Those marks in the tree bark seemed funnier before the sun was flirting with the treeline. We all knew how they had come to be there, but in the daylight they seemed more thrilling than anything else. The reality of them was only vaguely in our sensibilities. Each of us only wanted to prove to ourselves and the rest that he was fully in control of his feelings on the subject. So we made jokes. The marks were similar to the kind bears make on the trunks of trees, but higher up. Much higher up. And in the wrong direction. Of course there aren't bears in these woods, anyway. There's only one large, territorial predator in these parts.
I drew a long breath to compose myself, and took a quick inventory of the minor scrapes and cuts I'd received earlier in the afternoon. Those brambles probably had it in for me the whole time. How could they have known I'd end up here? My own tendency to heal quickly got the last laugh. None of the abrasions was serious and they'd all closed up fairly quickly.
Boldness and courage are social fellows. They always seem to know exactly when the party is going to die down and they slip out quietly unnoticed until their absence can't be ignored. They certainly don't make an appearance at solitary affairs. How did I even get separated from the others? I was only around the ridge for a moment, did they sprint off as a joke? Conspired to put a fright in the intrepid adventurer? Tsch. They're probably lost now too without my directional sense... I'll probably stumble across them any minute now and they'll be all apologies and beg me to help them get back to camp. Heh... While they squirm a bit I'll have time to get my bearings and–– Something disturbed the pine needles far overhead and I froze. The coming fog of evening jealously guarded the sounds of the night. A wild dog struggled to make himself known, but the night choked out his brief cry. Silence. My pounding heart filled my head. Then I heard it again. This time somewhat ahead of me on the path and still high above. What was it the guide had said again? Lay down and they won't see you, right?
The earth and decaying leaves and rising mist were cool next to my face. They formed a thick unguent that coated my skin and filled my nostrils. It slowed my heart and relaxed my breath, but my eyes continued to scan the murky forest ceiling through the fog. In its patterns and swirls around the branches I had seen sleek skin and the swish of a strong tail and – I swore! – the flash of sharp, angular teeth... The mind plays cruel tricks on a man alone on a mountain on his back in a forest at twilight.
I rolled over and edged around the boulder on the boundary of the slope. If it hadn't been just a squirrel in the trees, it would be better to head straight down to the river and follow it back to camp instead of staying on the trail. Better safe than sorry. I found a handhold and began to steady myself into a crouch, but the pine needles were slick under my feet. As I fell, I caught an edge of the rock face and felt it bite deeply into the underside of my right forearm. My slide stopped. In the moonlight, the blood on the rock shined nearly iridescent. My mind raced. My skin flushed. It was a long gash, and though I held it tightly, one hand wasn't going to be enough to staunch the flow. The adrenaline tingled in my extremities. The endorphins immediately followed suit and I lost most of the feeling in my right arm. My mutinous heart worked rapidly to send blood to the wound. My arm and hands were covered in it. The pine needles were red.
I half ran, half fell down the steep slope. The bleeding didn't seem to be lessening and my eyes, unbidden, followed my crimson trail back up to the rock where it seemed the mist itself was red where my hand had been shortly before.
Over the rock, with a silence to madden a monk grew a large, dark shadow out of the fog.
I turned back in a panic and threw myself down the mountain. My mind told me if I could get to the river at the base of this ravine I would be safe. It wouldn't follow in the water. I cleared a fallen juniper, but landed awkwardly. My ankle wrenched and I plunged headlong, rolling wildly into the night. Grasping blindly, and digging my heels into the dirt, I righted myself and lost no momentum in getting up. Although I couldn't see it, I heard the sweet voice of the river's song beckoning just on the other side of the bushes ahead. I made to plow straight into the black mass, hoping the water would catch me before any more rocks did, but mid-lunge my ankle gave. Something in the bushes grabbed me! The brambles held fast to my tattered pants and shirt and the straps on my pack. They poked at my face as I twisted in my clothing. Behind me leaves rustled.
I turned my head and saw the thing. Floating on the mist it approached with terrifying speed. The fog wrapped around its fins and pushed its swaying, rhythmic form through the air between us. Its pointed nose and slit nostrils filled my vision. Its eyes focused on nothing at all.
And in an instant or an eon, enormous jaws opened toward infinity. Rows of bright blades wreathed the growing abyss and the night of the mountain gave way to the night of eternity.
This story was inspired by this writing prompt from this very creative blog: Writing Prompts.
