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xp_logsSettled into their lodgings on the Isle of Man, the members of eXcalibur are interrupted during breakfast by the arrival of subject matter expert Jono and special guest Paige.
The B&B they'd found took the breakfast component seriously. Upon entering the guest lounge one was confronted with chafers full of serious proteins like blood pudding, rashers of bacon, scrambled egg, and smoked kipper. An industrial-grade toaster stood ready to brown any of the locally baked bread one might be inclined to try, and there was a healthy assortment of spreadables on hand. Lighter offerings like fruit, porridge, and yogurt cups had been made available for the faint of heart, but this was a farmstay, and as such the only dietary requirement was "sustaining."
It was popular lodging for those seeking a quality agritourism experience on a budget, the landlady had explained, although its distance from major urban centers meant it was perhaps not the most convenient to access. Not, she had remarked as she looked upon the particular assemblage of travelers she had signed in, that she expected they were here for a taste of Manx country life. Upon handing over their keys, her first question had been: "So, are you here for a podcast?"
Jono noticed the landlady as he and Paige walked into the B&B. He quickly pulled the lightwriter out his pocket so he could type. "Excuse us ma'am? We're here to meet a group of our friends? Tall arsehole type with pointy ears, kindly American with wings, a woman with pink hair and a blonde? Would it be possible to show us where they are?"
The landlady's lack of reaction to either the lightwriter or Jono's bandages were a sure sign she had been told to expect them. The amused smile that spread across her face, however, indicated she'd had enough contact with Namor that she didn't precisely disagree with certain aspects of Jono's description.
"So you're the other two for breakfast? That way, then," the woman said, gesturing towards the lounge. She gave Paige a brief nod of acknowledgement. "Help yourselves. I'll be back later to clear off whatever's left."
“Thank you,” Paige said to the woman. She took Jono by the arm and steered him over to the group. “I’m assuming all that talk about metals and stuff on the way up here was practice for whatever you need to tell them?” she asked Jono, trying to head off whatever annoyed comments about Namor he would surely make.
Jono rolled his eyes. "No. It was not. They should already know that the mooinjer veggey, fae, little people, whatever you want to call them are weak to cold iron. You're the stubborn one who thinks we're pulling an elaborate bit and that I need to warn."
It was the tall arsehole they heard first.
"Do not presume to lecture me on strategy," he warned the group of Excalibur members assembled around what had earlier been a quaint breakfast spread. "I am here, Prince of the Ocean, King of Atlantis, to close a door left opened."
Plates and teacups sat scattered between blinking tablets and far stranger looking devices. Around the circular table sat the aforementioned pink haired Megan Gwynn, the blonde Meggan Szardos, and the red-winged Jay Guthrie. Namor stood, imperiously disgruntled.
"Yet I am told we do not know where this door is and that our diviners," Namor gestured widely to the tech on the table, "prove useless. We must act before this breach worsens."
“You just have to give them a little bit more time,” Meggan surmised. Their stuff wasn’t exactly useless in other situations, so she wasn't going to count them out now. Maybe it just wasn’t the correct setting for this variety.
She shook her head. “This breach just isn’t making itself as loud as others. Doesn't it make sense that not all of them would feel up to causing something to combust melodramatically from a great big rush of energies converging?”
Pixie, perched comfortably with a steaming cup of tea in her hands, piped up. "Meggan’s right. Not every portal is as loud as a screaming banshee. We should be listening for whispers and stories, looking for signs and old paths. If we ask the right questions of the locals, we might not need all this," she gestured to the tablets and devices.
Jay was new to all of this, so he didn't have much of an opinion on the diviners. But he did know their wormhole back home. "It might sing like our gal back home," he mused. "And ain't that a thing in fairy stories? People getting off track from hearing music?" He took a sip of tea. "I think Pixie's right, I don't know if we'll need them fancy things if we use our ears."
Namor did not answer. Instead, he turned to fix his attention on the room's adjoining antechamber.
"Jonothan Starsmore. Paige Guthrie. We invite you to join us as guests, given the recommendation of our newest junior member." This welcome was wholly unnecessary, of course, but was delivered as a matter of propriety. Namor's gaze did flicker over to Jay, and lingered for just enough time and pointed eyebrow choreography to imply that these two were the singer's responsibility.
The Atlantean waited only a moment before returning back to business. "Tales are not truth itself, so let us exercise caution against any assumption."
Meggan had read something similar. “And then forgetting you were supposed to be where the family was if someone got lured off after following it,” she agreed with Jay. Or fell head first into a fairy ring, but she really hoped it wasn’t happening. There had to be a kernel of truth in those stories, even if not everything was to be trusted. “Welcome to everything,” she smiled brightly at the two, despite that particular manner with starting introductions.
Paige walked over and wrapped her brother in a hug. “More fairy tales? Can’t seem to escape them here.” It was entertaining listening to Jono talk about the stories he liked, but she wasn’t sure she could handle a room full of people doing it.
Jono sighed internally. “You didn’t listen to a thing I said on the way here, did you?” Turning to address the group he added. “Thank you for the invitation. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Jay met Namor's gaze with a small nod, recognizing that his sister and Jono were on his plate today. And recognizing that he would listen to Namor as commander — and do his best to make Paige do the same (he didn't worry as much about Jono).
"Fairy tales is what we're here investigatin', Paigey," Jay pointed out to his sister, but moved down on the bench he was sitting at to make room for the other two before turning his attention back to the more senior members of the group.
"Fairy tales – hopefully ones that will lead us to a breach. Just a day of fieldwork in eXcalibur," Pixie said with an encouraging smile. She knew by now to expect the unexpected. They could only do their best and trust that their training and preparation would see them through any shenanigans the Isle of Man had in store.
"Then we are settled," Namor announced. "Pixie and Meggan shall interview these locals concerning their legends with Mister Starsmore as consult. Jay will shadow. We learn where those who have disappeared were last seen and find this tear. Moreover, both our guests and their keeper will respect all commands issued in the field." Mainly his own, given Namor's tone.
He clapped his hands. "Let us not waste daylight."
***
The team spend the afternoon canvasing the town, but split up as the location of the dimensional tear is narrowed based on what stories they can gather. The group splits – Paige heading back by herself, then Jay and Jono, leaving only Namor, Meggan, and Pixie to investigate the tear.
Late afternoon sun warred with January chill, and lost.
In the summer the trees on either bank would have been a riot of green. Now, however, the winter had stripped them of all foliage, leaving only a vault of naked branches stretching across a bridge so small it was barely a bridge at all. There was a creek, and at some point in history someone had decided the creek needed to be crossed. Ancient stones had been slotted together to form an arch, and more piled above it to create passage from one bank to the other. It looked to be older than the road it connected. The only flash of color was the wind catching upon a green ribbon that had been tied to a bough.
A small white sign, weathered but clearly legible, declared: "FAIRY BRIDGE".
Paige had grown bored of the talk about fairies pretty quickly. Mythology and stories were more Jono and Jay's thing. So, to blow off some energy, she had decided to take a walk. The town was nice and the weather wasn't too bad, almost refreshing, and it had helped calm her frustration after listening to a group of people talk about fairies as if they were real. Paige pulled out her phone to text her brother and friend to ask if they were almost done with business, walking down the path to a nice bridge that offered a view of the creek.
As she put her phone back in her pocket and went to step off the bridge, a voice cried out behind her: “A wench who thinkest h'rself above h'r station shall find h'rself put to rights und'rground.”
Turning to see who had the audacity to call her a wench, Paige saw strange figures on horseback with dogs running ahead of them. Since when did people ride horses through town? Before she could make sense of it, a handful of dust was thrown in her face and the world quickly began to fade away.
***
"They named this island honestly."
This was a pronouncement only for two people, but Namor might claim that a good king learnt to speak to one or many with equal courtly grace. The figures present, Atlantean included, were neither currently in a court or looking for smalltalk, but the day spent both surveying for interdimensional readings and canvassing for local knowledge had left them standing in a field no further along in diagnosing this dimensional tear.
"Man-'kind' is foolish nonsense," he continued. "Best to drop what is so rarely true."
Pixie, tired after a long day of searching and concerned by the mist now rolling in over the field, snapped her attention back to Namor’s declaration with a mix of exasperation and amusement.
"Isle of Man-I-Wish-I-Knew-What-I-Was-Doing. Jono and Jay are probably sitting in some cozy pub in town right now, while we're out here getting wet in the fog." She sighed in frustration and shook the moisture off her iridescent wings. "I thought I might have some . . . instinct that might help guide me. I guess I was wrong."
Meggan wondered how much water they would all end up wringing out of their clothes by the end of their tenure here. A pub with a warm fireplace would be great just about now. She also wanted to console Pixie. She didn’t want her to feel bad for the lack of an internal guidance system. “That’s not your fault at all. It did seem possible,” she softly assured her.
Namor turned to the two and his mouth formed into a tight line. "Nonsense. Pixie, your instincts and knowledge of local customs have led us here." He gestured broadly, encompassing the field. "We will not allow any under our command to indulge in self depreciation – a pastime for old men and failures." He paused, surveying the field for something, anything, of note. "It is clear why most disappearances are tied to this inhospitable near-bog. If I were leading a military endeavor here, that treeline would provide ideal for flanking maneuvers."
Pixie followed his gaze to the treeline, her wings twitching as unease crept up her spine. "Hey guys . . . tell me that's just swirling mist?" She narrowed her black eyes. "Mist that's, you know, moving against the wind?"
Meggan turned to study the direction she had indicated, and found that she had to agree with her friend. That wasn’t just some trick of the light, it was truly moving against the direction it was meant to go. Something just felt wrong about it, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. “It’s definitely going the wrong way. yeah. That’s — very weird.” Could it be a manifestation of the portal they sought?
"I deem it excellent," Namor said with sudden, anticipatory interest. Any remnants of his previous philosophic waxing were replaced by a keen alertness peppered with wariness. "Finally, an escalation."
As the three stood there, the small differences between the field and the surrounding woodland grew more noticeable. Between the swirly mist – growing, by the minute — the outline of a trodden line in the grass created a rough perimeter where nothing else moved. No blade of grass twitched, despite the breeze that ruffled the Irish woodland beyond and did not touch the fog. There was no sound of wildlife, no motion of insects in their field.
"Note above," the Atlantean advised as he bent forward to roll up the pants covering his wings. It took only a few breaths to see how the shadows cast onto the forest by the cloud-crossed sun seemed out of sync with the drench of sunlight that was briefly covering the field. A few seconds out of sync. His eyes narrowed. "Ready the equipment. I do not trust this."
Pixie's fingers brushed the hilt of her Soul Dagger. Was that the portal or were they under attack? Her scanner’s display flickered with faint, erratic readings. Maybe it was both. "The energy feels . . . muffled, like it’s trying to stay quiet. But there’s definitely something there."
Meggan looked down at her gear; like Pixie’s, it was faint for an instant, but now it was beginning to start flashing more insistently. They might not be able to see anything right now, but something was definitely present.
“The walls between dimensions are definitely the thinnest just over there; the readings are pinging like wild,” Meggan confirmed. She shook her head as she studied the area; it felt to her like something both was and was not there at the same time; it was an unnerving sensation. It was difficult to determine what, exactly, even with her empathy, sliding away even as she concentrated.
The erratic mist, now reaching over waist-high, did not move to blanket the ground. It instead reached tendril fingers toward the figures in the center of the clearing. If the three had brought one of Molly's drones, they might marvel at how they stood in the middle of a perfectly formed circle. Or how the shapes carved the fog were oddly reminiscent of ghostly, not-quite horses. Or how the air was filled with a sharp scent reminiscent of a first snowfall.
Instead, Namor blinked against the growing haze at the edges of his vision. He could feel himself only growing content. Drowsy. The world softening at the edges, like the caress of a whisper just close enough for only him to hear.
The (once) King of Atlantis shook his head, distrustful, and turned sharply toward his compatriots only to witness a handsome green-clad rider emerge from nowhere. No, not one. A host. The keening sounds of their hounds cut through the unnatural silence that had filled the space.
Then, darkness.
***
Jay was singing quietly, a song that Jono had shown him, when the fog started to get even thicker. Jay was sure he would be able to get back to town — he had a good sense of direction, maybe a bird thing — but it was hard to see two feet in front of him. He interrupted his singing to talk to Jono.
"You comfortable with puttin' your brights on a bit?" He asked, referring to Jono's fire. It might help light the way some.
Jono fought with himself internally for a moment before taking a step away from Jay. Once he felt he was a safe distance away from the other man and what he imagined were very flammable feathers, he tugged down his scarf a bit, letting the flames and subsequently the light out. "Better?"
"Yes, thank — " Jay interrupted himself at the sight before them, revealed by the flickering flame of Jono's light.
There was a hunting party on what was, for lack of better description, horses. The party was clad all in rich green, red hats on their heads. Their . . . Dogs? . . . Snarled at the pair.
Where had they come from?
“Fuck.” Jono thought, just to Jay, stepping closer again to make sure the other man heard him. “Follow my lead? I can probably get them to at the very least not kill and eat us.”
"Okay," Jay thought as loudly as he could in Jono's general direction and hoped the other man could hear him.
The horses looked like they had carnivore's teeth.
And then the dust came in.
The B&B they'd found took the breakfast component seriously. Upon entering the guest lounge one was confronted with chafers full of serious proteins like blood pudding, rashers of bacon, scrambled egg, and smoked kipper. An industrial-grade toaster stood ready to brown any of the locally baked bread one might be inclined to try, and there was a healthy assortment of spreadables on hand. Lighter offerings like fruit, porridge, and yogurt cups had been made available for the faint of heart, but this was a farmstay, and as such the only dietary requirement was "sustaining."
It was popular lodging for those seeking a quality agritourism experience on a budget, the landlady had explained, although its distance from major urban centers meant it was perhaps not the most convenient to access. Not, she had remarked as she looked upon the particular assemblage of travelers she had signed in, that she expected they were here for a taste of Manx country life. Upon handing over their keys, her first question had been: "So, are you here for a podcast?"
Jono noticed the landlady as he and Paige walked into the B&B. He quickly pulled the lightwriter out his pocket so he could type. "Excuse us ma'am? We're here to meet a group of our friends? Tall arsehole type with pointy ears, kindly American with wings, a woman with pink hair and a blonde? Would it be possible to show us where they are?"
The landlady's lack of reaction to either the lightwriter or Jono's bandages were a sure sign she had been told to expect them. The amused smile that spread across her face, however, indicated she'd had enough contact with Namor that she didn't precisely disagree with certain aspects of Jono's description.
"So you're the other two for breakfast? That way, then," the woman said, gesturing towards the lounge. She gave Paige a brief nod of acknowledgement. "Help yourselves. I'll be back later to clear off whatever's left."
“Thank you,” Paige said to the woman. She took Jono by the arm and steered him over to the group. “I’m assuming all that talk about metals and stuff on the way up here was practice for whatever you need to tell them?” she asked Jono, trying to head off whatever annoyed comments about Namor he would surely make.
Jono rolled his eyes. "No. It was not. They should already know that the mooinjer veggey, fae, little people, whatever you want to call them are weak to cold iron. You're the stubborn one who thinks we're pulling an elaborate bit and that I need to warn."
It was the tall arsehole they heard first.
"Do not presume to lecture me on strategy," he warned the group of Excalibur members assembled around what had earlier been a quaint breakfast spread. "I am here, Prince of the Ocean, King of Atlantis, to close a door left opened."
Plates and teacups sat scattered between blinking tablets and far stranger looking devices. Around the circular table sat the aforementioned pink haired Megan Gwynn, the blonde Meggan Szardos, and the red-winged Jay Guthrie. Namor stood, imperiously disgruntled.
"Yet I am told we do not know where this door is and that our diviners," Namor gestured widely to the tech on the table, "prove useless. We must act before this breach worsens."
“You just have to give them a little bit more time,” Meggan surmised. Their stuff wasn’t exactly useless in other situations, so she wasn't going to count them out now. Maybe it just wasn’t the correct setting for this variety.
She shook her head. “This breach just isn’t making itself as loud as others. Doesn't it make sense that not all of them would feel up to causing something to combust melodramatically from a great big rush of energies converging?”
Pixie, perched comfortably with a steaming cup of tea in her hands, piped up. "Meggan’s right. Not every portal is as loud as a screaming banshee. We should be listening for whispers and stories, looking for signs and old paths. If we ask the right questions of the locals, we might not need all this," she gestured to the tablets and devices.
Jay was new to all of this, so he didn't have much of an opinion on the diviners. But he did know their wormhole back home. "It might sing like our gal back home," he mused. "And ain't that a thing in fairy stories? People getting off track from hearing music?" He took a sip of tea. "I think Pixie's right, I don't know if we'll need them fancy things if we use our ears."
Namor did not answer. Instead, he turned to fix his attention on the room's adjoining antechamber.
"Jonothan Starsmore. Paige Guthrie. We invite you to join us as guests, given the recommendation of our newest junior member." This welcome was wholly unnecessary, of course, but was delivered as a matter of propriety. Namor's gaze did flicker over to Jay, and lingered for just enough time and pointed eyebrow choreography to imply that these two were the singer's responsibility.
The Atlantean waited only a moment before returning back to business. "Tales are not truth itself, so let us exercise caution against any assumption."
Meggan had read something similar. “And then forgetting you were supposed to be where the family was if someone got lured off after following it,” she agreed with Jay. Or fell head first into a fairy ring, but she really hoped it wasn’t happening. There had to be a kernel of truth in those stories, even if not everything was to be trusted. “Welcome to everything,” she smiled brightly at the two, despite that particular manner with starting introductions.
Paige walked over and wrapped her brother in a hug. “More fairy tales? Can’t seem to escape them here.” It was entertaining listening to Jono talk about the stories he liked, but she wasn’t sure she could handle a room full of people doing it.
Jono sighed internally. “You didn’t listen to a thing I said on the way here, did you?” Turning to address the group he added. “Thank you for the invitation. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Jay met Namor's gaze with a small nod, recognizing that his sister and Jono were on his plate today. And recognizing that he would listen to Namor as commander — and do his best to make Paige do the same (he didn't worry as much about Jono).
"Fairy tales is what we're here investigatin', Paigey," Jay pointed out to his sister, but moved down on the bench he was sitting at to make room for the other two before turning his attention back to the more senior members of the group.
"Fairy tales – hopefully ones that will lead us to a breach. Just a day of fieldwork in eXcalibur," Pixie said with an encouraging smile. She knew by now to expect the unexpected. They could only do their best and trust that their training and preparation would see them through any shenanigans the Isle of Man had in store.
"Then we are settled," Namor announced. "Pixie and Meggan shall interview these locals concerning their legends with Mister Starsmore as consult. Jay will shadow. We learn where those who have disappeared were last seen and find this tear. Moreover, both our guests and their keeper will respect all commands issued in the field." Mainly his own, given Namor's tone.
He clapped his hands. "Let us not waste daylight."
***
The team spend the afternoon canvasing the town, but split up as the location of the dimensional tear is narrowed based on what stories they can gather. The group splits – Paige heading back by herself, then Jay and Jono, leaving only Namor, Meggan, and Pixie to investigate the tear.
Late afternoon sun warred with January chill, and lost.
In the summer the trees on either bank would have been a riot of green. Now, however, the winter had stripped them of all foliage, leaving only a vault of naked branches stretching across a bridge so small it was barely a bridge at all. There was a creek, and at some point in history someone had decided the creek needed to be crossed. Ancient stones had been slotted together to form an arch, and more piled above it to create passage from one bank to the other. It looked to be older than the road it connected. The only flash of color was the wind catching upon a green ribbon that had been tied to a bough.
A small white sign, weathered but clearly legible, declared: "FAIRY BRIDGE".
Paige had grown bored of the talk about fairies pretty quickly. Mythology and stories were more Jono and Jay's thing. So, to blow off some energy, she had decided to take a walk. The town was nice and the weather wasn't too bad, almost refreshing, and it had helped calm her frustration after listening to a group of people talk about fairies as if they were real. Paige pulled out her phone to text her brother and friend to ask if they were almost done with business, walking down the path to a nice bridge that offered a view of the creek.
As she put her phone back in her pocket and went to step off the bridge, a voice cried out behind her: “A wench who thinkest h'rself above h'r station shall find h'rself put to rights und'rground.”
Turning to see who had the audacity to call her a wench, Paige saw strange figures on horseback with dogs running ahead of them. Since when did people ride horses through town? Before she could make sense of it, a handful of dust was thrown in her face and the world quickly began to fade away.
***
"They named this island honestly."
This was a pronouncement only for two people, but Namor might claim that a good king learnt to speak to one or many with equal courtly grace. The figures present, Atlantean included, were neither currently in a court or looking for smalltalk, but the day spent both surveying for interdimensional readings and canvassing for local knowledge had left them standing in a field no further along in diagnosing this dimensional tear.
"Man-'kind' is foolish nonsense," he continued. "Best to drop what is so rarely true."
Pixie, tired after a long day of searching and concerned by the mist now rolling in over the field, snapped her attention back to Namor’s declaration with a mix of exasperation and amusement.
"Isle of Man-I-Wish-I-Knew-What-I-Was-Doing. Jono and Jay are probably sitting in some cozy pub in town right now, while we're out here getting wet in the fog." She sighed in frustration and shook the moisture off her iridescent wings. "I thought I might have some . . . instinct that might help guide me. I guess I was wrong."
Meggan wondered how much water they would all end up wringing out of their clothes by the end of their tenure here. A pub with a warm fireplace would be great just about now. She also wanted to console Pixie. She didn’t want her to feel bad for the lack of an internal guidance system. “That’s not your fault at all. It did seem possible,” she softly assured her.
Namor turned to the two and his mouth formed into a tight line. "Nonsense. Pixie, your instincts and knowledge of local customs have led us here." He gestured broadly, encompassing the field. "We will not allow any under our command to indulge in self depreciation – a pastime for old men and failures." He paused, surveying the field for something, anything, of note. "It is clear why most disappearances are tied to this inhospitable near-bog. If I were leading a military endeavor here, that treeline would provide ideal for flanking maneuvers."
Pixie followed his gaze to the treeline, her wings twitching as unease crept up her spine. "Hey guys . . . tell me that's just swirling mist?" She narrowed her black eyes. "Mist that's, you know, moving against the wind?"
Meggan turned to study the direction she had indicated, and found that she had to agree with her friend. That wasn’t just some trick of the light, it was truly moving against the direction it was meant to go. Something just felt wrong about it, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. “It’s definitely going the wrong way. yeah. That’s — very weird.” Could it be a manifestation of the portal they sought?
"I deem it excellent," Namor said with sudden, anticipatory interest. Any remnants of his previous philosophic waxing were replaced by a keen alertness peppered with wariness. "Finally, an escalation."
As the three stood there, the small differences between the field and the surrounding woodland grew more noticeable. Between the swirly mist – growing, by the minute — the outline of a trodden line in the grass created a rough perimeter where nothing else moved. No blade of grass twitched, despite the breeze that ruffled the Irish woodland beyond and did not touch the fog. There was no sound of wildlife, no motion of insects in their field.
"Note above," the Atlantean advised as he bent forward to roll up the pants covering his wings. It took only a few breaths to see how the shadows cast onto the forest by the cloud-crossed sun seemed out of sync with the drench of sunlight that was briefly covering the field. A few seconds out of sync. His eyes narrowed. "Ready the equipment. I do not trust this."
Pixie's fingers brushed the hilt of her Soul Dagger. Was that the portal or were they under attack? Her scanner’s display flickered with faint, erratic readings. Maybe it was both. "The energy feels . . . muffled, like it’s trying to stay quiet. But there’s definitely something there."
Meggan looked down at her gear; like Pixie’s, it was faint for an instant, but now it was beginning to start flashing more insistently. They might not be able to see anything right now, but something was definitely present.
“The walls between dimensions are definitely the thinnest just over there; the readings are pinging like wild,” Meggan confirmed. She shook her head as she studied the area; it felt to her like something both was and was not there at the same time; it was an unnerving sensation. It was difficult to determine what, exactly, even with her empathy, sliding away even as she concentrated.
The erratic mist, now reaching over waist-high, did not move to blanket the ground. It instead reached tendril fingers toward the figures in the center of the clearing. If the three had brought one of Molly's drones, they might marvel at how they stood in the middle of a perfectly formed circle. Or how the shapes carved the fog were oddly reminiscent of ghostly, not-quite horses. Or how the air was filled with a sharp scent reminiscent of a first snowfall.
Instead, Namor blinked against the growing haze at the edges of his vision. He could feel himself only growing content. Drowsy. The world softening at the edges, like the caress of a whisper just close enough for only him to hear.
The (once) King of Atlantis shook his head, distrustful, and turned sharply toward his compatriots only to witness a handsome green-clad rider emerge from nowhere. No, not one. A host. The keening sounds of their hounds cut through the unnatural silence that had filled the space.
Then, darkness.
***
Jay was singing quietly, a song that Jono had shown him, when the fog started to get even thicker. Jay was sure he would be able to get back to town — he had a good sense of direction, maybe a bird thing — but it was hard to see two feet in front of him. He interrupted his singing to talk to Jono.
"You comfortable with puttin' your brights on a bit?" He asked, referring to Jono's fire. It might help light the way some.
Jono fought with himself internally for a moment before taking a step away from Jay. Once he felt he was a safe distance away from the other man and what he imagined were very flammable feathers, he tugged down his scarf a bit, letting the flames and subsequently the light out. "Better?"
"Yes, thank — " Jay interrupted himself at the sight before them, revealed by the flickering flame of Jono's light.
There was a hunting party on what was, for lack of better description, horses. The party was clad all in rich green, red hats on their heads. Their . . . Dogs? . . . Snarled at the pair.
Where had they come from?
“Fuck.” Jono thought, just to Jay, stepping closer again to make sure the other man heard him. “Follow my lead? I can probably get them to at the very least not kill and eat us.”
"Okay," Jay thought as loudly as he could in Jono's general direction and hoped the other man could hear him.
The horses looked like they had carnivore's teeth.
And then the dust came in.
