A scream. Eyes open. A dream, maybe? The moonlight doesn’t reach far through the canopy above and the campfire is all but a faint orange glow. Zan stares at the smoldering flame, listening closely.
Again, a scream. His heart beats faster and he sits up to let his eyes adjust to the darkness surrounding the camp. Alec, a childhood friend and fellow hunter, is not on his bedroll and nearby dirt and broken branches lay disturbed. He fears the worst.
Zan, 17 years of age at the time, grabbed his bow, but he knew his skills lacked. Alec was more of the fighter, Zan the tracker.
A blood-gurgling scream rings out from the west.
At first, he thinks of the fear and loss of his mother, and wants to run back home to the only family he has left: his father, Rodan. But is Alec not more than a friend? A brother?
He musters the courage and begins his walk into the darkness, making sure to step lightly with eyes wide open.
The screams have stopped but he’s sure that he’s on track and the thick smell of blood confirms his direction.
As he reaches a clearing the smell becomes unbearable, it’s not the smell of a corpse but that of a beast. He would have moved forward if it were not for the bright yellow eyes staring at him a mere 20 yards away.
The darkness envelopes the beast save for its eyes. Zan readies his bow, shaking softly as he raises it, aiming for the only part of the beast he can see: the eyes.
The beast huffs through its nostrils and lets out of a fearful roar, and Zan’s courage is lost.
With a regret that will stay with him for many years, Zan lets loose an arrow with a shoddy aim, and runs, never looking back. He runs for hours until he reaches a familiar riverbed.
That night was the last time he had seen Alec.