08-12-2009, 02:21 PM
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The nightmares had begun again.
Each time, the dream was the same. The collared wolf, Corvus (though that was not his true name) moving through the darkness. His black eyes like those of a shark, a snake, and the white teeth that knew only how to kill and render asunder all that lived—the same as his collar, the same as his daughter’s eyes. He came from the forest without a sound and with only the scent of blood to announce him. Then there was nothing but pain. Claws tore open his face, teeth ripped through his flesh, and a great weight sought to crush the very air out of his lungs. All pain came and shattered what sanity he could carry. There was never any sound. There was never any rescue.
But something peculiar had happened this time. This time, Cwmfen came as she had before. Except the demon did not leave as he had before. The demon turned on his daughter and began to destroy her. Ezekiel watched, helpless, as she was forced to the ground, as the monster laughed and pulled her head back. Everything changed; the demon became his uncle, and Cwmfen became Talitha.
Ezekiel woke screaming, covered in dirt and smelling blood. It took him several long moments to figure out what had occurred. While sleeping he had begun tearing up the small, semi-collapsed den he had taken for the night. The fresh wounds on his arms had broken open. Frustrated by this fact, by the bitter taste in his mouth, he ran through the damp field as best he could, soaking his legs and underside full-through. He ran south because the dream compelled him to do so. He didn’t stop running until the smell of wolves flared up like a wall. Then he began to stalk the border, unable to rest, panting heavily and fighting the urge to vomit. All he wanted to do was find Cwmfen. The need to see her was overbearing, and hung over his head like the now-passed storm clouds. [/html]