The Black Curse (Rough Draft)

Chapter Five

The twilight air was tinged with the crispness of impending night as Theory unfurled his cot with a mechanical efficiency, his movements betraying neither fatigue nor emotion. The day had been long, the journey arduous, and fraught with silent tension.

Theory didn't bother taking the first watch, nor did he seek to extend the tenuous thread of camaraderie between himself and Niro. Clearly, trust was a luxury Theory could not afford — especially with Niro. Instead, he decided to go to bed immediately after their camp was set.

Childish? Maybe. Did he care? Not in the slightest.

As he lay down, the rustling sounds of Niro moving about the camp prickled at Theory's senses. He tried to shut out the distractions, to ignore the mutterings and shuffling that emanated from the other side of their small encampment.

What the hell did he know, anyway?

The thought lingered unbidden in his mind, an irritating whisper against the backdrop of his exhaustion.

What right did Niro have to cast judgment when he wasn't there? No one was there and yet all fingers had pointed to Theory. So easily they had cast him out.

He wasn't the bad guy...but who would listen to a Carrier?

He closed his eyes, attempting to barricade his thoughts against the flood of memories threatening to surge forth. There were moments, fragments of the past, that he fought to keep submerged, but memories, like water, have a way of seeping through the cracks.

Tearing his thoughts away from his past that had spent more than enough time plaguing his dreams and waking reality, he shifted to the mission at hand. By the time they reached the village, his heat would soon be upon him. A day or two after their arrival? Somehow he'd have to find a reasonable excuse to stay there until it passed. Even so, they had to ride quick, a delay could put Theory in a precarious predicament.

Last thing he wanted was to be mounted by Niro.

He shifted on his cot, the coarse fabric scratching against his skin, a physical reminder of his discomfort with the situation. The thought of needing, even inadvertently, to rely on Niro for this mission was a bitter pill to swallow. The intricate dance of their instinctual distaste for each other, woven through with grudging respect and a relentless undercurrent of tension, was complex enough without the added complication of his impending heat.

The night deepened, and the sounds of the wilderness enveloped their camp. Theory's mind, despite his efforts, wandered back to Niro. He found himself pondering what Niro's reaction might be when faced with Theory's vulnerability. Would he see it as an opportunity to gain an upper hand, or would he, contrary to Theory's expectations, prove to be an unforeseen ally?

Unlikely, that last one.

The rustle of leaves, the distant call of a night bird, the soft crackle of their dying fire — all these night sounds coalesced into a lullaby that slowly seduced Theory into a restless sleep. In that shadowy realm between wakefulness and dreams, Theory found himself hoping, against all reason and past grievances, for the latter outcome.

Theory's sleep, shallow and restless, was abruptly shattered by an instinctual surge of adrenaline. A soldier's trained response to the unspoken whisper of danger. Heart pounding, he lay still for a fraction of a tick, senses straining in the dark. The campfire had dwindled to a few embers, casting ghostly shadows across the clearing.

As soon as Theory's eyes snapped open, the serene blanket of sleep was violently torn away by the increasing instinctual sensation of peril. His body tensed, every nerve ending firing a warning. He scanned the campsite, his gaze cutting through the darkness.