#stonehorn

It starts with the drumbeat, like it always does. Thundering, feels like the ground is shaking with it. Those four loud beats repeating again and again, a call to the Hounds. A warning to us prey. My heartbeat starts going in rhythm with the drums, as I find myself on all fours running towards higher ground.

Then comes the howl, sounding like it was right in my ear. Good, I still have time. I keep running as my surrounding appears less like the forest of eternal Autumn I was so familiar with and more like a tropical jungle. Vines hanging above scrape against my head. They reach low but the treetops they hang from extend beyond my vision, covering any hope I had of using the moonlight to guide me. But I feel it in my blood, instincts instructing me forward through the ever-changing Forest, keeping me from dead ends and the Horned Man's traps...until the trees themselves stretch out and trip me up while I'm in full sprint, so that I fall sprawling into dirt and underbrush.

Before my mind even comprehends that I should get up, I hear the howl again, farther away, quickly vanishing into the distance. I don't have time to keep running, have to hide here and pray. I count my blessings that I landed in underbrush, hope it'll be enough to hide me. The howling is softer still, barely audible.

Until sharply interrupted by the trample of paws on the dirt nearby, and the sniffing of the Hounds as they search for prey. Wet sounds of their tongues slobbering saliva at the expected meal, or what I hope to be saliva. Then the rustling of plants close by. Too close, the very same plants I'm hiding under. Louder, the sniffing and slobbering, I can hear its heartbeat it's so close. No, that's mine, I only hope It can't hear it. Silence. I wait for the swift death, but nothing comes, nothing until the sound of paws running away from me, they must have found a more obvious prey. Good.

I start to stand up, looking forward to see its face. Still there, a lone Hound. Those crazed pure white eyes deep set in its face; the formerly just-as-white fur, now covered with dirt and blood. But what catches my attention first is the mouth. Lupine jaw jutting out, teeth barred in a twisted rictus grin covered in blood both dried and fresh, the fresh dripping down slowly onto its stained fur. It refused to make a move, just watching, judging how best to go about, wondering where to sink its teeth that would taste best.