The Hunter Becomes The Hunted

Chapter 8

You sat down on the rickety old bench outside of the tavern with a sigh. Your back ached, your eyes were throbbing, it felt like your ears were bleeding. You rubbed the back of your skull, your fingertips digging into your hair and pulled until you went stalk still. Your eyes slowly fluttered open.

Something was not right.

You slowly lifted your head to peer around the empty village, noting that nobody was outside beside yourself... again... At least this time, the lanterns were lit and the glass was free of dead insects. But there were still no guards patrolling the streets... again...

Just like a week ago.

You could still see it all play out before you once more. You could feel it, you could feel his hand on your wrist, you could still feel that burn. Your knees ached when you looked at the path, your legs shook when you remembered his voice.

'You wanted to come out here so bad!'

'What's the problem? Why not now?'

Your throat tightened, you looked before you until your eyes landed on the burnt cigar still smashed into the cobble, now covered in insects and dust.

Jesse. Jesse McCree.

You could still smell his smokey scent.

Your eyes fluttered shut the more you thought of him, your hands balling into fists. The cold metal of the ring pressing into the warm flesh of your palm.

The ring.

You looked down at the ring.

You did your best to keep it clean, the silver still shined brightly, the moonstone was still as clear as it was since the day it was slipped onto your finger.

But even in your haze of love and pure adoration for Jesse McCree, you could still feel something watching you like this night one week ago.

You slowly stood up, slowly turning and facing the tavern behind you full of loud drunks and blaring bards as the sang on the tops of their lungs. You did not want to go back in there, at least not now.

You turned away and started walking. To where? Only time could tell you, the lit lanterns and the full moon lighting the way for you as you slowly stepped towards the temple in the center of your village.

You swallowed and peered around you before opening the tall door and slipping inside.

There was not a single soul inside, not even the priest was present to welcome those who may enter. He was at your family's tavern breaking apart bread and drinking your finest wine.

You slowly stepped forward, your hand coming up to trace the curves of the rows of wooden seats, tracing every curve and every rise and fall of each bench. You eyed every single book that was neatly tucked away, the rug below your feet was worn down.
It smelled of mothballs and wine that was obviously not good enough to indulge in. Your nose crinkled, but you still found yourself slowly walking behind the priest's podium and behind the symbol standing tall to the statues that people pray to when service was not in session. Your eyes scanned over every small statue with care, noting every crack and every messy patchwork the priest had done.

At least he was trying.

A short scream left your lips as the stain glass windows above opened, wind and mist and small rain droplets barreled down and through the temple, a chill running down your spine. Some of the candles blew out instantly, some burnt out by stray drops of rain, some were still lit.

You peered up at the open windows, noting that some of the glass looked cracked from all the way down where you stood. Your lips pressed into a firm line, your hold tilting to the side as a shaky breath left your body.