Far From Home

Spotted

Cold. It was cold.

He felt the freezing metal against his skin and moist air through the fabric of his flannel shirt. His breath came out in puffs of white steam, pale in the grey light of the cave.

How long had he been there? Weeks? Months? Years? He had never felt so disconnected to the world. The endless hours of torture, mental and physical and scrambled his brain for good. He couldn't separate reality from nightmare, numbness from agony, heartache from pain. He was a shell of the person he once was, nothing but a body without a mind.

Seth Sorenson, after years of torture, was finally broken.

When Seth had left the house earlier in the day, he hadn't expected it to be the last time he would see it.

It was going to a normal day, walking around the woods, venturing further out than ever before, investigating places he had never went to. Finally, after months of pleading, Seth had gotten Grandpa to relent and let him get his privileges to wander around the preserve and he had taken advantage of it immediately.

Pushing aside the thick foliage, Seth adjusted the straps on his emergency satchel and stepped over a fallen tree. He hadn't found anything interesting in the last few hours of walking and it was getting quite boring in a way. Where were all the demons and wraiths and action? He'd be exatic if he saw an imp appar from under a pile of moss.

Checking his watch, Seth sighed. He'd have to turn back soon enough, so that he wound be home at the right time. If he disobeyed, Grandpa had said sternly, he wouldn't be allowed into the woods on his own anymore. The rule made every moment precious, with so little time ina day. And now all that was wasted on nothing.

He went on for about a mile or so, before he finally decided it was time to turn back. Just as he was about to begin walking away, the faint sound of whispering reached his ears and his heart began thumping for an unknown reason and his stomach felt queasy. It wasn't the normal excitement of something happening, but a warning of some kind, a instinct deep down, telling him something was about to happen.

He searched in the surrounding area, bracing against a tree as he did, blending into the shadows with his powers. To anyone, who didn't know he was there, he would be nearly invisible.

Soon enough, two figures walked into view. Seth scrunched his brows at the centaurs, despise in his chest. Both centaurs were men, their torsos a reddish brown fur, their hair black.

Brothers, Seth realized and pressed closer to the tree. One of the brothers was holding a golden rimmed box with gems littered across the top. Seth couldn't help but wonder how much money he could get for them.

"Get a move on, we're already running late," one of the centaurs said to the other with a deep and commanding voice. The other one, slightly younger, huffed.

"You're not the one carrying the heavy box."

"Don't bother me with your sixty-year-old's back pain, I don't want to hear it. We have a schedule and we will not run late because you were too weak to carry a single box."

Anger flared in the younger centaur's eyes and he came to a halt, only a few steps from where Seth was standing. "How dare you accuse me for being weak, Aburnmane?"

"Watch your next words closely, Bayfur. I am your senior. Do not stand against me."

The two glared at each other for a moment, before Bayfur finally relented. "Like you said, we're wasting time. Move. The Society has been waiting long enough."