Prepare for the unexpected.

Dangers rarely warn you of their approach—and life-threatening circumstances can occur in an instant. Preparation may not always allow you to control what happens during those unexpected moments…but it will give you control over how you react to them.

The smaller branches creaked with the weight of the shadows leaping from tree to tree. They sailed through the air, muscles working in perfect unison. The hunched bodies looked and moved more like animals now, than men—which is what they once were—thousands of years ago. The cool air invigorated their lungs, as they panted…but they slowed as they picked up the scent. The leader pierced the bark of the tree with thick claws, stopping suddenly. He sniffed the air and softly clicked its tongue. It was a signal for the party to be on alert.

Blood.

Ears perked, filtering the sounds of nature.

Eyes black as the abyss, trained to observe and locate prey in the deepest shadows, scanned the forest floor.

Another soft click of the tongue and the three descended the trees effortlessly. Silently. Long, slim, muscular shadows wrapped themselves around the trunks, using powerful claws to to grip with both hands and feet as they moved.

Their decent was so slow and controlled, it looked as if gravity had no hold upon them. Legs built for speed and endurance, arms and claws powerful enough to rend a plank to kindling. As their bodies crossed the brief slivers of direct sunlight breaking through the trees, the mis-colored skins they wore revealed stitches. Skins, claimed and worn as their prize.

The skins of their victims.

Once a bright and brilliant race, the Therrin had turned to darkness. Master hunters who now served the Dark Lord—or anyone willing to pay the price…and allow them the chase. Thule was a gracious master. A master the Therrin were eager to serve.

Slinking, across the forest floor, their pointed ears remained alert. The scurry of a jack rabbit, a chitter from a squirrel overhead. No threats. They approached the body, which was pinned against a ‘v’ shaped tree trunk. A long spear had been thrust through its stomach. This was not good.

It was one of their own.

Dried blood caked the fur-covered flesh of its belly. The trail ran over the right leg and dripped onto the forest floor where it had pooled. The corpse was covered with blowflies.

The leader knelt down slowly, shifting its head from side to side. He sniffing the surface of the corpse. The neck had been snapped, head twisted and pushed into the crevice of the trunk. Both legs broken at the thigh. Not an easy task. The femur was the largest bone in the body, surrounded by the toughest muscles of a Therrin. The attacker had been stronger.

But the scent changed.

The leader dropped down onto all fours. Like a dog, he sniffed the corpses hand…then leaned in. There was a trace of blood across the claws of the left hand.

He licked the bloody nails.

He smiled. Human blood.

The leader smiled even wider, revealing sharply filed teeth.

“What ssays you?” hissed a lesser, bobbing its powerful torso in lustful anticipation.

“Flessh,” the leader hissed back, licking the corpses hand clean of the blood with a forked tongue.

It had been too long since he had tasted the tender meat of a man, tearing the succulent muscle from bone. The soft, warm organs of disemboweled prey still alive.

He continued to sniff the corpse, stopping at the chest cavity. There were two small, almost imperceptible bumps under the leather vest. A clawed hand reached out and pulled on the right shoulder, separating the dead body from the tree. The corpse collapsed onto the ground, its back to the sky, face upward. Two broken arrow shafts jutted out from the leather jerkin. They had been snapped off less than an inch from the surface of the wound.

The leader hissed. This was not possible. One of its own, brutally killed, and only a trace of human blood on its nails? A Therrin should be doused in the blood of its enemies!

He yanked the hood of flesh from the corpse, shredding it to the dismay of the lesser.

This one had no right to wear the prize of the hunt.

The leader swayed in the breeze, heaving silently, clenching and unclenching its fists. This was not right. A master of the shadows, slain with such ease? An emotion, long forgotten, crept into the breast of the deranged beast.

Fear.

Needle teeth bit through its own tongue, drawing blood.

The darkness smiled upon them. This human—this murderer, would be prized above the skins now worn. It would lend to the power to its krekä. Its fingers lightly scraped the ground, a deep hum sounding from its chest. The two lesser bobbed up and down in a frenzy as rare magic revealed the heat from the foot prints about the body.

The murderer was not alone!

Two sets of prints, heading southwest appeared..oil and body heat blistering the soil, dripping over leaves touches and brushed against.

Off the forest path.

The shades of color showed the age of the prints. They were fresh.

Still in range.

The leader wiped the blood from its nostril slits against his arm fur, the price of tracking lore.

He hissed at the two lesser.

Then took to the trees.

****

He sighed loudly at the torn tunic.

“I told you to duck!” jeered his tall friend, towering over him. Slowing his long stride to allow the shorter warrior to catch up, he laughed, “You mastered the Dance of Death and you can’t dodge a cat’s claws?”

His brother grunted, “Therrin are faster than you think, Quiver, and slightly bigger than a cat.” He ran his fingers along the wound and winced. “Blast—it’s deep, too.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Besides, when was the last time you got into a hand to hand confrontation? You stand back and shoot little sticks at people!”

Quiver chuckled at the rise, poking his brother with the end of his longbow. “Oh HO! So that’s how it is, eh? Polearm’s the mighty warrior, but I just shoot sticks.” He laughed even louder, “Well I did enjoyed the look on its face when you snapped its forearm. I don’t think it was expecting anything after that rake across your shoulder.”

Polearm had to chuckle in turn, “Or the two arrows through the back.”

“Or the broken legs…”

“…or the spear through the stomach.”

“…OR the broken neck.”

They both laughed out loud.

Polearm shook his head in mild disgust, “We’re a couple of sicko’s, you realize that.”

Quiver slapped his brother on the back, “Compared to what?! Wearing human skins? Murdering women and children?”

Polearm shrugged…then looked at the torn tunic and sighed again.

Quiver rolled his eyes, “Oh, for crying out—”

A cluster of birds scattered over the treetops, taking to flight.

Both men dropped to their knees.

An unnatural silence descended upon the forest.

Trained feet moved through the brush without a sound, quickly repositioning behind larger foliage to conceal themselves. Quivers keen eyes scanned the woods back and forth. He forced himself to take in air silently through his nose in a controlled pattern so he could concentrate on the environment. Tall grass and saplings swayed in the breeze. No crickets. No birds. Not a single sound of nature, except the buzz of flies and mosquito’s through the grass.

He made a sign to watch the tree line, then crawled away.

Polearm pulled the cloth off his prized possession, the Shiofō. A weapon with a metal handle six feet in length. Its end-blade had a wide center knife, eighteen inches long and two curved side blades, double edged. An intimidating trident. The pole itself was wrapped with weathered cloth to provide better grip—stained and rewrapped over time. The end of the shaft had a rondel for striking, dented and dull from dedicated use. He slipped the soft cover into his belt, holding the blade low to prevent reflecting the sunlight.

In the distance, the screech of a red-tailed hawk sounded.

Polearm started to shift his weight when he heard the chick-breee, chick-breee of a scarlet tanager. The bird was perched on a low tree branch in the distance. It was the sound they made when danger was near. Peering through the high grass, he coiled, waiting…slowing his breathing to a long, silent draw through his nose. One minute passed. He watched. Two minutes. Three. Four.

And there it was.

Against the light leaf backdrop, the discolored skins stood out. A large body inched its way down the bark of a tree, staying within the shadows. It paused under a cluster of leaves and sniffed. It moved to the forest floor. Polearm watched the top of the grass in the open grove. The wind was blowing to the east. It’s going to pick up Quivers scent. I gotta take it out before it gets to him.

Just as he tensed his legs for a quick burst of speed, he heard a second scarlet tanager sounding to his left. Chick-breee, chick-breee.

Polearm lowered his shoulders. That’s too close for comfort. His eyes strained to detect the movement through the grass—something odd against the natural flow of the bending blades. Nothing. The Therrin moved further in the direction of his brother, sniffing the air, but staying low.

Then he saw the second one.

Due east, inching along like a jungle cat through the grass, pacing its prey, was a second tracker. Its focus was unmistakeable. Hunched shoulders, hips low—the whole body following the subtle sway of the head.

No! It had already picked up Quivers scent.

One tracker was challenging enough. Polearm still felt the pain in his shoulder from the last fight, but these weren’t like men. At least not the men he was used to fighting. The Therrin were obsessed with flesh. They lived for the sport of blood. That, and they had seriously long claws!

Time to move!

Bursting from his cover, Polearm bolted straight towards the tracker on Quivers scent. Planting the Shiofō into the ground, he used it to launch himself through the air.

The creature easily dodged the flying kick,…but not the followup slash of his blade. Polearm rolled up to his feet and was already spin kicking the beast a second time before it had found its bearings. His heel caught the enemy in the jaw with a loud crack.

The bloodlust was immediate.

Both Therrin could smell the blood—both from the wounded tracker and the little human with the shiny stick. Warm, pulsing blood, seeping from human wounds. The second tracker spun around and charged across the open grove. In a flash, it was jumping through the air like a serval cat—mouth open, claws spread wide.

Two arrows whistled from the cover of the forest, sinking through its left thigh and bicep. The creature screeched and landed hard in the grass, skidding to a halt.

Polearm pivoted his hips and torso just in time to deflect a powerful slash at his throat with the flat edge of his blade. Thrusting forward, he caught the creature by surprise with an elbow uppercut to the face and square shot to the groin with his boot, launching it backwards.

All he felt was solid bone.

“Polearm!” shouted Quiver, “I could use help here!!”

Twisting the Shiofō at the center of the pole, it clicked. The enemy lunged again—claws outstretched, maw open, strands of saliva and blood trailing in the wind. In one fluid motion, Polearm rolled backwards. Dropping his hips to the ground and using his momentum over his left shoulder, he caught the beast with his boots, launching it over his head. He continued the motion to his knees, then legs—spinning on the balls of his feet. He threw the detached blade of the Shiofō before his attacker had completely made contact with the ground.

The trident sailed through the air and struck the enemy in the back. All three blades sinking tot he hilt.

“You DIE flessh!” the wounded beast gurgled, dragging itself towards through the grass on its right side. Quiver’s arrow had actually pinned the beasts left arm against the ribcage. The forearm twitched wildly, blood gushing fromt he chest wound.

With a blur of movement, Polearm threw the baton section of the Shiofō. There was a ‘crack’ as the rondel impacted the Therrin’s skull…then a muffled ‘thud’ as the body collapsed into the grass.

He ran towards the tree line.

Quiver was dodging and dashing around the trunk of a tree, trying to keep the plant between himself and a third Therrin. The archer was bleeding from his chest, tunic ripped open and several deeps wounds across his face and bald head. Blood trailed across his forehead and dripped into his eyes. He was holding two long knives, which he swung wildly, but was losing ground. The Therrin was larger than the other two, foaming at the mouth and breathing unusually loud. It panted and pranced around—fixated on playing with its prey before killing.

The archer looked wide-eyed at his unarmed brother. “Get this thing OFF me, Keihä!”

Polearm had left both pieces of his Shiofō in the grove, reacting to the urgent shout. He was proficient with his fists, but not against a Therrin. He looked about wildly for something to utilize.

“USE THE BOW!” Quiver yelled, slashing frantically with his knives.

The Therrin was in a frenzy and ignored the presence of another human. Bobbing and weaving, the long, furry arms easily avoided the bite of the blades and landed another successful blow across Quiver’s left forearm. Blood sprayed as four long wounds opened in the pink flesh.

“ARRGH!” the archer yelled, dropping a knife.

The next slash ripped through the thin cloth of his tunic at his ribs. Blood soaked the cloth and dripped to the ground. The Therrin barked and snapped its teeth, excitedly.

The Longbow and quiver of arrows lay at the base of the tree, arrows scattered across the ground.

“DO IT!” Quiver screamed.

Jumping forward, Polearm snatched up the long metal bow, rolled towards the dance around the tree and sprang upward into the face of the Therrin.

Throwing his chest forward, he thrust the lower limb of the weapon upward.

Metal bit flesh and continued through the furry, bare torso of the hunter, and out the back of the multi-flesh tunic…into the bark of the tree.

The leader gurgled as the bow pierced its lungs. He lashed out wildly as the focus changed foes. Polearm fell backwards as the beast tugged at the bow. Like a beast possessed, it wiggled and snapped, pulling its body forward across the ranged weapon. But it was unable to pull itself past the grip and arrow rest. It hesitated, watching both humans. Blood fell from its mouth with each breath. Red, wide eyes filled with hatred.

Quiver picked up his knife, wiped the blades on his trousers and sheathed them. He stared at the Therrin in sheer disgust.

“I meant, use an arrow!”

The Therrin hissed, making a popping noise from deep within its chest. It continued to stare at the two men until its head sank forward, fighting off death until the last breath of life left its body.

Polearm shrugged, “You should have been more specific, then.”

He picked up a stray shaft at his feet and threw it at the corpse.

It struck the forehead, dead center.