The Wild Hunt

Made Of Smoke And Storm

That morning, while the sky was still dark outside his window, Dominick waited under his covers. Soaked in sweat and still trying to grab onto the small parts of his dreams he heard meat being fried, drinks being served, plates being set, a conversation being held over a modest breakfast.

His parents were getting ready to leave, and only when he heard the click of the lock in the door could he get up and grab whatever was left and run, or he would be late for school.

Anything to not have to endure the uncomfortable silence, the tension that squeezed and put a knot in his throat, having to eat food he had to cook himself while his parents pretended not to see him.

That would be normally.

But not today.

Today, Dominick got up when he heard the cars driving away. He got up still in pajamas, with his black hair all over the place and, slow and relaxed, walked to the bathroom.

Today, he had time for a nice shower, for a hot breakfast.

To pack his stuff and walk to the forest halfway through the morning.

Today, his predator would find itself trapped by someone else.

And, maybe, maybe it was that same calm that allowed Dominick to notice that something was off the moment he set a foot in the forest.

He didn't stop walking, but he felt it.

It was in the air that he breath in, in the wind that passed through the leaves, in the ground under his feet, in the rocks he passed by and the roots he jumped over.

Something.

But what?

What?

What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What?

                                                        W̸̺̭̭͒̌ĥ̷̢̜̖̀͜a̷͎̹̝̍̀ͅt̶̤̹̿̏̃?̷̝͚̗̚

It rang and rang inside his head, running in circles, slipping in between his fingers, but it wasn't until he reached his clearing, it wasn't until he slipped his fingers under the metal sheet and raised it that it truly clicked inside his mind.

It was silence.

Absolute silence.

The forest was never silent.

And then he was on the ground, the beast he had managed to capture having pounced on him.

But it was not a fox.

And even if it had the shape of one, it wasn't a wolf either.

It was a shadow. A shadow of shining black that moved in all directions, barely keeping the vague shape of a wolf. It looked like oil, suspended in the air and revolving with the currents.

It growled centimeters from his face, giant fangs the size of his hand that could rip his face in just a second, before he even knew what happened, before he even noticed when it lunged.

And yet.

Even with the growling that sounded nothing like a wolf, nothing like any animal or thing he had ever heard. Like a thousand voices in sync, like the echo in the mountains, like a storm and a thunder and the rain all at once.

Even so.

Dominick couldn't stop looking at its eyes.

Gray eyes like a snowstorm. Silver like a blade. Smart eyes, that thought and felt and saw.