A STORM IS BREWING.
I can feel it in the air.
They lay hunched in the brooding forest on the borderline. One squints his eyes toward the shade of the meadow that surrounded the city and tenses his muscles. Then came a sound, it was a woman, humming. A woman who had not listened to her mother's warnings about staying away from the woods.
No one enters The Dark North and comes back alive. Breathing, yes, but how can a breath be considered life? When your soul is covered in ice, and your body has known true darkness, how can you be alive? They say that beyond its long forgotten borders, Death makes it's home. They say Death is as cold as it is dark: the darkness of night and the cold of winter are one and the same. Just as Death has no mercy, The Dark North is unforgiving. Death watches from its domain, hidden by the howling wind and the freezing rain. You'd best listen to the stories your mother told you as you drifted to sleep.
They eyed the human with empty eyes, the eyes of hunters framed in the passionless faces of executioners. Each step leaves a fresh, crisp footprint in the snow. It is as if she's the only soul to have ever walked here, yet the tracks of a stray deer prove otherwise. She finds it grazing on a small patch of grass. Numerous eyes stare. It's been years since they last saw anything as graceful as she is. They watch, silent. After a while she takes hold of her bow, snatches an arrow and shoots.
Stay in your village, little human. Stay in the warmth, stay in the light.
He turns to only find a similar but lighter pair of eyes to his. He glances behind to take in the disheveled appearances of the others surrounding the area before redirecting his gaze to the woman. The heat is rising and he can feel the unease in his stomach, but it's so slow and subtle in sizzling. Then it rises again.
Beware, little human. The Dark North is perilous, and it is forbidden to your kind.
The male shifted on the branch, his eyes still resting on the human like she was a shot of single malt. He maintained a cool detachment to their victims. Mostly he preferred not to think of them, but when he did it was as if they were already dead. Everyone has to die sometime, and he considered it a good way to go. No illness, no drawn-out goodbyes. They were just happy and oblivious one second and gone the next.
Death has no mercy, even for the brave and the bold. Death mocks you from its throne made of ice and snow. Far past the reaches of North, far from the safety of flaming torches and polished steel. Here, fire is a false promise, and you are no more than a moth drawn to it's flame. Here, steel can shatter as easily as the bones beneath your skin.
There is no hope for you, little human.
They remain hidden within the darkness of nightfall, among the trees, waiting. The sky was hidden above the canopy of the trees, with only one sound to be heard; the sound of the human's own pulse throbbing in her ears. Suddenly, the silence surrendered to the haunting scream of footsteps. A narrow stream of moon light filled little areas of the ground as it spotlights, shadows quickly followed, avoiding the light as he continued to stare.
Do not enter The Dark North.
And she walked. She walked as her hair fluttered in the air, her clothes clung to her body, hands tightly wrapped around the antlers. Against the pristine snow, the blood trail of the deer was stark. Small droplets had tumbled and spread into the white, making arcs of scarlet. As a few teardrops caused by the harsh temperature appeared in the corners of her eyes, the woman continued walking, not stopping for anything.
You will not come back alive.
She is smiling one minute and is screaming the next, her fists flying and landing on whatever they can reach. Eyes widened, breaths ragged and harsh. Her jaw dropped in a silent scream of horror. She struck the ground, hard, and lay there convulsing and twitching. The life in her eyes faded slowly until the iris merged with the whites, a chalk-colored froth clouding her mouth as he watched her create her own arc of crimson against the untouched snow. The flesh that used to tingle has turned a marble blue.
FEAR THE DARK NORTH.
YOU ARE READING
Seven Devils
Lobisomem❝ His white figure stood in biting contrast to the dirt on his body and the red splatters that covered the rest of him. Some of them were definitely wine stains. Some of them were definitely not. Blood had clotted in the ends of the mess of midnigh...
