When a Young Heart Loves (The Secret of Moonacre Fanfiction)

Beware the Talons

Across the sea, far from Moonacre Valley, the moon was the only light illuminating a dark forest. The few rays of moonlight that crossed the heavy canopy casted shadows along the forest floor. The shadows stretched across the ground, reaching for the dark hooded figure making its way through the trees. The figure moved slowly, its black heavy cloak disturbing the forest ground. Yet despite its movements, no leaves were cracked, no twigs were snapped, even the forest held its breath and stood silent. There was no sound that could be heard, that is except for the slow raspy breath that escaped the creature.

'Food... nearby. I can smell it.' It knew just beyond the trees, it would find its next meal. It needed to find its meal.

Along the outskirts of the forest traced a road traveled by merchants making their way to the north harbor. On this particular night, however, not many chose to travel. There had been rumors—whispers among the traders and village folk. Something was out there in the forest. When it had arrived, no one knew, but it was there. Lurking. Carcasses of deer had been found by hunters, ripped apart, with only the insides missing. Many animals had fled, leaving a desolate forest. Merchants and travelers wanting to return safely to their families decided to stay at inns over the night, risking profit over their lives. Others took them for what they were, rumors spread by disgruntled hunters who had failed to find game or townsfolk with nothing better to do.

A campfire broke the darkness along the route. Three caravans surrounded it, blocking the wind. The campfire was surrounded by men sitting hunched over the fire. Despite their successful trade earlier in the day, there was a feeling that had befallen the campsite.

A man with a weathered cap covering dark graying hair, scruff along his face, and a greying mustache looked around the group of men who surrounded him. His dark eyes took notice of the fear in his companions' eyes. These men were hardened merchants with years under their belt, yet looking at them now, he wouldn't have believed that.
A few weeks ago, when he began his journey north with his men, they observed with curious interest a lack of merchants or travelers. They had gotten so used to the solitude, it took his men by surprise when they crossed paths with two other groups a few days ago. Normally, this would have urged the merchants to travel faster and beat the others to the harbor. But acknowledging this strange case, they all decided to travel together, seeing as no one else would be coming along the path.

"Unless I'm wrong, I would say you lot wished you had stayed at the inn too, eh?" His mustache twitched as he huffed the last word.

The merchants all looked to one another, struggling to find a defense. One of his own men, a younger man with shaggy brown hair named Luke, spoke up.

"Harold you can't be denying what people've been saying. We're just worried 'tis all."

"And what's that good for? Worrying won't make the rumors go away. Besides you, all had your say before we left the town. Not one of you said you wanted to stay."

The men turned away, glancing down to the fire instead. It's true what he said. They had stopped at a village 20 miles down south from their campsite earlier. Harold had given them a choice, but with a warning attached. Whatever was lost in profit would be taken from their wages. The men had chosen money over safety.

Shaking his head at this nonsense Harold rose, "I'm going to take a walk, we leave at daybreak, so I suggest you use your night for sleep and not worrying."

Harold brushed off his trousers and walked out of the caravan's safety. As he made his way over to the forest, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.

His thoughts flashed to the rumors. His breathing stopped. His heart beat rapidly. He stood still and quiet, straining his eyes to focus, forcing his ears to pick up a noise, anything.

He stood watching, waiting.

Nothing.

He didn't see anything; he didn't hear anything. Slowly his breathing returned, his heart began to ease the pounding in his chest. Harold took a deep breath and let it out as chuckled in relief.

'Of course, there was nothing,' he thought.

Harold returned to walking towards the forest. He was embarrassed and glad no one was there to see him. For a second, he thought he had seen something glide out from amongst the trees. For a second, fear clung to his heart. He shuddered at the thought. As he reached the edge he noticed the eerie quietness that clung to the trees. Neither the hoot of an owl was heard, nor the rustling of rodents along the forest floor. It was unnatural.

Harold cautiously stepped over large twigs, trying to blend into the silence. As he entered the forest, a tightness grasped onto his heart and stomach, something was wrong. His many years of growing up in the forest back home had taught him many things. He had gained an intuition of sorts, one that rang a clear warning in his heart. He could feel the agitation of the forest.

He looked over his surroundings. A twitching caught his sight. There was something on the ground a few feet from him. He edged closer. Under the faint moonlight he saw the paw of some rodent laying on its underside. He kicked it over and stepped back in disgust. The rodent had been ripped apart and its innards had been taken out. Leftovers littered the ground. Fresh blood stained the fallen leaves.

He crouched down and took a good look, trying to figure out what desperate animal could have done this when the frantic cries of neighing horses broke the silence—followed by a piercing scream cut too short.
Harold broke into a sprint back to camp and saw men scrambling and running down the road. Some jumped on horses, abandoning the caravans. He ran into the campsite and was met with horror. A horse laid on the ground gasping for breath, its belly had been slashed open. Near the horse was a man surrounded by blood. His stomach had been torn into two. Fire had spilled over and caught on one of the caravans.

"Harold! Harold help me!"

Harold looked up and saw through the smoke a hooded figure dragging Luke and another limp body to the forest. Luke struggled to escape, but he was injured, holding his sides to stop the bleeding. Thinking fast Harold grabbed a long thick flaming branch from the fire and ran to the monster.

His heart pounding in his ears, Harold jumped and landed a blow to the creature's head knocking it down. The creature's hood caught on fire. A raspy shriek escaped from the creature as it raised its arms in defense and brushed away the fire. Luke kicked at the creature and scrambled away with Harold's help. Harold readied himself and rushed towards the creature, raising the torch high above his head.

As he was about to land another hit, the creature raised a withered white arm with long black talons. It shouted strange unknown words. Harold was flung through the air, as though hit by an invisible force. The creature slung the limp body of the man on its back and quickly slid back to the forest.

Harold recovered and rushed to Luke's side. "We have to get out of here. Luke, can you make it? The next town is 10 miles north of here but there is a doctor we can go there."

"Don't worry about me" Luke struggled to speak, he was sweating. "'Tis just a scratch," Luke lifted his shirt to reveal a gash at the side while managing a faint smile. It was long, but not deep.

Harold raised Luke over his shoulder and together they ran to the campsite.

"What happened?" Harold demanded.

"We heard.... A lot of commotion. The horses. They were tense." Luke strained himself to speak.
"Then one of the caravan's horses...started going nuts. Screaming. Horrible. John went to go check. He was killed by that bloody creature. It killed someone else," Luke just managed to say as he gasped in pain and slumped onto the caravan.

Harold settled him in and then quickly gathered the remaining horses. He noticed the injured horse was still suffering. With a heavy heart, he grabbed his pistol from the caravan and hated himself for not having thought of it earlier. He ran to the wounded horse and kneeled next to it. Harold gave it a few gentle strokes along its head, whispering words of comfort. Once the horse's breathing had calmed, he took a few steps back and fired a single shot that broke the silence of the night.

Jumping onto the caravan, Harold whipped the horses to a run, but needing no encouragement, the horses shot into action, speeding along the road in agitation. The caravan bounced as it made its way across the night into the next city.