Winter Prey

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

It listened to her pitiful whimpers as she struggled against the bindings. Her screams had echoed for a while, but the boulder across the lair entrance captured the noise. Her throat was probably raw, her terror as exhausting to her as her efforts to escape.

She couldn't see in the intense darkness, but Its vision examined every nuance of her. The cold would penetrate her body soon. It had stripped her jacket, gloves, boots and socks. She'd painted her toenails a pretty rose color, similar to the dye the tribal women squeezed from summer berries to stain decorative quills. Blue already tinted her toes and fingers, as well as around her full lips.

Even with the others watching, she had been easy to take. At the beginning of each season, surprise always made capturing prey less complicated. No doubt word would soon spread. Not that puny humans had ever threatened Its existence. Still, each season carried different dangers.

Prey must be selected carefully, though, and she fit. Hope always lurked in the back of Its mind that the selections might hasten that final hunt. There were some with more of the hated blood than others. Even after word spread in past giticmanidogizis months about It being awake, It had easily filled the quota by hunting around gathering places, or in later years, local bars, remaining true to the bloodlines that demanded eradication. That demanded revenge, not only for It but Her.

It squatted beside the latest prey and studied her. She wore the tribal emblem that symbolized her ancestors. Did she have any idea what lay behind that line of descent? Did she care?

Did it matter?

No.

The heart-shaped shading beneath her right eye also bespoke her line of succession.

Did it matter that she had no part in what her ancestors did to It?

No. The spirits had placed her in Its path, blended her destiny with Its.

She tossed her head frantically, her nostrils flaring as she caught Its closeness and smell. Her whimpers were now little more than tiny chipmunk squeaks.

Oh, she knew what had taken her. Red blood dripped down her pale cheek from claw slashes where It had kept her cries trapped until in the lair. Never cover the eyes, though. Revenge was only satisfied by the knowledge and horror reflected there...as it was now, in the brown depths intensified to black with fear and acknowledgement of her pending death.

Did she have some small measure of hope in her mind? Think that, despite knowing not one prey had ever escaped, she might somehow thwart her fate? Eons ago, It had thought nibowin a far distant reckoning, failed to be able to grasp the concept that other lives would continue after death. That days, weeks and months, years and time itself would roll onward. Suns rise, moons set. Births renew, deaths transpire.

Now It yearned for that emptiness, for Its once living presence to only be a memory.

Did she believe her prayers might be answered by a benevolent spirit with stronger powers than Its? For that would be her only savior, and never had it come to pass before.

It almost laughed at that. Her eyes widened even further at the grunt that escaped It. Her legs fought the twisted vine rope, her shoulders wrenched as she jerked at the bindings on her hands behind her back.

It could end her misery and terror easily enough. Pick her up and impale her on the tip of one of the stalagmites rearing from the cave floor.

Or It could do that and even prolong her agony. Judge the impalement well, pierce her where the tip would miss her heart. She would linger in consciousness for a while, her body fluids leaking out to combine with the odor of her terror.

That decision would come as the hunger grew again. Past experience allowed It to identify the growing waves, the length of time between the various intensities. For now, the urge was controllable, not overwhelming, as happened when the feeding could not be denied. It had relieved the hunger when It fed on the body left by someone or something else, the body carried to the cabin, then back to the lair.

It had pondered the puzzle of the fresh kill for a long while. Whatever brought it, however the body arrived, did not matter. It feared no other...entity or human.