I waited ten seconds. Fifteen. Half a minute . . . Nothing now.
I wiped my palms on my trousers. I continued to listen. Finally, I advanced.
There was nothing immediately before the opening save a light fog, and as the peripheral lines of sight opened there was still nothing to behold.
Another step . . . No.
Another. I was right at the threshold now. I leaned forward and darted a quick glance in either direction.
Yes. There was something off to the left-dark, low, unmoving, half masked by the fog. Crouched? Ready to spring at me?
Whatever it was, it did not stir and it kept total silence. I did the same. After a time, I noticed another dark form of the same general outline beyond it-and possibly a third even farther away. None of them showed any inclination to raise the sort of hell I had ‘ been listening to but minutes before.
I continued my vigil.
Several minutes must have passed before I stepped outside. Nothing was roused by my movement. I took another step and waited. Then another.
Finally, moving slowly, I approached the first form. An ugly brute, covered with scales the color of dried blood. A couple of hundred pounds’ worth of creature, long and sinuous . . . Nasty teeth, too, I noted, when I opened its mouth with the point of my weapon. I knew it was safe to do this, because its head was almost completely severed from the rest of it. A very clean cut. A yellow-orange liquid still flowed from the wound.
And I could see from where I stood that the other two forms were creatures of the same sort. In all ways. They were dead, too. The second one I examined had been run through several times and was missing one leg. The third had been hacked to pieces. All of them oozed, and they smelled faintly of cloves.
I inspected the well-trampled area. Mixed in with that strange blood and the dew were what seemed to be the partial impressions of a boot, human-scale. I sought farther and I came across one intact footprint. It was pointed back in the direction from which I had come.
My pursuer? S, perhaps? The one who had called off the dogs? Coming to my aid?
I shook my head. I was tired of looking for sense where there wasn’t any. I continued to search, but there were no more full tracks. I returned to the cleft then and picked up my blade’s sheathe. I fitted the weapon into it and hung it from my belt. I fastened it over my shoulders so that it hung down my back. The hilt would protrude just above my backpack once I’d shouldered that item. I couldn’t see how I could jog with it at my side.
I ate some bread and the rest of the meat. Drank some water, too, and a mouthful of wine. I resumed my journey.
I ran much of the next day – though “day” is something of a misnomer beneath unchanging stippled skies, checkered skies, skies lit by perpetual pinwheels and fountains of light. I ran until I was tired, and I rested and ate and ran some more. I rationed my food, for I’d a feeling I’d have to send far for more and such an act places its own energy demands upon the body. I eschewed shortcuts, for flashy shadows spanning hell-runs also have their price and I did not want to be all whacked out when I arrived. I checked behind me often. Usually, I saw nothing suspicious. Occasionally, though, I thought that I glimpsed distant pursuit. Other explanations were possible, however; considering some of the tricks the shadows can play.
I ran until I knew that I was finally nearing my destination. There came no new disaster followed by an order to turn back. I wondered fleetingly whether this was a -good sign, or if the worst were yet to come. Either way, I knew that one more sleep and a little more journeying would put me where I wanted to be. Add a little caution and a few precautions and there might even be reason for optimism.