So Konta spent the next few hours silently coaching the fledglings alongside Faygo, teaching them how to keep themselves from leaving footprints in the abundance of mud, conditioning them to listen for noises above the constant din of the rain, and showing them how to effectively erase their presence in an instant in the case of an emergency. The last one Konta and Faygo had a bit of fun with, playing a sort of improvised game of hide-and-seek with each other where one would hide, and the other would lead the young hunters in trying to find them.
As their training session continued, they stopped periodically to collect the plants they found along the way that matched the samples Marg had given them. Faygo turned this into a bit of sport with Konta as well, as they both tried to collect as much as they could carry quicker than the other. While Konta had always been better with a spear, Faygo's dexterity with his knife was some of the best in the tribe. Faygo could draw his blade from where he strapped it to his ankle, pare away the plants cleanly, and sheath the knife again before Konta could pull his own from his waist. The contest was practically over before it started, though Konta still made a good showing.
Before long there were only a couple plants left to find, and it seemed Faygo's playful mood had taken control of him. He suddenly lunged swiftly and silently through the foliage ahead of the group. Konta couldn't help but smile at the sudden enthusiasm of his partner, and instructed the young hunters to wait for a moment so Faygo could get a head start. One last hunting exercise would be good for their development.
After just a few short moments, Konta started leading the fledglings into the thicket he had seen Faygo disappear into. His friend was an expert of camouflage, to the point that he could have made it as a scout, so Konta knew he'd have to be on his toes if he was to have any chance of finding Faygo. He was keen on keeping an eye open for any sign that would tell where Faygo had been- a broken twig, a misplaced leaf, a scruff of moss would do.
Dampening Konta's chances even further was a slight mist that had started to noticeably creep through the overgrowth. Trying to find something hiding in the brush was difficult enough, but compounded with limited range of visibility, Konta realized that there was almost no hope of tracking his partner. It would be hard to find him at best, but the fog itself was a dangerous foe to be tempting; there were plenty of creatures that took full advantage of what the mist brought with it, and Konta certainly didn't want to deal with one when his only support was a gaggle of half-trained whelps. He knew Faygo would return fairly quickly once he saw the fog, so the best course was to just wait where they stood.
At least, that's what Konta had planned to do. As the fog continued to drift lazily through the foliage, something skittered on the outskirts of his vision. He tensed immediately, crouching into the surrounding brush and silently urging the fledglings to do the same. He wasn't sure if they had been spotted yet, but he couldn't chance waiting around for Faygo any longer: he'd had to retreat at the first possible opening.
Again something caught his attention, a blur of movement from behind some nearby trees. He strained to try and see what it was, but it had disappeared as quickly as it came. Was it hunting some other prey and failed to notice the group, or was it simply biding its time and waiting for them to drop their guard for a moment?
A third flash of movement came, and now Konta realized that whatever was darting about, it was no Autumn beast, or at least not one he had ever seen. The upright body, the long strides, the glimpse of hair and exposed flesh: it had to be human, whatever was moving about.
Konta realized that it could have been Faygo, trying to regroup with the others. Konta stood and made a small motion towards the trees, hoping to grab his fellow hunter's attention without making noise. The shape stirred, but seemed to have wandered further off. Taking a chance, Konta made a strange series of clicking sounds with his tongue: it was the most noise hunters were willing to make in hostile territory, which was to say just about anywhere. Still, the figure didn't seem to creep any closer.
Konta was not cocksure or stupid enough to think that he knew all the dangers that lay in waiting in the world, so even though he had never seen a beast that closely resembled a fellow human, he was quite open to the possibility of one existing. At the same time, he wasn't about to let Faygo continue to wander around in the fog by himself, looking for their group. He turned to the fledglings, still huddled on the ground, and signaled for them to wait for his return. He could only hope that today's practice in stealth would be enough to keep them safe as he ventured into the overgrowth, after the mysterious shape.
It was slow going for Konta, now that he knew that something unknown was lurking nearby. He had to get close enough to confirm what it was before he could take any other action, but if he moved too quickly he would give away his position, and at this point he wasn't willing to commit wholly to the idea that what he was chasing was indeed Faygo. So he was forced to creep, bit by bit, covering his tracks as he went. Whoever- or whatever- he was chasing appeared to have the same idea, for Konta was unable to find any signs of a trail from his quarry.
The creature had finally stopped moving, giving Konta time to close the distance. The fog had thickened even further, making visibility low that he had to get within a short stone's throw of it before he could make out any distinguishing features. To make things more difficult, the trees overhead seemed to have grown so intertwined that they blocked out the rain in this area, so the patter of the rain no longer concealed any errant noises he might have made, and a slightly sweet smell filled the air: Konta had to make sure to approach from downwind, lest his stronger odor immediately give his presence away. Still, he was glad to see that whatever he had been tracking seemed frozen in place as he inched forward, careful not to let so much as a single leaf rustle.
He was just starting to make out some details on the shape when it turned sharply in his direction. Konta froze, his hand flashing to where his knife lay strapped at his side. He was prepared to strike out at the thing and run the moment it tried to strike him.
What he wasn't prepared for was the sight of Kontala stepping towards him, her hair falling gently around her shoulders and a hand resting gently on her enlarged belly. It was an impossible sight: the tribeswomen never left the village without a hunter's escort. Even more so, no woman would think of wandering around while carrying child, especially if they were as far along as Kontala was.
Yet there she stood, her dark brown eyes staring straight into Konta's. Their gazes were locked for what felt like minutes, while Konta's heads filled with questions. Then without warning, she turned and began to run off deeper into the trees.
All at once, Konta forgot all bearing of where he was or the dangers that might have lurked. He charged ahead through the plants, running with all his might to keep up with her. The pace that she was setting boggled his mind; how could she run so fast with the child she bore? Even going his absolute fastest, he was barely able to keep up, let alone catch her. Nothing about this seemed right, but for some reason he felt himself continue to chase her deeper into the forest.
In the back of his mind, he started noticing some disturbing things. For one, despite the thinning number of trees, he could no longer see any sign of the rain. He knew full well that the endless downpour of Autumn was just that- endless. There was never a break in the rain until the coming of Winter, and that wasn't for some time yet. Also, the fog had been growing thick to the point that Konta could barely see his hand held out straight in front of himself. Somehow, despite this, he could make out Kontala some distance away, and only by following her directly did Konta avoid running into a fair number of trees.
Nothing made any sense, and yet still he was compelled to continue chasing. The sweet smell from earlier flared powerfully into his nostrils, sending his mind reeling as he tried his best to figure out the situation. Kontala vanished from sight without warning, and Konta impulsively charged forward in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her again. So it was little surprise t
hat, running so fast with barely a wisp of visibility, Konta collided head on with something.
The force of the impact sent him reeling backwards with his breath knocked out of him. As he fell to the ground he struck his head, not so hard as to hurt him badly, yet still enough to make his vision swim a little. As Konta tried to shake off the dull ache, his eyes began to focus more clearly on what he had run into. Slowly, two long stalks glazed into view, protruding from a great bulbous shape. The pain in Konta's head began to subside, but as it did, the shape shifted out of view.
Realization struck Konta like a thunderbolt. This was no ordinary mist: it was a cunning trap, and one that Konta had just blundered right into.
Without hesitation, he whipped the knife from his side and brought it across his forearm. Not a deep cut, but enough to hurt immensely. Without pausing he grabbed a handful of dirt and rubbed it on the wound; this had the double effect of clotting the gash so it wouldn't bleed as much, and also causing the pain to flare sharply.
The fog seemed to lift before his eyes, until only a faint hint of it remained. The rain started pelting him relentlessly the moment he tore at his skin, and the sweet smell that had been overloading him before faded to almost nothing.
Konta had seen pictures of the Fog of Rafflesion before in the scrolls he had to study as a young hunter. Since getting field experience against some creatures and plant life was too dangerous, only hand-drawn accounts of these things were available to prime new hunters on their dangers. Even looking back, Konta could remember the image of a hunter enthralled in a shroud of white mist, forced into the clutches of a flower larger than a man. He knew that there were creatures and plants in the wild that could beguile the eyes of a hunter, making them see things that weren't really there. They were considered amongst the most dangerous of all, for they attacked the mind directly with little defense available. The only thing known to counteract this effect was a great deal of pain, effectively shocking the person out of their strange visions.
Now Konta beheld one of these creatures for himself. The massive plant stood in front of him, with fat red petals protruding from the top of its giant jar-like stem, and a slow but steady stream of pleasant smelling mist dribbling from the large opening in its top. It almost mirrored the picture he had seen of it, save for something that was jutting oddly out of the top: a pair of legs. Konta turned a ghastly pale as he noticed the flint knife strapped to one of them.
Without pausing to think about it, Konta grabbed Faygo's motionless legs and heaved as hard as he could, trying to wrench his friend from the clutches of the plant. They came away more easily than the heft of a body should have allowed for. They came away without a body attached.
Konta had to fight back a wave of nausea at the sight of it. He hardly needed to look within the plant: such carnivorous ones were not rare by any means, and he knew perfectly well of this kind, which were hollow and filled with all sorts of strange chemicals that could dissolve through living creatures in a frighteningly short time. When coupled with the mind altering effects of the Fog of Rafflesion's namesake, however, it became something much deadlier and far more horrifying than any of its peers.
It dawned on Konta with a sickening pang that if Faygo's legs hadn't been sticking out, he would've run headlong into the gaping pitcher plant, and the situation would be Faygo pulling him piece by piece out of its acidic maw. Even in death, his friend had helped him immeasurably.
Konta knew that there was nothing more he could do. Faygo had undoubtedly been snared by the plant's lure and drawn towards it, falling in while still under its spell. The only thing Konta could hope was that his death was not a painful one, as he trudged back towards the fledglings. Though he feared he had lost his bearings, he was able to quickly retrace his steps, for in his maddened dash he had left a blazing trail in his wake. He moved as quickly as he dared parallel to it, fully knowing that now there was a far more real danger of something coming across his path.
Nothing had befallen the pups, much to his great relief. They looked around at Konta's arrival, expecting Faygo to pop up any moment and scare them. Konta walked slowly past them, signaling to follow. They hesitated for a moment, before realization dawned on their faces and they slowly fell in behind Konta, grief visible on their faces.
The rest of the day Konta's mind was in a blur. They had procured most of what Marg had asked for, and in plentiful amount too, but he didn't remember giving their harvest to her. When Murg approached Konta's group and noticed the absence of Faygo, the elder chief shook his head solemnly and eyed Konta with what was undoubtedly disappointment and reproach. Konta barely even noticed. A small part of him in the back of his mind wondered if he'd ever be assigned to a hunt again, after everything that had befallen him, but for the most part his mind was occupied with a hundred booming questions.
Why had he seen what he did when he was caught in the Fog's control? How did it make him see Kontala so vividly, as if she were truly there? What part of his brain did the creature contort and poison to so utterly enrapture him that he couldn't even notice the world around him? What had Faygo seen in the moments before his demise?
In the end, he knew none of these things mattered. As he lay down on the floor of his tent, Kontala leaned close and touched him gently, but even the comforting touch of his mate barely registered with him. The man who had grown up beside him and supported him without hesitation was gone forever, and unlike the stinging gash on his arm, this wasn't a pain that would go away any time soon.
The Zero Celberus
The endless rain stopped.
It was as dreary a midday as it ever was during Autumn, and Konta's tribe had been going about their daily routine with the normal care and concern they had always shown. They knew that Winter was just about to encroach on them, and had already begun the preparations for their inevitable migration to a new campsite when that change came. Tents and equipment were packed, food stored, and all signs of their settlement hidden or destroyed to mask the presence they had made over the span of the season. Konta, who hadn't been set on a hunt in the last couple days, had secured all of his and Kontala's belongings and placed them in a corner of their tent. It was one of the last ones to remain standing for Kontala's comfort as she drew ever closer to giving birth.
Konta was going to the communal fire pit to heat some water for her when he noticed that the soft white noise of the raindrops against the Weeping Willow was absent. He stood motionless for a moment, straining his hearing to make sure he wasn't mistaking things, but after a few tense seconds he bolted to the base of the tree and began to climb. Some of the hunters and tribeswomen bustling about looked at him curiously, but others had also begun to look around with an air of unease, undoubtedly noticing was Konta was trying to confirm.
He reached the top with little time wasted and cautiously poked his head from the top of the canopy. The dark grey clouds still hovered angrily overhead, but Konta couldn't see or feel a single raindrop as he peered around. A sharp wind picked up, sending a chill down Konta's spine as it stung his face.
There was no time to waste: Winter wasn't just on its way, it was here. Konta practically tumbled down through the branches in his rush to get back to the camp, only narrowly avoiding hurting himself as he landed on the hard packed earth. He had just started making his way towards the chief's tent, only to find himself face to face with Murg, who had been waiting patiently for him at the bottom. The chief gave him a quizzical look, to which Konta responded with a single nod. It was all the confirmation Murg needed, and without another second to spare he trudged off, motioning for everyone to collect their things immediately. If Winter had already begun, then the tribe was in big trouble if they didn't head out immediately.
Konta scrambled to his tent, rousing Kontala from her nap. She glared at him angrily for a moment, but one look at his face told her that there were more pressing matters to attend to. She slowly pulled herself to her feet with Konta's aid, and set out of the tent while Konta de
ftly disassembled their mobile shelter, attaching whatever he could to his back and bundling the rest under his arms. Normally the younger men of the tribe would heft the equipment while the hunters defended the tribe as they moved, but time was of the essence at this point. As if to emphasize their plight, another frigid blast of air coursed through the leaves of the Willow, almost knocking Konta off balance as he struggled to regroup with his people.
The rest of the tribe were following suit, not being strangers to sudden departures. There was a huge crowd of villagers already waiting near one end of the tree where Murg stood side by side with Zanzu, both patiently waiting for the scout that had been sent out to return with the other scouts and hunters that were abroad. It took little time for everyone to be accounted for by the two, but the impatience could clearly be seen on their faces. Every moment they weren't on the move was another moment less they had to reach a safe place to camp for Winter.
Knowing that the worst was yet to come, Konta had taken precaution and already wrapped himself snugly in as many wraps and cloaks as he could, topping them with his Obsidian Panther pelt. Hunters were not normally allowed to wear their pelts when they were in resting periods, and even though he had only been off the hunt for a few days, getting to don his prized pelt once again was like being greeted by an old friend that he sorely missed. Once he was secured, he took the remaining coats he owned and adorned Kontala with them. She almost had to push him away as he tried to force a sixth layer of clothing on her, but Konta's worry for how Kontala and their child would fare in the freezing temperatures won out, and she reluctantly struggled into one last cloak.
With a single wave Murg urged on the tribe into the bitter cold. The heavy cloud cover overhead still refused to release so much as a single drop of moisture, but the tribe members knew all too well that soon they would unleash a flurry of snow and ice, and that when that happened they had best be under some cover. The rest of the tribe had already followed Konta's example, bundling themselves in half a dozen cloaks apiece while still making sure they had enough freedom of movement to get away in case something attacked during the migration.
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