All around and beyond us, the land was flat but for the stippling of low hills. There were few trees which survived there, except for those thorniest, toxic, or most twisted lingerers: otherwise they’d have fallen to our product (or our fires) long ago. Those plains appeared before me in greyscale and silver, and lonely black veins of crumbling asphalt cut lines through them and out towards the horizon.

Whether they’d come as conquerors, or thieves, the opportunists who had leashed and marshalled the gòshëm were arranged in a loose arc. I saw they had made some effort to disguise themselves which was either laughably insufficient, or perhaps supremely ingenious, depending on the truth of things. Heavy burlap ponchos covered their bodies; draped so far down it obscured their feet. Kerchiefs were wrapped about their faces, and veils of hazy gauze hung down over their heads.

But three of those figures had the peculiar appearance of wearing headdress underneath their fabric; except that the shape of possible hats which might feature such pointed edges and sweeping fixed planes were so unlikely that they implied to me (and we collectively) to therefor abduce1 an alternative.

“The evil truly does sprout horns,” I wondered aloud.

One amongst the five swiveled to locate my speaking, and the sheer fabric of their obstructions swayed. I felt their intentions, and missed my mark. Sharp edges slipped between our partnerships, and as I faltered my music, we did foment shortly into a quiet of uneasy suspenses.

“Heretic,” accused the center figure of our foeman. Its creaking accent was inhuman, and thick with spite.

The breadth of the waters what divided either side delayed us. They were narrow, but the dip which cradled the stream was unkempt and treacherous with weeds (moreso, at night). Mister O’Carroll hitched his thumb in his belt, and looped his rope over his shoulder. He crinkled his amulet shut as he stepped forward, such that it would better weather their Opine. Then he spat to his side and squinted.

“Alien,” he so execrated.

With that, the faun threw out their hand and shone out a knife-keen oxidation. Hot and lacerating, it baked and nicked our skin. Its reach was wide, inducing a rolling panic throughout our stock as after-flashes of luminescence sparked in the air and landed on feather, flank, and fur. As the beasts bucked and screamed, those of us who’d felt safe afoot besides them were quailed.

8XɄ⊓ · XV₰XX · ₰O⋈ 8X⋈VX⊓ · VɄ⋈VX8₰VOXOX⊓O⋈O

Todd · 1

Spake the argument. The back of my eyes hurt. I lowered my arms from my face, and a smell told me my arm hair was singed.

“Aw, damn,” said old Maynard. The mule shied underneath him. He undertook to settle it. Agonized, he cried out, “ho! That’s Fire there, guard your eyes!”

Michael was marked by tiny scores over a dozen places, and bled into his sleeves. His eyebrows curled, and his coat smoked from a frayed cuff. He slung out his line, and spun up his hammer. “Boy! Drums. Lil’ Hektor! Fix these here whatsits. Challenge! Challenge now, y’all!”

It sounds asinine, I know, that my most urgent responsibility in this moment was to percuss a ditty – but. Ain’t no body picked my Hallow but me; so what was: was, and that’s all for it.

Many things were in motion at once, in the terrifying way that the fulcrums of a life often are; and that so much of what was decided would be so outside of my own pow’r. The four of the ’vaders from either flank blanched from their central confederate. Strange Colors were groaning where they had come under sudden pressure from Fire, such that their hues were clashing. There were some shouts from their side, but I could not apprehend them over our own tumult.

Scarecrow was the name of a bovine who grew long, bony legs. Her growing-hunger was so pronounced that her skeleton was visible in stark relief underneath her papery skin, and her spine had lengthened over time to such extent that she was bowed in her middle. When she bucked in fright nearby me, I threw myself rolling over the haunch of a feathered pig. That same hog was crushed underhoof – its lung crumpling between snapped ribs – as Scarecrow descended after. This surprisal of flesh; this high, pliable ground, it twisted the cow. Her own foot broke with a snap as she toppled.

I had not been aware of how much we were depleted of men whose arts turned towards husbandry. Bloody weepage, and burnt skin had whipped the herd to the edge of frenzy. Christopher was forced to mount, Maynard was constrained such to pull Ernst back. Ashli screamed, and Dāng was wrestling the newly shorn Agares as the naked ram coiled and discharged micro-voltages. I’ll say we were failing to calm our flock, and to even say that would be generous.

But I would not allow myself to be distracted. The word at the edge of Fire and The Lady tasted like Jeopardy, and it was dicing the long of distance into discrete and branching portions of outcome. My sight blurred. The ache in my skull spiked. This dissension that had been extended into us was beyond me to name adequately, and I suffered for it. But even if I might not comprehend, I could still oppose. The first strike of my mallet sounded hollow, shallow and puny. The second impact cracked the suffering long bone halfway, and a lumpen mass of Blue slipped loose, a lesser analogue to the arctic as it shears a berg from its shelf.

My knees jolted under burden. My sinuses flushed clear and my intestines did wobble, and the shock of temperature did me no good – but outside of my epicenter, there was happily produced a more temperate equalization. Because I had abandoned my satchel (unwisely, in hindsight, I know) in the fields an hour before, and since I lacked for a replacement, I played the next movement of my Rudiment by rib alone. Meanwhile, I shoved, and squeezed, and dodged from the danger of the nearby animals as my eyes flickered across the trampled dirt for some usable debris.