Page 31 of Untethering Dark

Unless he vanished.

She glared in the direction of the noise. Whatever, or whoever, this was, and however they were doing it, she had to know.

“Can I come with you?”

Dispatching trespassers was a gruesome business but far be it from him to decide what the witch should or should not see. “If you wish.”

“Just one moment.” She dipped in and out of her cottage, exchanging the cookie plate for an ax, a pair of snowshoes, and a thermos. Something hot and herbal steamed up from the lid. Tea probably. “Go on. I’ll follow.”

Though his skin prickled and muscles twitched, spoiling for a fight, for once he didn’t rush off into the trees to chase down his prey. He had a companion now, one that wouldn’t be able to keep up if he ran.

As he waited for Astrid to strap her feet in, a sharp pang settled in his chest. Something as simple as waiting on another would be commonplace, mundane, hardly worth noting, for any being other than him.

He swayed from side to side, steady as the pendulum of a cuckoo clock. The pull of the hunt beckoned him onward, but his promise to stay with the witch pulled him back.

She glanced up, and tracking his movements, moved her fingers faster.

That stilled him. It wasn’t impatience making him restless, just two competing natures. That she might misconstrue the two bothered him. He was a bit rusty on socializing, yes, but even time hadn’t completely erased his manners.

“Ready.” She sprang to her feet, hefting the ax over her shoulder.

As they wove through the trees together, Gudariks was hyperaware of Astrid at his side and the amount of space he took. Companionship was nice in a distracting kind of way. Making sure she had enough room, that he didn’t cut her off or bump her into a tree. When he thought about her, he thought less about them.

The closer they got, the stronger the stench of unwashed bodies and cigarette smoke became—just as potent as before, but his anger, and the hunger that always followed, didn’t seem quite so bad.

If the cosmos gave a damn about him, she’d be just as confounded by these trespassers as he, and not because he had any complexes about being the deadliest, most unflappable creature in the forest. He desperately could use a sign that he wasn’t losing his grip on reality. He spent so many lifetimes with only his thoughts for company—maybe avoiding others wasn’t good for his health.Even if it was good for theirs.

Seeing and hearing things that weren’t there. Failing to track a rowdy group of humans in the forest he knew down to every rock and root. If his faculties were slipping, maybe he wasn’t immortal after all, and this was the beginning of the end.

Mind first, body next.

On the days when he longed for hibernation, the thought of falling asleep and never waking up was almost a comfort. But now the notion of losing his mind and dying struck him with an alarming panic.

“How many do you think there are? Can you tell from here?” The witch’s questions jolted him from his dark speculations. Weapon in one hand, sipping tea from her thermos with the other, Astrid was a study in contrary multitudes.

Lifting his head, he sniffed. Every being was distinct—their own base scent, taste, and sound—often very subtle differences setting them apart, but if he concentrated, he could pick them out from one another.

“Five. Maybe six.” Five distinct scents but six voices.

The fur at the back of his neck rose. Was this sixth voice familiar because he heard it in the group last night, or was it familiar for another reason?

He sniffed again, strained his hearing as the shrieking laughter and boisterous singing continued to rise in pitch.

Now five and five.

He shook his head, for all the good it would do to reset a breaking mind.

“Split them half and half?” Astrid smirked, murder and humor in the same breath. She twirled her ax with a dexterous embellishment that reminded him of the marauding warriors that razed and pillaged these lands centuries ago.

“I’ll try to save you one.”

He hadn’t meant it as a joke, just a statement of fact, but she chuckled, nonetheless. Such a rare treat, her laughter, when all he otherwise provoked were screams. It soothed rather than stoked his fury, reminding him of a far and distant past.

Once upon a time, he wasn’t a stranger to easy conversation and companionship. Those were happy times. For a little while.

An old pang flared in his chest.

When they neared the campsite, he crept ahead, each step soundless.

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