hooked claws lazily extending and retracting.
The Grossbarts had prepared themselves for anything; unfortunately, their concept of anything failed to include a hog-sized cat with the head of an old man. Horse whinnied but no other sound disturbed the morning, the monster and the men watching each other while light drifted down through the branches. With an air of finality the beast rose on its haunches, its four legs balanced on the limb.
“Uhhh…” Hegel dumbly leveled his crossbow at it.
Manfried stared, transfixed.
They would fire their crossbows simultaneously, Hegel imagined, each quarrel embedding in one of the creature’s eyes. It would fall dead from the tree, snapping its neck for good measure when it hit the ground. The cunningly wrought animal-skin cloak would be dislodged, revealing what had to be a wizened but decidedly human body underneath. Hegel swallowed, and put the plan into action.
Hegel fired his weapon but shook too badly to properly aim and his quarrel shot past the monster into the forest. Manfried reflexively pulled his trigger but did not raise the bow, the bolt kicking up dirt at their feet. The old man’s grin widened and he stepped forward along the branch.
Their only chance lay in battling the creature on the ground. If they held their nerve they might accomplish together what would be impossible for a solitary man. If they hesitated in their course both would die, and neither doubted it to be less than the worst end conceivable. Their options stolen, they must fight.
They ran. Screaming. In opposite directions.
Manfried’s mind burned with the single purpose of finding an end to the forest. Being fleeter of foot than Hegel, he would have lost him in his mad flight even if Hegel had not dashed the other way. Manfried could see the trees and brush and now the stream but the mill wheel of his mind had ceased turning; he had become a beast himself, intent on escape at any cost.
Rather than being attacked or hearing sounds of pursuit, it was the sudden realization that he was alone that brought each Grossbart back to true consciousness. They had broken for a time but now understood that they were separated and hunted. Hegel did not pause in his flight but cut sharply left, and noticing he had dropped his crossbow, drew his sword. Manfried jumped over the stream and stopped cold, bile creeping up his throat. He slowly turned to see what followed.
Nothing but the breeze ruffling the treetops. The gurgling water blunted his hearing, his chest hurt horribly, and breathing only made it worse. He still clutched his crossbow but the quarrels were back at camp. The ax had slipped out of its belt loop but Mary be praised, the mace had not. He shakily withdrew it, and spun around to face the thing that had creeped behind him. Again only the thick forest greeted him, and he went weak in the knees, keeping his feet by leaning against a mossy trunk.
Manfried had to find his brother. They had played into the Devil’s hands, and if he did not find his brother soon they would both be undone. To call out might summon that thing instead of Hegel, though.
Something splashed in the water, making Manfried hop into the air. He twirled around until he became dizzy, desperate to prevent being taken unawares. Only when he felt confident in his solitude did he peer into the stream.
Squatting, Manfried lifted the metal scrap from the water. His trembling turned into violent spasms as he realized it was part of Horse’s bridle. A scratching came from over his shoulder, and slowly turning, he saw it.
It climbed slowly down the tree he had leaned on moments ago. It went straight down the sheer trunk, digging its talons through the bark and into the wood. It took its time, smiling at Manfried.
Manfried made to run but slipped on the moss and tumbled from the bank. He yelled his loudest, splashing in the water until he gained the opposite side. It crouched across the stream from him, tail swaying.
“Hegel!” echoed through the trees and that Grossbart stopped, trying to determine where it came from. Either his brother lay close by or the nature of the wood amplified his voice. When no other sound followed save that of the nearby brook he again charged into the underbrush, intuition his only guide.
It bounded over the water at Manfried. Blabbering prayers to Mary, he swung with his mace and grazed its scalp but it went low, knocking