Muted rays of sunlight filter through the broad leaves above; despite the meager light, the entire area seems to have a soft glow, emanating from the dully-glowing runes ringing the clearing.
Sacred--a thousand other words flit through his head, but none fit quite as well. He kneels at the edge, wary of even stepping into the area, and his eyes remain fixated upon the formidable creature resting in the center of it all.
Frozen in time, the beast rears up on its hind-legs, its serpentine body twisting in some unknown agony; a snarl remains etched on its bony face, even though the foe has long since won. Ivy drips off of its outstretched forepaws and whip-like tail, and birds seem to have made nests among the spines running down its back.
Nature holds no reverence, he notes as his eyes wander the creature's form, which has faded into the forest around it, and he manages to gather the courage to slowly approach. Even though he knows of the beast's cataclysmic rampage from centuries ago, he can't help but feel sympathetic with it, seemingly forever frozen in a state of torment.
Still, though, the razor-sharp fangs remind him of its danger, and he absently moves his thumb across one of the outstretched claws in a subconscious move to check their edge, like he might a blade. Pain sparks through his hand; he pulls his thumb away to notice a neat slice. Blood wells up and runs down the side, and he can only watch, transfixed, as it drips onto the worn dirt beneath.
As soon as the drop lands, though, he realizes how heavily his thumb bleeds; muttering curses under his breath, he quickly snags a roll of cloth from the satchel at his side. Distracted wrapping his wound, he misses the runes flickering for a moment, but as he looks up, he notices the clearing seems faintly brighter.
It's just the rising sun, he reassures himself, but dread pools in his stomach. Maybe it's just the way the trees cast harsh shadows, or the unsettling silence that heavily presses upon him; despite its ominous aura, he still feels reverent of the area. Unsettled and conflicted, he distracts himself with thoughts of his job and retrieves the sheathed dagger from his satchel.
While he doesn't quite understand the requests he often receives, he does them, not that he has much choice. Most pay well--it's the only pay he really gets, which doesn't leave much room for complaints. Grimacing, he moves to set the dagger down at the beast's feet, but a sharp pain races through his head before he can release the blade.
Reflexively, he drops the dagger to clutch at his aching head, and a wave of pressure knocks him off his feet and across the clearing. Groaning, he remains crumpled on the ground, and he dully thinks about how this isn't worth a few meals. It's the only he can muster for a few moments; his brain feels like a soup. Eventually, he regains his thoughts, but he remains still, wary of another wave or something worse.
When nothing additional happens, he slowly struggles to his feet and winces at the pain shooting through his body. Blood slowly oozes from scrapes across his body, and he takes a few moments to examine the damage done to his clothes.
Fixable, he decides. Reluctantly, he raises his gaze to the beast, but it still remains frozen in time, nothing changed. Except... the dagger he had dropped is nowhere to be seen, just a black scar in the earth. Unnerved, he glances wildly around the clearing; deciding that no one has seen him, he slowly backs out of the area and refuses to turn his back until he can no longer see the beast.
Already accepting that no one will believe him, he merely limps down the path, and he recreates stories of bandits in his head. Maybe he could even hassle for some more money, he contemplates--surely his wounds are worth a bit more.
As he walks, he doesn't notice the especially black shadow flitting from tree to tree behind him; it moves silently, intent on the lone figure struggling through the woods. Thought the shadow can't see under the cloth around his thumb, it senses the pulsing from the wound; it shivers eagerly. The time has come, it knows; its thirst will be sated after centuries.
ns 18.68.41.140da2
