How I would 100% sleep if I thought the area we were camping in was dangerous lol <3 He is safe in my arms. Any monster sneaking up on the camp would think twice about making a meal out of us.
It also means so much to me that Danarius wouldn't be scared of me or disgusted by me in that shape. He would still see who I am underneath <3
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Have you read @entanglednowâs The waters and the wild? Now thereâs a beautiful follow up, called The fruits of the forest, for which I had the privilege to paint! Youâll find two bonus pictures embedded in the story on Ao3!
âDonât hunt the wolves. Donât kill a single wolf unless you have to save yourself,â the tall blonde had warned him when he stepped off the boat to rest in the forest-covered mountains. He hadnât keen on being held up with his crew in a stuffy tavern. The ship was bad enough.
Thinking back at how afraid she looked when she talked about the wolves, he laughed. They hadnât given him a lick of trouble.
âThese wolves arenât special, I donât know what she was on about.â Carefully, he peeled off the last of the fur from the last wolf and threw it on the large pile. Must have been a whole pack of them he found. They oughta be grateful when he got back. They should pay him!
He laughed again as he moved to start a fire to fend off the darkness. There was still a bit of work if he wanted those furs to be sell ready when he headed back to the village.
Trying to breathe life into the fire, he felt the wood around him creak. With a strong shiver down his spine, he sat up quickly. That was odd. The wind had bent plenty of branches, but this time, it was different.
Squaring his shoulders, he looked around him, searching the shadows for anything that hadnât been there before. Nothing. He was completely alone. His shoulders slumped, and he laughed nervously.
âBitchâs stories must have gotten to me,â he mumbled, trying to convince himself. Laying out the pelts, he kept looking over his shoulder. Maybe he should have brought someone with him? He shook the thought from his mind. What coward thinking! He thought and banished it from his mind.
At least until the creaking came again. Deep in his bones, the man could feel it as they bent, almost as if he was bending with them. There was something just not right in the forest. He had fended off plenty of monsters, some even with the face of men, but there was something different here.
While he contemplated just walking through the night to get back to the village and his ship, the fire suddenly went dark. He hadnât felt any wind.
Jumping in fright, he whipped his head around wildly, looking for what was in the forest with him.
Just passed a few trees, he saw it. A shadow, looming through the branches. A bent tree? A wolf heâd missed, maybe, sneaking up to get some form of revenge.
It was hardly moving, was it hunched down? It seemed to bend, but it didnât look natural. Mind reeling, he took a step back. It was a trick of the fading light. Just enough to see shadows and play tricks on his mind, it had to be!
Pulling out his knife, he held it out in both hands, trying to look as intimidating as he could. He watched the shadow carefully, and it only just seemed to move.
âI can see you there!â He shouted, even as his voice started to waver. He held his ground, whatever it was, he wouldnât let it scare him!
âOh, can you?â Came their voice, deep and penetrating. The leaves seemed to tremble at the reverberating voice, or were they where it came from?
The shadow stretched to its full height, towering over the trees. They almost looked like a giant man. Almost. Their skin was rough and knotted like old bark. Limbs seemed to stretch on forever, longer than all of them, fingers like bare autumn branches.
They grinned widely, knowingly at him. Their mouth far too wide for its large head and with yet far more teeth, sharp and shining in the dim light. Yet worse, its gaze pierced deeply into him. He could feel it as fear coiled in his stomach, and yet, the beast had no eyes. Their head tilted slightly as the trees seemed to echo its tittered laughter.
The knife trembled in his hands, and his pants were suddenly hot and wet. There was no time to be embarrassed as he scrambled to hold the knife before he dropped it.
Stumbling over his feet, he turned and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Knife clutched tightly to his chest, he tried to remember the way back to Kingspool, back to the safety of his ship. Every turn felt like he was only climbing higher. Every turn, he saw them. A dark shadow in the trees, seeming to move within them. The man felt the creaking deep inside him every time the creature moved. Saw the teeth glinting in the moonlight.
Deeper through the trees, he ran, losing hope. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he ran, silently begging to survive. Turning again, he stumbled over a root he couldnât see. In desperation, he swung the knife wildly in front of him, trying to fend off a creature taller than the trees.
Lights! He could see the lights of the village in the distance. As he started for the lights, the creaking faded away, and he couldn't see the shadow among the trees. He cried out in relief. Just a little longer, and he would be safe in the village. Come what may, he lived through the night!
Stumbling in exhaustion, he dropped his knife. Scrambling to his feet, he doesnât stop. He could see the houses, and silhouettes of the villagers. Never had he been more grateful to see people!
Just as he stepped into the light, his heart sank. Long fingers, like thick branches, wrapped around his torso. More creaking deep in his bones, but now the creaking is his own as he felt his bones bend and break as the fingers wrap tighter around him.
Deer come to the waterâs edge to drink, parading twisted antlers through the pallid forest dawn. All theyâve known of itâs depths are mottled, misshapen fish hardly larger than his palm, no threat to their bulk.
Eventually, the deer learn. The smaller mammals suffice. He savors the taste of hot marrow and the sound of tiny bones breaking like new ice between his teeth. Raccoons stop bringing their young to the pond. Opossums grow skittish and fearful, favoring the dripping dew on tree bark to the tepid water below.
Three hundred winters have passed since the lands previous inhabitants had left, scattering great metal beasts as they fled their own toxins. Radiation had rendered the area uninhabitable, and now the only sign of them lay in the red rust of skeletal remains; houses, cars, machines.Â
None of these things concern the Rusalka, for his freshest memory of them is as aged and weathered as the ruins. Centuries-old scars mottle the scales along his hip, and a bright yellow number-tag flags proudly from one translucent ear. He doesnât know his people. He knows he is faster than a deer. He knows that the inky, tapered points of his claws can cut bone. He knows that dark eyes can pierce the murkiest depths of the forest pond, and that he has swallowed nearly every fish within it.
A bird rustles in the underbrush.Â
The Rusalka watches, silent.Â
Raven hair fans out around the crown of his skull like a dark halo, just below the waterâs surface. A hungry, luminescent stare tracks his prey; two glowing orbs in a pale half-moon face. The bird flits closer, and thin lips curl in a sharp-toothed grin.
Light flickers along sharp, gaunt cheekbones with a flutter of feathery gills. Flecks of iridescence glitter like stars along the Rusalkaâs jaw, beckoning. Here I am, it whispers, come closer and see for yourself.
He waits until the curious thing is nearly at the shoreline before sleek, sinuous frame explodes from the water with a rattling hiss. Webbed palms snatch it out of the air as it bursts into panicked flight, and a terrified shriek is abruptly ended by tepid water.Â
Far below, coiled safely in the cool mud, the merman sinks sharp teeth into feathered breast.Â
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