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Climbing the cliff side path, Tristan tracks them and finds his own demise at the knife of Myra. They crest the trail arriving at an alpine meadow.
Daymel gazed into the forest for a moment before turning to the others. “I think we should work our way in a bit, then light a torch once we’re deep enough to be hidden. We can pick up our pace then considerably then, and things in the darkness tend to shy from the fire as well.”
Myra turned to look behind them. “I don’t see anyone following. Why not just light it now? Then we can move fast straight away.”
They spent a few moments debating the idea and finally resolved to stick with Daymel’s original idea. Myra huffed, but relented as they pressed on, staying in close quarters. Tasol had felt unsettled about the forest and shrugged it off to the darkness of it, but as they got deeper in he realized what was bothering him. The forest made no noise apart from their footfalls and the occasional branch that they broke. The only noises he heard were noises that came from them, and that wasn’t ordinary for all the forests he had spent his life in, be it day or night. He cast a wary glance around him, tightening his grip on his blade. Looking at his hand, that cemented his concern–the acorn ring on his finger glowing and glancing at Myra, her ring was emitting a similar glow like from earlier at the creek bed.
“Myra,” he said, as she stopped and turned to look at him.
“Your ring, it’s glowing,” she said incredulously.
“Look at yours,” Tasol said, “I don’t think we’re alone.”
Daymel had heard them talking, and stopped, turning to see them standing in a subtle glow of light. Tasol looked their faces now lit up by the eerie white glow emanating from the two rings. The glowing light pulsed slowly as if it were alive, growing stronger by the minute. He looked at Daymel, seeing a mixture of confusion and amazement on his face, but pushed on, disregarding the rings–he knew there would be questions later.
“The forest,” Tasol said. “It makes no sound. Either it knows we are here or–”
“Or something else has spooked it to silence,” Daymel said, finishing Tasol’s thought. “I think it’s time for those torches.”
With that, Daymel pulled his pack off his shoulders, scrambling for the torches. Tasol turned looking to the surrounding forest, raising the ring to shine the light from it outward, but the light of the ring, although bright on their faces in close quarters, it was simply too dim to pierce the darkness of the woods surrounding them. Just as he was about to turn back and help Daymel with the torches, a bright flash of light pulsed from his ring, pushing an arc of light upwards to the right. It seemed to collide with something in the air, something reminiscent of a shadow flying toward them until the light from the ring struck it, turning it away.
“We’re not alone,” Tasol said, his adrenaline taking hold. “Let’s get those torches. Now!” His ring was now shining brightly, but the light was still being swallowed up by the darkness just yards away, highlighting his position to anyone or anything out there. He thought for a moment about taking off the ring and plunging the forest back into the darkness, but the words of his father echoed in his mind–never take off the ring. He cursed under his breath and turned as Daymel ignited the torches, their light blazing to life, lighting the woods. All around them, the outlines of towering pines could be seen vaulting high into the sky.
In a shaky voice, Myra pointed to something, “What are all those things?”
“Reflections,” Daymel responded.
“Reflections? Of what?” Myra asked.
Tasol corralled her back to the path. “Daymel, we need to keep moving.”
Daymel nodded, turning back to the path, casting wary glances about him as he pushed forward with Myra and Tasol following.
“What are they?” Myra asked again.
“They’re eyes,” Tasol said, “of what, I don’t know.”
“They’re Ravebats,” Daymel added flatly, with a tinge of concern they hadn’t heard in his voice, not even when staring down Streel.
Tasol had known what they were as well. Ravebats were the things of children’s stories. The things of nighttime that parents used to keep their kids inside and tucked tightly in bed, but as with all children’s stories, they have some truth to them. Ravebats were real and had terrorized many travelers over the years, but they’d been hunted out of existence in the inhabited areas of Waterfell. However, in the wild areas, areas like this, the Ravebats thrived, something that was apparent given the number eyes reflecting back to them from the darkness.
Tasol knew exactly what it was once his ring reached out with its light, pressing the Ravebat away. He didn’t know how the magic of the rings worked, or if it would work again, but he knew that the light of the torches would work to keep the Ravebats at bay, at least that’s what the children’s stories always told. The light of day shall keep them away, the light of fire shall make the situation less dire, take away the fright so you make it through the night–that’s what the stories always said. Never before did he hope that the children’s stories spoke the truth than he did right now, and he felt funny relying on them at such a dire moment.
Daymel paused, turning to Tasol, a concerned look on his face.
“What is it?” Tasol asked, as they came to a stop.
“The trail. It’s gone.”
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Hi Dan! Another great chapter. This one is missing the hyperlink to the previous chapter. Just thought I’d mention it!