"Calm and breathe," the Duskwight said, barely able to breath himself through the weight of his age. He put a hand on the man's back and pressed firmly, "Is there dirt in your lungs? Are you cursed?"
A scream again broke the air. The Duskwight's eyes perked up, but his ears wouldn't be fooled. Beneath the scream, from another direction, came the hoofbeats, the stag with its antlers lowered as it was spat from the shadows, trailing the fury of the forest like smoke from its eyes. Metal cracked its skull open, the blade visible and shining polished silver before it was snapped to the side be an unseen force. Red blood, warm, was thrown to the ground, and the blade jerked out of the stag's head so fiercely that the animal's neck broke with an audible crack before it fell. It slid in the dirt and struck the monument, which shook, but did not topple.
The blade vanished. The scream did not return. Breath slid out of the dead stag with a gurgling his for a moment, and then the woods were silently watchful once more. The Duskwight that looked like a dead tree could feel the weight of his knife, clean and cool in his pocket, as he returned his hands to the man that had pulled himself from the earth. Skin like mud, hair like clay. He was like the girl. He looked like the ground come to life.
"Calm and breathe," the old voice repeated.
A scream again broke the air. The Duskwight's eyes perked up, but his ears wouldn't be fooled. Beneath the scream, from another direction, came the hoofbeats, the stag with its antlers lowered as it was spat from the shadows, trailing the fury of the forest like smoke from its eyes. Metal cracked its skull open, the blade visible and shining polished silver before it was snapped to the side be an unseen force. Red blood, warm, was thrown to the ground, and the blade jerked out of the stag's head so fiercely that the animal's neck broke with an audible crack before it fell. It slid in the dirt and struck the monument, which shook, but did not topple.
The blade vanished. The scream did not return. Breath slid out of the dead stag with a gurgling his for a moment, and then the woods were silently watchful once more. The Duskwight that looked like a dead tree could feel the weight of his knife, clean and cool in his pocket, as he returned his hands to the man that had pulled himself from the earth. Skin like mud, hair like clay. He was like the girl. He looked like the ground come to life.
"Calm and breathe," the old voice repeated.
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