Pitch blinked at his empty hands, missing the warmth of Grimm there. The crows above him were completely silent with shock and curiosity. They had felt their masters fear, but they knew not from whence it came. He quickly stood to his feet, and spun around calling her name into the dark caverns, but the only responce were dim echos of his own voice. He had no idea what he would say to her, what he could possibly say or do after that. That is if she would ever see him again. He felt the same sense of abandonment he had supressed the day she ended the plague. He didnt know where she was, or if he would ever see her again. It horrified him to think a new chase had been started, a new jouney following her wherever she ran, but never finding her, nor any trace of her. She didnt even leave footprints. His heart raced, and his breathing quickened. He didnt know what on earth he would say, what he could say, but he HAD to find her. In the dead silence of the night, he noticed only one noise joining his rapid breaths. The thudding sound of hoof beats, growing closer.
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Grimm clutched her knees to her chest, fighting the tears that refused to be stopped. One after another they dripped down her face. She sat high in a tree, miles away from Stone-tree. She trembled, refusing to look into the sky at the moon, or the stars. She didnt even want Manny to see her now. She wanted to be alone, completely and totally alone. Her breathing became quickened, and her heart seemed to beat out of her chest. She broke out in a cold sweat, as she tried regaining her composure, and her mind. She could still see the angry mob outside of the door that is no longer there, see the rising smoke from her front porch. She could still feel the scorching flames lick at her flesh, climbing slowly up her body until she was completely comsumed in it. She almost began clawing at her own skin to be rid of it. She inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly, over and over again, in an attempt to calm her paniced heart.
It took almost an hour for her mind to become at ease once more. Tears still flowed down her face, unable to be quelled. She didnt want to go back to Stone-tree, not while he was there. She used to never want to see his grey face, or his yellow eye again, and now she remembered why. Her shoulders were heavy with fear, and sorrow. She had relived the very moment she died, only in the nightmare it was worse. She had died at an earlier point in reality than she had in the dream. She not only had to relive her death, she had to suffer through it prolonged, and upgraded into a more demented and sadistic execution. What scared her was the accuracy of the accounts. The far off cries of war, the two men thwarting her escape, the reading of her name and sentance, and her futile attempts to flee the burining building. The only thing that was wrong was the point at which she had actually died. She felt old scars being torn open again. She wanted to fade away, never to return. She wanted to crawl into a darkened chasm, and be lost with time. Nothing seemed worth it, and everything seemed to hold a new fear for her. She felt like the limbs of the tree were curling towards her to imprison her there with them forever. She would have leaped down, but the melting snow beneath her looked as if it would swallow her whole if she had.
She buried her face in her knees, shaking with fear, praying that whatever was there to attack her would do it and be done! Her ears caught a faint voice carried by the wind, but she dismissed it as her ears betraying her. But the voice didnt stop, and grew louder.
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Pitch eyes widened for only a moment. His mouth hung slightly agape at the marvel before him. In the mouth of the cave, Stood a blackend horse, tall and proud. A fearling. HIS fearling. It pawed the ground, and shook its head at him, as if it were confused at his masters reaction. He understood right away, but he couldnt really believe it. When he and Grimm had fallen asleep, their hands were connected, and unconciously, he had given her a nightmare. But the nightmare was unlike any he had done before. He took time and pride in his nightmares, pulling each individual dream from the psyhy of his victims. He could tell ones worst fear just by looking into the eyes, and design a nightmare specifically based on those fears. But Grimms nightmare had been a memory, not just a fear. It was the memory of the most terrified she had ever been, the night she died. He knew that in reality, she had perished of smoke inhalation long before the flames touched her, but in the nightmare the fire had consumed her. He had taken her worst memory, and contorted it to something even more horrific.
