Curiosity | Hannigram AU

The Storm

The shot sounds off, cutting through the air until it pierces the hare's hide.

Will Graham lowers the shotgun slowly, staring through the brush to where he hopes a dead animal lay.

"Go, Buster," he commands. The small dog leaps into the trees, barking at the hare. Will walks towards the barking with his shotgun hanging in his grip.

The hare twitches slightly as Winston, Will's other dog, sniffs it. Will picks it up and snaps its neck, wincing slightly as the animal's body goes limp.

He looks up at the darkening sky, squinting through the trees.

The night comes, swallowing everything in darkness. All but the small fire where Will sits eating a leg of the hare while his dogs chew at its meat.

Nighttime fog settles over the woods as the fire's smoke rises into the air. Will lays out the sleeping pad and pulls his coat around him. Winston huddles by his stomach and Buster curls up in the crook of his knee.

Winston and Buster stay rooted to their positions as Will's guardians, sleeping lightly. But Will stays with his eyes awake, a memory running over and over again in his head.

It was the right thing to do, he tells himself. He'd always tell himself that. But ten times?

His uncle Jack had warned him about what it could do to him. But Will persisted and look where that got him. The middle of the woods.

The trees loom over him, reaching for his numb body. Will curls closer around Winston and Buster.

Alana, his childhood friend, whispers in his memories of shadows with antlers that tower over him, their dark eyes watching him curiously.

The sky burns orange eventually, signaling the rebirth of the sun. Will sits up, unwilling to steep in his own thoughts and imagination. The woods are vast and the fantastical creations made from it even more so.

Winston and Buster stir, unhappy their source of heat left. The fire had died in the night and was now leaving tendrils weaving up into the sky.

Will takes a bite out of the now-cold meat and tosses a couple of pieces to Buster and Winston. They both chow down on the unseasoned meat with excitement. Will feels sorry for forcing them along but they don't seem to mind sleeping out in the open if it's with him.

Will wishes there was a river nearby or a stream. He prefers navigating when there is a body of water nearby. It gives him more of a sense of direction and then he doesn't have to shoot animals.

Fishing has always proven more relaxing and Will didn't feel as much guilt for killing an animal for his own gain. Fishing was the same but it was easier to distance himself from his actions by arguing that it was the fish who bit onto the hook and not he who chose its fate.

He can't hear any running water and sighs in disappointment. The extra meat from the rabbit is enough but he needs to find water before tomorrow. They will continue following the small incline until water appears.

The trek isn't too difficult. There's somewhat of a path laid out for Will and his dogs that they stick to. But a few times it disappears and they have to find their way back to it.

The sky is gray and cloudy and it doesn't take too long for them to expand and darken. Will squints up at it and curses. Now they need to find a good shelter.

They crest a hill and see a castle sitting neatly with dark clouds circling over it. It's uncommon but it is the goal.

Not much time passes when a crack is heard in the sky shortly followed by a flash of light. Winston stops walking and sits with his head low in nervousness.

"Come on Winston," Will urges. "It's not that far away." He sighs and hoists Winston up into his arms and jogs. Rain falls and he can hear Buster running along with him by his ankles.

The rain comes down in buckets, making his nostrils fill with the ever-familiar scent of wet dog. Will ignores it and focuses on not dropping his pet.

When he gets to what he hopes is an entrance, he sets Winston down and catches his breath for a bit. His things are all wet and lightning cracks a tree making all three of them huddle closer to the door. Will knocks rapidly rubbing the top of the two dogs' heads and trying to comfort them.

It opens and Will looks around for anybody behind the door or around it. But there is no one to be seen. He closes the door swiftly and shakes his head, trying to get all the water off. His dogs also shake their fur to dry off.

The space is dark and gloomy with a dingy feel. It's too dirty to be the official entryway but clean enough to stomach passing through. Bottles of wine are stacked off to one side with a layer of dust coating them. Will raises his eyebrows and pulls one out. He dusts it off and yanks the cork off. Pressing the lip to his mouth, he tilts his head back and lets the harsh liquid travel down his throat.

"You should ask before drinking the wine of a stranger."