War of the Copper Forest

4

Romanov threw on his cloak, and out of habit grabbed his bow and quiver. He raced from his tree over to the squat cave-like stone building that Tolstoy lived in, and operated the town guard out of. He taps on the door frantically, and is thankful when Tolstoy opens it.
"Romanov?" Tolstoy is rubbing some sleep from his eyes, "It is dreadfully late Romanov, why have you come to my door."

"I felt a Death Chill Tolstoy, a genuine one, even on this cold night," Romanov does his best not to stumble over his words, "know that I tell you the truth, I have a great fear about this Death Chill that I must satiate. I pray nothing comes of it, perhaps the spirit of a resilient fawn, but I prithee, come with me." Tolstoy considered his dear friend a moment, and Tolstoy knew that Romanov was of level head and wise spirit. He appeared now raggedly breathing, trying to appear even but coming off odd. Something has riled him, and if the ever even Romanov is riled then there is cause for great concern.

"Let us go my friend," Tolstoy grabs his own cloak, the official cloak of the guard captain gilded with red twine and dyed a bright yellow. He grabs his own bow and arrows, as well as two daggers, handing one of the daggers to Romanov who appeared to have forgotten his. They part without another word, Tolstoy falling a half step behind Romanov not for lack of speed but for Romanov's excess of it. His every step carried a tangible urgence, and Tolstoy had to pick up his pace to stay with his friend. Along the way he requests the aid of two guards patrolling that night, who follow eagerly for any excitement.

They recourse Romanov's path in haste. Tolstoy's anxiety grows as he watches his friend in front of him, normally so sure-footed even in the inky blackness now stumbling blindly forwards. He rounds trees and passes bushes with the air of a stranger lost, choosing hysteria above all else.

"Gather the rest of the guard," barks Willard, "We set out in teams of two, comb the forest. The boy won't survive the night in this cold." Leslie takes off at an urgent pace, to round up the rest of the guards. Willard paces, shaking. Is it from the cold? The fear? Willard stops a moment and breathes, but it does not calm him, and he paces until the guard returns. Leslie hands him his hammer and a torch, while the rest of the guard circulates weapons and torches. With every team decided Willard leads a crawling charge.

The forest casts strange shadows in torchlight, and the dark beyond is darker when light passes by trees and brush. Every baying tree and every errant shadow could very well be the Devil himself risen from the frozen pit to stalk the earth once again. Or so it seemed to Willard. Leslie watched her company leader, her mayor. When push came to shove he had always been the anchor in the storm. Now he seemed irritable, shooting his gaze towards every flickering shadow as though it were after him. Leslie's resting scowl deepened. A feeling deep in her gut bubbled, like a twisting and a compression, accentuated by cold air. She tightened the grip on her sword and pressed on.

They, Willard and Leslie who had formed the first team of 2, came eventually to a warbling river far too wide to cross. They look as far as they dare up and down but find no bridge (for it lay farther to the south than they dared wandered) and they descend onto the bank to begin searching. Willard's nerves were getting the best of him now at the thought of his dear son falling into the river. His hand twitched which did not help the flickering shadows. It was then it happened. A night dwelling creature of the forest, curious at the rank smelling strangers to the wood, skittered out of sight when he drew near. Out of the corner of his eye Willard saw a fleeting shadow, and he jumped back, swinging his hammer. He missed the skitterer and in the fright he dropped his torch in the river. Willard swirled in a confused daze swinging at half-seen shadows as his light was extinguished, and losing his balance, fell into the river himself.

Leslie, who had strayed the other direction heard 2 splashes in rapid succession. She turned and looked, the torch passed her unnoticed, but Willard did not. She threw the struggling Willard a rope, he grabbed onto it with a shaking hand, he knew not what was going on but knew this rope was something he needed to cling onto, and Leslie hoisted him ashore. He shook violently, and Leslie quickly led him back to Coppress.