbs are pilfered from the body that used to be his, it now belongs to the destination of his soul.

Solomon, My Friend, was contaminated by the rot that consumes the feral men. His days were numbered, he was scared, yet the bravest spirit I had ever come across.

He conceded himself to the blood-covered masses of the feral men willingly, in the name of sacrifice, for I was in greater peril the longer I stayed with him.

I now know that even though he was terrified in the act, he was a braver man than I ever could be. I sat on the ledge of the second floor inside of the fragmented building we saw fit to set up camp for the night.

Hearing My Friend’s essence drift away in the cold night’s breeze hurt, yet reminded me that amidst these trials and tribulations, there is an end. One where the atrocities of this earth cannot follow, Solomon’s oasis, God bless his soul.

I’ve not always been a religious man, in fact I’m not certain I am as of now. Though I try.

My Friend was a pastor, I attribute my alteration to his nightly prayers and favorable outlook on things. That, coupled with these awful times, has led me to pray to a higher being.

I know not if my breath is being wasted, but I do know it to hush the trepidation that trespasses into my sentience. That is reason enough to earn my tongue. Perhaps He could use it better than I.

The feral men are unusually active tonight, Thus I must move minimally, and keep my tone quiet, lest I draw the attention of lesser beings.

My blanket bares a hole near the side of my hip, with each breeze I shiver as my skin is covered in bumps. Cold enough to render itself bothersome, warm enough to keep me alive.

I dreamt last night, a large, frosty field of grass, populated by a collection of people, an amount too great to conceive. All idle, waiting patiently. Suddenly a booming choir, hauntingly off-key yet paralyzingly beautiful, began singing an ancient hymn. The sky above us illuminated with the light of a thousand flames, the morning frost melted as we were bathed in a ray of warmth.

An aura of light, displaying every color on the spectrum began to rise out of individuals among the crowd.

Those who had the light rise out became a husk of their former selves, turning to their brothers and sisters and pouncing, tearing through flesh and trust alike.

The lights flew up into the sky joining the constellations above, leaving the rest of us to our devices with these newborn creatures. Forsaken, abandoned, deserted.

One of them got a hold of my leg, tearing through my pants it reeled back preparing for a vicious bite, in the shared moment of its teeth sinking into my flesh I awoke. Gasping, I welcome the frigid morning air into my lungs, letting it calm my nerves as I grope the surrounding space to ground my distant mind back into this realm.

North, that is where we were heading. My Friend’s family lives in a town North of here. I intend to see this journey through, out of respect for the man he was.

I shan't show myself to his kin without evidence of his affiliation, for it would not only be rude, I also do not think they would receive me.

After I packed up the camp, I approached his body below, a ravaged image it is. His flesh was nearly gone in its entirety, all that remained was fragments of torn cloth, broken bones, and his necklace.

Yes, this shall do, he said his necklace was given to him by his wife on one of their anniversaries, surely they would believe me not a stranger should I produce this.

Like the many souls that have passed on in this region, so too have the warmer days.

All I can expect each night is the cold embrace of winter’s indifference.

I must keep my mind sharp and my vision quick, and not let them grow cold and numb, a fate already familiar to my bitter hands.

Times in the past I would entertain the idea of travelling aside main roadways, but since then, an old friend of mine unveiled the dangers of such a practice. Informing me of ambushes by ferals and survivors alike.

So, I send myself into the woods, akin to a lonesome flea making its way into the hairline of a great beast.

As I migrate through the woodland I train my focus on vegetation that could be of use on my travels, my necessity for water is met, though I fail to say the same for my food. I believe it to be no less than two moons since my last meal. I’ve heard tales of men thriving for weeks without food, but I doubt my gluttonous urge could last so long. Though, at a pace such as this, I fear I may find out whether I wish to or not.

Does that make me brave? Or is such a claim only to be exalted if you possess the choice to refuse?

Traversing through the untamed greenery of this brave new world, a delightful scent wisps past me in the breeze. I halted my stride in an attempt to focus and locate the source, that was when I saw the faint pillar of smoke dancing up into the heavens just in the distance. Ordinarily I would veer slightly to the side to avoid confrontations without hesitation, but I found myself to be with such delay.

Approaching the campsite the smell grows in stature, and so does my hunger. I stumble into a small clearing where the campsite has found its rest, falling to my knees at the sight of a heavenly stew brewing over an open flame. My eyes failed to find another soul in sight, and before I could internally discuss whether or not to approach the scene I found myself within arms reach of the pot.

The warmth it gave off alone was enough to nearly produce a tear. I felt as though I were a child once more, freshly scrubbed and wide-eyed with innocence. My father used to cook me stew when I felt sick, stew of the most divine nature indeed.

I sat myself down and started preparing myself a bowl, it had bits of carrots and potatoes and a healthy portion of meat. I burnt my tongue as I fed myself the brew.

I cared not.

A single tear did fall. The texture of the meat was chewy of sorts, I couldn’t visualize it to any of the local fauna, perhaps this was also a traveler?

Chewing through a larger clump of meat I bit down onto something of an awfully contrasting texture, a bone I presumed. As I picked it out of my teeth it took me a moment to conceive of the sight before my eyes, was this a fingernail?

It was at the moment that I felt the cold hard pressure of a gun’s barrel get pressed into the rear of my skull, as a man with a rough voice said.

“I reckon you ought to give me a good reason not to blow your thinker out.”

I miss My Friend, I miss being in the presence of someone kinder and wiser than I. The Sinner is kind to me, I do not know why.

I fear him.

However, I recall My Friend saying that fear doesn’t always hold itself in poor lighting. He said he feared God, though he never described him as unkind. How does one fear God, but is not afraid? Truly I wish such clarity were passed onto me before My Friend passed on himself.

Recently I’ve been at war with myself, each time I find myself drawing near a revelation, something yanks the collar around my neck, pulling me in the opposite direction. I hate it.

I’m scared to hate, I’m scared to forgive, I’m scared to die, I’m scared to live.

I’m scared…

The wagon came to an abrupt halt stealing my attention from my self reflection. This morning boasts a cowl of warmth. I witnessed a deer cross the path just ahead of us, stretching its legs and striding through the woods given to it from birth.

We sit in silence, listening to the birds sing the song of creation, and the leaves dance in the wind.

Through the layering of the trees I spot a small cabin a short walk from the trail. The Sinner noticed my perception.

“That’s my stop, I’ll tie up Sunflower right here.”

As we traverse the untamed grass making our way to the cabin, I can’t help but notice The Sinner’s expression. If this is his stop, that means his daughter, Leah is inside, wouldn’t he be excited? Why is no such emotion present on his face?

Drawing nearer, the boarded up windows catch my eye, all heavily reinforced and repaired over time. The door bears a large rusty padlock, the cabin’s age is evident as old rotted wood peeks out from behind newer and stronger variations.

Out of The Sinner’s belt comes a large steel key, one which clicks right into place in the padlock, with a twist the door slowly swings open.

Inside, a dusty and poorly lit scene, unkempt furniture and decor litters the room. The Sinner turns to me and says.

“I’d rather you wait outside.”

I slowly nod my head “yes”, and make my way outside. I wish I could say that this time I succeeded in resisting my curiosity. As The Sinner shut the door behind me, I make my way to a window and peek through a slit in the boards.

He pulls the stuffed bear out from his pack. Holding it he approaches a room with a closed door and says.

“Leah sweetheart, I’m home and with a gift just like I promised.”

He opens the bedroom door and backs up into the living room as if to give her space.

But I’m not sure his daughter walked out. in her place, a small feral child with glassy blinded eyes, its mouth wrapped in thick cloth, and its hands had oven mitts tied onto them.

Her skin, blistering and bubbling around the creases, her hair thinner than that of a pig.

The cloth tied around her jaw is stained with blood and vomit alike, her right elbow rubbed raw, exposing the bone.

The Sinner got down to his knees and opened his arms for an embrace. He was met with rage, the little girl, no older than a dozen years in age, flung herself at the rugged old man. He let her flail and smack him, the rags and mitts prevented her from causing any real harm.

After sitting still for a moment, The Sinner slowly wrapped his arms around the seizing and feral child, pinning her arms to her sides as he held her in his arms.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He kept repeating while she struggled against his embrace, a whimper escaped from him, and grew into a weep.

The Sinner wept with his creation.

Tears began to form in my own eyes from the scene. It was nearly more than I could bear.

He began to stand up, lifting her in the process. He carried her back to her room and set the teddy bear inside with her.

“I love you.”

He said as he shut the door behind him and began to gather himself, whipping his tears against his grimy arms. Replacing emotion with dirt.

He looked up and noticed me through the gap before I could duck under the window frame.

Maybe he didn’t realise? Maybe I could act as if I were waiting out here by the porch.

With the creak of the door, The Sinner walked out, avoiding letting his eyes meet my own. We made our way back to the wagon in silence.

“You said you were goin’ North right? I don’t mind taking you, I’ll just be coming back this way after.”

I smile gently, a very generous offer indeed. I recall My Friend saying that his house was in a town, next to a stream. We've been traveling for some time, surely we're close.

I get comfortable on an old blanket as we set onward for several hours. The Sinner eventually breaks the silence.

“You were looking through the window weren't you?”

He looks at me with a firm face.

Hesitantly I nod “yes”, expecting fury in return. However, The Sinner simply nods his head as well and looks to the trail ahead. Eventually he responds with.

“I can’t let her go, I won’t.”

He looks as if he were awaiting a response.

“I’ve never been a religious man, but if you told me that God created the world just so that she’d get to live one day, I’d believe you.”

He said with watery eyes as he gazed into the sunset.

“She was blind from birth, I didn’t uh. I didn’t do that to her… I’m gonna lie down and get some rest, you should too.”

The Sinner turned his back to me and laid himself across the wagon, leaving me alone with the day that soon too would cease.

Perhaps I cast judgement upon this man too quickly, perhaps I exalted myself above him too eagerly.

Lord if I hath been too hasty with judgement that belongs to thee, witness to me in a dream so I may change my ways. Amen.

I miss My Friend, I miss being in the presence of someone kinder and wiser than I. The Sinner is kind to me, I do not know why.

I fear him.

However, I recall My Friend saying that fear doesn’t always hold itself in poor lighting. He said he feared God, though he never described him as unkind. How does one fear God, but is not afraid? Truly I wish such clarity were passed onto me before My Friend passed on himself.

Recently I’ve been at war with myself, each time I find myself drawing near a revelation, something yanks the collar around my neck, pulling me in the opposite direction. I hate it.

I’m scared to hate, I’m scared to forgive, I’m scared to die, I’m scared to live.

I’m scared…

The wagon came to an abrupt halt stealing my attention from my self reflection. This morning boasts a cowl of warmth. I witnessed a deer cross the path just ahead of us, stretching its legs and striding through the woods given to it from birth.

We sit in silence, listening to the birds sing the song of creation, and the leaves dance in the wind.

Through the layering of the trees I spot a small cabin a short walk from the trail. The Sinner noticed my perception.

“That’s my stop, I’ll tie up Sunflower right here.”

As we traverse the untamed grass making our way to the cabin, I can’t help but notice The Sinner’s expression. If this is his stop, that means his daughter, Leah is inside, wouldn’t he be excited? Why is no such emotion present on his face?

Drawing nearer, the boarded up windows catch my eye, all heavily reinforced and repaired over time. The door bears a large rusty padlock, the cabin’s age is evident as old rotted wood peeks out from behind newer and stronger variations.

Out of The Sinner’s belt comes a large steel key, one which clicks right into place in the padlock, with a twist the door slowly swings open.

Inside, a dusty and poorly lit scene, unkempt furniture and decor litters the room. The Sinner turns to me and says.

“I’d rather you wait outside.”

I slowly nod my head “yes”, and make my way outside. I wish I could say that this time I succeeded in resisting my curiosity. As The Sinner shut the door behind me, I make my way to a window and peek through a slit in the boards.

He pulls the stuffed bear out from his pack. Holding it he approaches a room with a closed door and says.

“Leah sweetheart, I’m home and with a gift just like I promised.”

He opens the bedroom door and backs up into the living room as if to give her space.

But I’m not sure his daughter walked out. in her place, a small feral child with glassy blinded eyes, its mouth wrapped in thick cloth, and its hands had oven mitts tied onto them.

Her skin, blistering and bubbling around the creases, her hair thinner than that of a pig.

The cloth tied around her jaw is stained with blood and vomit alike, her right elbow rubbed raw, exposing the bone.

The Sinner got down to his knees and opened his arms for an embrace. He was met with rage, the little girl, no older than a dozen years in age, flung herself at the rugged old man. He let her flail and smack him, the rags and mitts prevented her from causing any real harm.

After sitting still for a moment, The Sinner slowly wrapped his arms around the seizing and feral child, pinning her arms to her sides as he held her in his arms.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He kept repeating while she struggled against his embrace, a whimper escaped from him, and grew into a weep.

The Sinner wept with his creation.

Tears began to form in my own eyes from the scene. It was nearly more than I could bear.

He began to stand up, lifting her in the process. He carried her back to her room and set the teddy bear inside with her.

“I love you.”

He said as he shut the door behind him and began to gather himself, whipping his tears against his grimy arms. Replacing emotion with dirt.

He looked up and noticed me through the gap before I could duck under the window frame.

Maybe he didn’t realise? Maybe I could act as if I were waiting out here by the porch.

With the creak of the door, The Sinner walked out, avoiding letting his eyes meet my own. We made our way back to the wagon in silence.

“You said you were goin’ North right? I don’t mind taking you, I’ll just be coming back this way after.”

I smile gently, a very generous offer indeed. I recall My Friend saying that his house was in a town, next to a stream. We've been traveling for some time, surely we're close.

I get comfortable on an old blanket as we set onward for several hours. The Sinner eventually breaks the silence.

“You were looking through the window weren't you?”

He looks at me with a firm face.

Hesitantly I nod “yes”, expecting fury in return. However, The Sinner simply nods his head as well and looks to the trail ahead. Eventually he responds with.

“I can’t let her go, I won’t.”

He looks as if he were awaiting a response.

“I’ve never been a religious man, but if you told me that God created the world just so that she’d get to live one day, I’d believe you.”

He said with watery eyes as he gazed into the sunset.

“She was blind from birth, I didn’t uh. I didn’t do that to her… I’m gonna lie down and get some rest, you should too.”

The Sinner turned his back to me and laid himself across the wagon, leaving me alone with the day that soon too would cease.

Perhaps I cast judgement upon this man too quickly, perhaps I exalted myself above him too eagerly.

Lord if I hath been too hasty with judgement that belongs to thee, witness to me in a dream so I may change my ways. Amen.

I miss My Friend, I miss being in the presence of someone kinder and wiser than I. The Sinner is kind to me, I do not know why.

I fear him.

However, I recall My Friend saying that fear doesn’t always hold itself in poor lighting. He said he feared God, though he never described him as unkind. How does one fear God, but is not afraid? Truly I wish such clarity were passed onto me before My Friend passed on himself.

Recently I’ve been at war with myself, each time I find myself drawing near a revelation, something yanks the collar around my neck, pulling me in the opposite direction. I hate it.

I’m scared to hate, I’m scared to forgive, I’m scared to die, I’m scared to live.

I’m scared…

The wagon came to an abrupt halt stealing my attention from my self reflection. This morning boasts a cowl of warmth. I witnessed a deer cross the path just ahead of us, stretching its legs and striding through the woods given to it from birth.

We sit in silence, listening to the birds sing the song of creation, and the leaves dance in the wind.

Through the layering of the trees I spot a small cabin a short walk from the trail. The Sinner noticed my perception.

“That’s my stop, I’ll tie up Sunflower right here.”

As we traverse the untamed grass making our way to the cabin, I can’t help but notice The Sinner’s expression. If this is his stop, that means his daughter, Leah is inside, wouldn’t he be excited? Why is no such emotion present on his face?

Drawing nearer, the boarded up windows catch my eye, all heavily reinforced and repaired over time. The door bears a large rusty padlock, the cabin’s age is evident as old rotted wood peeks out from behind newer and stronger variations.

Out of The Sinner’s belt comes a large steel key, one which clicks right into place in the padlock, with a twist the door slowly swings open.

Inside, a dusty and poorly lit scene, unkempt furniture and decor litters the room. The Sinner turns to me and says.

“I’d rather you wait outside.”

I slowly nod my head “yes”, and make my way outside. I wish I could say that this time I succeeded in resisting my curiosity. As The Sinner shut the door behind me, I make my way to a window and peek through a slit in the boards.

He pulls the stuffed bear out from his pack. Holding it he approaches a room with a closed door and says.

“Leah sweetheart, I’m home and with a gift just like I promised.”

He opens the bedroom door and backs up into the living room as if to give her space.

But I’m not sure his daughter walked out. in her place, a small feral child with glassy blinded eyes, its mouth wrapped in thick cloth, and its hands had oven mitts tied onto them.

Her skin, blistering and bubbling around the creases, her hair thinner than that of a pig.

The cloth tied around her jaw is stained with blood and vomit alike, her right elbow rubbed raw, exposing the bone.

The Sinner got down to his knees and opened his arms for an embrace. He was met with rage, the little girl, no older than a dozen years in age, flung herself at the rugged old man. He let her flail and smack him, the rags and mitts prevented her from causing any real harm.

After sitting still for a moment, The Sinner slowly wrapped his arms around the seizing and feral child, pinning her arms to her sides as he held her in his arms.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He kept repeating while she struggled against his embrace, a whimper escaped from him, and grew into a weep.

The Sinner wept with his creation.

Tears began to form in my own eyes from the scene. It was nearly more than I could bear.

He began to stand up, lifting her in the process. He carried her back to her room and set the teddy bear inside with her.

“I love you.”

He said as he shut the door behind him and began to gather himself, whipping his tears against his grimy arms. Replacing emotion with dirt.

He looked up and noticed me through the gap before I could duck under the window frame.

Maybe he didn’t realise? Maybe I could act as if I were waiting out here by the porch.

With the creak of the door, The Sinner walked out, avoiding letting his eyes meet my own. We made our way back to the wagon in silence.

“You said you were goin’ North right? I don’t mind taking you, I’ll just be coming back this way after.”

I smile gently, a very generous offer indeed. I recall My Friend saying that his house was in a town, next to a stream. We've been traveling for some time, surely we're close.

I get comfortable on an old blanket as we set onward for several hours. The Sinner eventually breaks the silence.

“You were looking through the window weren't you?”

He looks at me with a firm face.

Hesitantly I nod “yes”, expecting fury in return. However, The Sinner simply nods his head as well and looks to the trail ahead. Eventually he responds with.

“I can’t let her go, I won’t.”

He looks as if he were awaiting a response.

“I’ve never been a religious man, but if you told me that God created the world just so that she’d get to live one day, I’d believe you.”

He said with watery eyes as he gazed into the sunset.

“She was blind from birth, I didn’t uh. I didn’t do that to her… I’m gonna lie down and get some rest, you should too.”

The Sinner turned his back to me and laid himself across the wagon, leaving me alone with the day that soon too would cease.

Perhaps I cast judgement upon this man too quickly, perhaps I exalted myself above him too eagerly.

Lord if I hath been too hasty with judgement that belongs to thee, witness to me in a dream so I may change my ways. Amen.

“Should evil ever thrust itself unto thee, pack up your items and begin to flee”

This is what My Friend used to tell me every night, for he knew the voracious nature of the Feral Men. He knew that a hundred rats could devour a wolf, a dozen angels could massacre a nation, and one bite could corrupt even the most holy.

I do ponder if The Sinner and My Friend would’ve found affiliation in each other. Perhaps My Friend would have the moxy to rebuke him, and save his bitten spirit.

The Sinner’s gaze pieces through the thin fabric of the wagon’s walls like an arrow through the hide of a beast. His face stern, yet calm in a way. Until his eyes dart to the left, as if a new subject is being observed. Once more, he looks to the right, then behind him to the other side of the wagon. His face loses the confidence it once held, paleness corrupts his expression.

I push myself up just enough to see over the wooden rim of the wagon, peeking through a small tear in the side of the wagon.

Within throwing distance, seven Feral Men shamble their way towards us, swaying around trees and trampling over foliage. They do not seem to be hunting, merely investigating, surely the yelling had drawn their attention.

I turn to the other side and gaze through the fabric, my heart shoved itself against my ribs, my throat retreated into itself.

The silhouette of The Terror was standing alone, its dark and bloody figure contrasting with a birch tree immediately behind it. Slowly it unfurls its wings and the maw in its stomach begins to stretch, the scabbed skin of its lips crack and pull revealing raw flesh representing stretch marks across its belly.

The Terror begins howling, an offkey horrid sound only to be described as evil. The Feral men followed shortly after their master, a choir of unnatural origins. As if an angel were being tortured, a lute of sin.

As the bunch continue their haunting note, The Terror begins to convulse, its mouth opening and closing as if it were gasping for air. Bile colored bubbles and glop begins to pour out from its stomach, rushing between its teeth and pouring onto the woodland floor.

With a thunderous clap of its wings pushing downwards to lift it to the sky, The Terror and the Feral Men begin closing in on the wagon at predatory speeds.

The Sinner manages to pull himself out of his fear and makes his way to the front, unleashing a loud crack of his whip, thrusting the horse forward and sending all of us barreling through the woods.

Quickly, the Feral Men struggle to keep up with the galloping horse, even with the weight of the wagon behind it. Though, the same cannot be said for The Terror, soaring above the forest canopy, stalking our wagon like a falcon.

“Get up here and hang on to the reins! I’ll see what I can do!”

The Sinner yelled back towards my meek figure.

I quickly crawl to the front and hold onto the reins, as The Sinner steadily makes his way to a chest and starts rummaging through it.

“If you see a clearing, aim for it!”

He barks without losing focus on the chest. I begin to see a break in the canopy to the right, I pull on the reins but my strength relents. The Sinner looks up and sees the clearing as well.

“Pull kid!”

I muster up any remnant of strength I have and pull the rope as hard as I can, it begins to slip out of my grip, burning my flesh in the process. I whine though pull further, in moments I might faint, but then the horse gives way and begins to tear through the bush towards the clearing.

“Good, now don’t let Sunflower stop till I get back up there!”

The Sinner begins to untie the fabric from the wagon and rolls it up into a bundle, exposing himself to the woodland around us.

As we race into the clearing it becomes clear that it's a large and open field, with rolling hills and a steady breeze. The Sinner pulls out an atlatl fashioned from bones of some sort, he places a long arrow into it and holds it over his shoulder, looking to the sky.

Swiftly, The Terror emerges from over the treeline and begins closing in on the wagon. The Sinner stabilizes himself with his legs and maintains focus on The Terror, letting it draw nearer and nearer.

Suddenly, Clancy lets out a short grunt as he launches the spear through the air, sending it whistling straight into The Terrors eye. It lets out a blood curdling screech as its flight seizes, causing it to plummet to the earth below.

The Sinner releases a sigh of relief as he drops the atlatl back into the chest and takes the reins back over.

“Didn’t kill it, but that’ll scare it off our asses.”

As I make my way to the back of the wagon, I sit on the edge letting my legs hang off the edge. Resting my gaze on the landing site of The Terror, after a moment I see it slowly rise above the grass. Hobbling alone in the field, back towards the trees.

Catching our breath as we get back onto a safe trail, the horse slows down to a steady trot. The Sinner burrows into a satchel and pulls out a bandage, tossing it to me he says.

“Really messed up your hands huh? Don’t worry, when it heals it won’t hurt so bad next time”

He crouches down beside me after putting the roof back on.

“The bear, it belongs to Leah. She’s uh, my daughter. I’m taking it to her.”

I can’t seem to bring myself to providing a reaction, I suppose it’s a product of the events.

“Suppose we’re both Vagabonds in a way huh?”

He said, seeming to try and lighten the mood, after feeling his attempt had failed, his face morphes into a more stern look.

“Do me a favor, if you see something that’s not yours, don’t fucking touch it.”

“Should evil ever thrust itself unto thee, pack up your items and begin to flee”

This is what My Friend used to tell me every night, for he knew the voracious nature of the Feral Men. He knew that a hundred rats could devour a wolf, a dozen angels could massacre a nation, and one bite could corrupt even the most holy.

I do ponder if The Sinner and My Friend would’ve found affiliation in each other. Perhaps My Friend would have the moxy to rebuke him, and save his bitten spirit.

The Sinner’s gaze pieces through the thin fabric of the wagon’s walls like an arrow through the hide of a beast. His face stern, yet calm in a way. Until his eyes dart to the left, as if a new subject is being observed. Once more, he looks to the right, then behind him to the other side of the wagon. His face loses the confidence it once held, paleness corrupts his expression.

I push myself up just enough to see over the wooden rim of the wagon, peeking through a small tear in the side of the wagon.

Within throwing distance, seven Feral Men shamble their way towards us, swaying around trees and trampling over foliage. They do not seem to be hunting, merely investigating, surely the yelling had drawn their attention.

I turn to the other side and gaze through the fabric, my heart shoved itself against my ribs, my throat retreated into itself.

The silhouette of The Terror was standing alone, its dark and bloody figure contrasting with a birch tree immediately behind it. Slowly it unfurls its wings and the maw in its stomach begins to stretch, the scabbed skin of its lips crack and pull revealing raw flesh representing stretch marks across its belly.

The Terror begins howling, an offkey horrid sound only to be described as evil. The Feral men followed shortly after their master, a choir of unnatural origins. As if an angel were being tortured, a lute of sin.

As the bunch continue their haunting note, The Terror begins to convulse, its mouth opening and closing as if it were gasping for air. Bile colored bubbles and glop begins to pour out from its stomach, rushing between its teeth and pouring onto the woodland floor.

With a thunderous clap of its wings pushing downwards to lift it to the sky, The Terror and the Feral Men begin closing in on the wagon at predatory speeds.

The Sinner manages to pull himself out of his fear and makes his way to the front, unleashing a loud crack of his whip, thrusting the horse forward and sending all of us barreling through the woods.

Quickly, the Feral Men struggle to keep up with the galloping horse, even with the weight of the wagon behind it. Though, the same cannot be said for The Terror, soaring above the forest canopy, stalking our wagon like a falcon.

“Get up here and hang on to the reins! I’ll see what I can do!”

The Sinner yelled back towards my meek figure.

I quickly crawl to the front and hold onto the reins, as The Sinner steadily makes his way to a chest and starts rummaging through it.

“If you see a clearing, aim for it!”

He barks without losing focus on the chest. I begin to see a break in the canopy to the right, I pull on the reins but my strength relents. The Sinner looks up and sees the clearing as well.

“Pull kid!”

I muster up any remnant of strength I have and pull the rope as hard as I can, it begins to slip out of my grip, burning my flesh in the process. I whine though pull further, in moments I might faint, but then the horse gives way and begins to tear through the bush towards the clearing.

“Good, now don’t let Sunflower stop till I get back up there!”

The Sinner begins to untie the fabric from the wagon and rolls it up into a bundle, exposing himself to the woodland around us.

As we race into the clearing it becomes clear that it's a large and open field, with rolling hills and a steady breeze. The Sinner pulls out an atlatl fashioned from bones of some sort, he places a long arrow into it and holds it over his shoulder, looking to the sky.

Swiftly, The Terror emerges from over the treeline and begins closing in on the wagon. The Sinner stabilizes himself with his legs and maintains focus on The Terror, letting it draw nearer and nearer.

Suddenly, Clancy lets out a short grunt as he launches the spear through the air, sending it whistling straight into The Terrors eye. It lets out a blood curdling screech as its flight seizes, causing it to plummet to the earth below.

The Sinner releases a sigh of relief as he drops the atlatl back into the chest and takes the reins back over.

“Didn’t kill it, but that’ll scare it off our asses.”

As I make my way to the back of the wagon, I sit on the edge letting my legs hang off the edge. Resting my gaze on the landing site of The Terror, after a moment I see it slowly rise above the grass. Hobbling alone in the field, back towards the trees.

Catching our breath as we get back onto a safe trail, the horse slows down to a steady trot. The Sinner burrows into a satchel and pulls out a bandage, tossing it to me he says.

“Really messed up your hands huh? Don’t worry, when it heals it won’t hurt so bad next time”

He crouches down beside me after putting the roof back on.

“The bear, it belongs to Leah. She’s uh, my daughter. I’m taking it to her.”

I can’t seem to bring myself to providing a reaction, I suppose it’s a product of the events.

“Suppose we’re both Vagabonds in a way huh?”

He said, seeming to try and lighten the mood, after feeling his attempt had failed, his face morphes into a more stern look.

“Do me a favor, if you see something that’s not yours, don’t fucking touch it.”

“Should evil ever thrust itself unto thee, pack up your items and begin to flee”

This is what My Friend used to tell me every night, for he knew the voracious nature of the Feral Men. He knew that a hundred rats could devour a wolf, a dozen angels could massacre a nation, and one bite could corrupt even the most holy.

I do ponder if The Sinner and My Friend would’ve found affiliation in each other. Perhaps My Friend would have the moxy to rebuke him, and save his bitten spirit.

The Sinner’s gaze pieces through the thin fabric of the wagon’s walls like an arrow through the hide of a beast. His face stern, yet calm in a way. Until his eyes dart to the left, as if a new subject is being observed. Once more, he looks to the right, then behind him to the other side of the wagon. His face loses the confidence it once held, paleness corrupts his expression.

I push myself up just enough to see over the wooden rim of the wagon, peeking through a small tear in the side of the wagon.

Within throwing distance, seven Feral Men shamble their way towards us, swaying around trees and trampling over foliage. They do not seem to be hunting, merely investigating, surely the yelling had drawn their attention.

I turn to the other side and gaze through the fabric, my heart shoved itself against my ribs, my throat retreated into itself.

The silhouette of The Terror was standing alone, its dark and bloody figure contrasting with a birch tree immediately behind it. Slowly it unfurls its wings and the maw in its stomach begins to stretch, the scabbed skin of its lips crack and pull revealing raw flesh representing stretch marks across its belly.

The Terror begins howling, an offkey horrid sound only to be described as evil. The Feral men followed shortly after their master, a choir of unnatural origins. As if an angel were being tortured, a lute of sin.

As the bunch continue their haunting note, The Terror begins to convulse, its mouth opening and closing as if it were gasping for air. Bile colored bubbles and glop begins to pour out from its stomach, rushing between its teeth and pouring onto the woodland floor.

With a thunderous clap of its wings pushing downwards to lift it to the sky, The Terror and the Feral Men begin closing in on the wagon at predatory speeds.

The Sinner manages to pull himself out of his fear and makes his way to the front, unleashing a loud crack of his whip, thrusting the horse forward and sending all of us barreling through the woods.

Quickly, the Feral Men struggle to keep up with the galloping horse, even with the weight of the wagon behind it. Though, the same cannot be said for The Terror, soaring above the forest canopy, stalking our wagon like a falcon.

“Get up here and hang on to the reins! I’ll see what I can do!”

The Sinner yelled back towards my meek figure.

I quickly crawl to the front and hold onto the reins, as The Sinner steadily makes his way to a chest and starts rummaging through it.

“If you see a clearing, aim for it!”

He barks without losing focus on the chest. I begin to see a break in the canopy to the right, I pull on the reins but my strength relents. The Sinner looks up and sees the clearing as well.

“Pull kid!”

I muster up any remnant of strength I have and pull the rope as hard as I can, it begins to slip out of my grip, burning my flesh in the process. I whine though pull further, in moments I might faint, but then the horse gives way and begins to tear through the bush towards the clearing.

“Good, now don’t let Sunflower stop till I get back up there!”

The Sinner begins to untie the fabric from the wagon and rolls it up into a bundle, exposing himself to the woodland around us.

As we race into the clearing it becomes clear that it's a large and open field, with rolling hills and a steady breeze. The Sinner pulls out an atlatl fashioned from bones of some sort, he places a long arrow into it and holds it over his shoulder, looking to the sky.

Swiftly, The Terror emerges from over the treeline and begins closing in on the wagon. The Sinner stabilizes himself with his legs and maintains focus on The Terror, letting it draw nearer and nearer.

Suddenly, Clancy lets out a short grunt as he launches the spear through the air, sending it whistling straight into The Terrors eye. It lets out a blood curdling screech as its flight seizes, causing it to plummet to the earth below.

The Sinner releases a sigh of relief as he drops the atlatl back into the chest and takes the reins back over.

“Didn’t kill it, but that’ll scare it off our asses.”

As I make my way to the back of the wagon, I sit on the edge letting my legs hang off the edge. Resting my gaze on the landing site of The Terror, after a moment I see it slowly rise above the grass. Hobbling alone in the field, back towards the trees.

Catching our breath as we get back onto a safe trail, the horse slows down to a steady trot. The Sinner burrows into a satchel and pulls out a bandage, tossing it to me he says.

“Really messed up your hands huh? Don’t worry, when it heals it won’t hurt so bad next time”

He crouches down beside me after putting the roof back on.

“The bear, it belongs to Leah. She’s uh, my daughter. I’m taking it to her.”

I can’t seem to bring myself to providing a reaction, I suppose it’s a product of the events.

“Suppose we’re both Vagabonds in a way huh?”

He said, seeming to try and lighten the mood, after feeling his attempt had failed, his face morphes into a more stern look.

“Do me a favor, if you see something that’s not yours, don’t fucking touch it.”