ID Chapter 1

In Death
DG

I. Strangers Arrive

	Little could be heard but the rustle of leaves and chirping of birds, and the tension of Henrik’s bow. It was pointing a decently sized hare, not too far away, sniffing at the tiny snacks set out as bait. It’s nose crinkled and and ears darted from angle to angle, trying to sense any intruders.
	But Henrik was quiet as he held his breath. He silently cursed himself for pulling the bow so hastily, causing the creak, but all was still well. His was an old bow, despite having been taken care of, and was starting to show its age. But through it arrows could sail just as well as any fancy competitor.
He was dressed in green wool, and a linen hood he had covered with dirt and decorated with nature. He sewed some small twigs on, and stuck leaves in between. Over his face was a thin net, a mask he cut himself. He figured it would let him blend better with nature, and come ever so slightly closer to the animals he was after.
	After a few moments, the hare was still there, and he raised his arms slightly, preparing to take the shot.
	He let out a breath, and then let go. The twang broke the serenity of the forest, but before the hare could react, the sharp head broke through its chest and launched it a good ways from where it was sitting, leaving a streak of red on the ground. This was his fifth one today. Coupled with Alek that made seven.

	Coming back to their temporary camp, Henrik found Alek sitting down, stoking the fire. He looked up at his friend coming up.
	“Another one already?”
	He nodded, holding up the small corpse. “Uh huh. And I see you’ve been busy. Ready to go back?”
	“You know my shoulders are still sore from yesterday. It was useless to drag me along.”
	“Nonsense! Who else could I mock?”
	Alek stood up with a groan, adjusting his tunic. “Right. Let’s call this a successful hunt, and head… back-”
	Suddenly he reared his head. Something interrupted him. Henrik instinctively looked around. He didn’t have to wonder what was going on with his friend too long. He felt it before he heard it.
	Galloping. Horses. Several of them.
	No. Many. Too many to be a group of poachers, too loud to be hunters, but enough to be guardsmen, or rather tax men. Every once in a while they would roam the forests and demand tribute from hunters. The hunters would have to submit, or risk imprisonment under false charges of poaching, or worse, tax evasion. Except they rarely rode as far as Vilatz, preferring to stick around the more populated towns, where they could find more prey, and where nobles could more easily vouch for them.
	Alek turned. "Wrap up your bow now. I'll dump the carcases."
	"No! We need them. Grab what you can and run back. You'll be fine if you go through Muncel's yard and straight to my father's house, no one will see you from the main road." Henrik unstrung his bow and set it down. "Leave the hares, I'll only give them up if I'm caught."
	"I'll mourn for you, friend, so long!"
	"I'll put an arrow in your ass if you don't hurry!"
	Alek grabbed his satchel and went off. And as soon as he did, Henrik got to work, wrapping his bow in a rag and tying it, then throwing the last hare in the bag and taking it upon his shoulder. As he scrambled, he ignored the galloping, but now he noticed that the forest was nearly quiet again. Perhaps the friends' reactions were misguided, but there was still a chance they were right. He looked around, and set off back to Vilatz with a quick but careful pace.

	Henrik could see the fence now, and was coming upon it quickly. He would come through it, run towards Muncel’s yard behind his home, and follow a short dirt path straight to his father’s house. If the horseman were heading for the town, they would be too many to fit in between the houses, if they were indeed looking for him or Alek. But he was now thinking they reacted to hastily, and that this was some sort of patrol, and the two simply wandered too close to one of the main roads.
	His thought’s were cut off when he noticed something unnatural hiding within the nature. Something white. It was groaning. He stopped, curious and afraid. It groaned again, and his stomach suddenly felt uneasy. He tiptoed toward the creature, and when his sight was no longer obscured by bushes, he was shocked to see that this was a man, sitting naked and wounded.
	His skin was gray. His back was scarred, and an arrow stuck out. Groaning once more, the man reached and grabbed the arrow with his dirty hand, and pulled the arrow free before collapsing on the ground.
	Henrik wanted to leave and tell someone, but found himself walking towards the person. He noticed that the hole from which the arrow came out was bleeding very little, if at all, but there was dried blood all over him. He wondered if he had died or passed out. As he got close, his thought was answered, as the man turned over and stretched out his arm, holding a long dagger. “Stay back,” he said with a voice that half felt like a whisper, “I’ll kill you and your comrades yet.”
	Jumping back and stumbling, Henrik stuttered a few times before he could say a proper response. “I.. I’ve done nothing to you, sir. I’m not with whoever hurt you… I was just hunting here, around Vilatz. We’re very close, I think I can help you.” He tried to inch closer again but the man hissed and he stopped. Standing there, he looked at the fallen man.
	There were even nastier scars on his chest, especially one over his heart. It felt deep. He had necklace around him, a silver medallion held by tiny silver chains. His face was sharp, as gray as the rest of him. His hair was black and thin, and rather long.
	“As a test of trust, I will allow you to help me stand up.” He lowered his guard, and finally allowed Henrik to approach him and put his arm around him. And Henrik, after all this time, finally noticed the smell. He gasped. It was rancid. And, picking up the stranger, his skin felt like clay. This was no ordinary wounded person one might find in the woods. This one felt like he was dead, and had been for a while now. But yet he moved, and talked, and breathed, or at least seemed to.
	“Please let me treat your wound, sir.”
	“No. No need.”
	“Then let me carry you to Vilatz to be healed.”
	“I will carry myself. You’ve done all I need of you.”
	“Then please tell me your name.”
	He paused. “I wish I remembered.” Pushing Henrik away, he stumbled a bit, but caught himself, and, recovering rather fast, began to run off, knife in hand.

	The world around him felt unreal after the encounter with the decaying stranger. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but he had a new idea as to what the horsemen were seeking, and reckoned that this small old village was about to be shaken up. He didn't know if he should tell anyone, but felt it would come up very soon. He also felt sick. The stench, though gone, and the feel of that man's skin, haunted him as he finally came home to stash his things. He heard commotion outside before coming in, and wanted to see for himself what the visitors on horses had to say, and if the other visitor would be brought up.