Waxed string dug into slick fingertips. Wood creaked, wind blew branches, and all was calm; all but the lone hunter. His arms ached from the numerous failed kills. An oblivious deer was the current target, the arrow tip wavering around it’s general area. Shark’s hands shook, his breath escaping him in frantic puffs. Complete focus on the present was essential. Constantly reminding himself that it was wet grass under his knees and not damp cobblestone, however, had Shark missing many of his shots. A shift of his leg released a slight squeak from the wet ground, alerting the deer. As its head raised, the arrow released, powered more by hope than an accurate eye. It flew by with an inch or two to spare, and the animal took off. Shark lowered his arms in defeat, surrendering to the fact that they would be eating vegetable stew yet again.
Maybe the arrow’s still intact, Shark allowed himself to think. Slipping the bow, which was little more than a branch and string, over his shoulder, he trampled through the thick bushes to where the deer had been. The fledgling of the arrow was poking out of a bush, and when Shark pulled it out, it was evident it had hit something. Blood caked the head, yet there were no animals around. His hands still shaking, Shark wiped as much of the blood off as he could with the leaves of the same bush. Too tired to try again, he began the slow walk back to the airship, eyes glued to the ground, watching the plants crush under his feet.
Comrad had landed in a clearing just wide enough for the ship, the tree fitting into the rest of the forest like a missing puzzle piece. Boots caked in mud, Shark walked into the clearing to find Comrad attempting to light a fire. The sticks piled together had moss growing on them.
“The wood’s too wet to catch Com.” Shark squatted down next to Comrad, letting the bow slip down off him and into the pile.
“Don’t we need that?” Comrad questioned, picking up the bow by the string and bouncing it in his hand. His hands always seemed restless, keen to fidget.
“With my skills, or lack thereof, it’s no better than kindling anyway.” Shark’s thighs ached and he leaned back out of a squat to sit in the damp dirt. Comrad got up and walked over to the trees actually part of the forest. A rock slightly larger than his skull and flat on the top caught his eye, and he brought it over next to Shark. Sitting on that rather than the ground, he resumed striking a piece of flint with a knife over the wood. A small spark finally caught, but almost instantly went out. As he pulled back to try again, Comrad stopped when the spark bloomed back into a full flame and spread onto the rest of what used to be a bow. The heat must have dried the damp wood as it also caught. He placed the flint and knife down and leaned back, heating up by the fire. The muggy forest had won out against the late summer heat, prickling the boys’ exposed skin with goosebumps.
“I take it you left the pot on the ship.” Shark glanced back at the ship which had a rope ladder hung off of the deck.
“I was hoping for something other than soup, so yes.”
“Someone else will have to teach you to hunt, though we should avoid people until absolutely necessary.”
“Why? Is the republic that interested in finding us? What did we do anyway?” Comrad asked, the confusion brought on from the ruckus at the circus returning full force. Shark pushed himself off of the ground and approached the ship.
“I don’t know, but I’m not that interested in finding out.”, he responded, adeptly climbing the rope ladder, which after 4 years of practice had become wonderfully simple. The hatch into the belly of the ship was located about 4 feet away from the trunk of the tree, and Comrad had left it swung open. Shark’s hands dug into the wood as he lowered himself down. As if sensing him, lights turned on above him. Not that he needed them; nothing had moved in 4 years and he could easily maneuver around the ship in the dark. To his right was the engine room, thick tree roots and pipes covering the walls. In front of him, down a short hallway, stood a well used table with an iron pot sitting in the middle; they placed it there to eat out of, and had then kept it there even when empty to cover the scorch mark it had made on the wood. A few steps and cool metal was in Shark’s hands.
A short scream cried out. Fear knotted in Shark’s stomach, scraping nails down his spine. Pivoting on his heel, he ran up stairs and out of the hatch. Backlit by the fire were two shadows, and it became clear that Comrad had called out. Jumping over the side of the deck, Shark landed on the dirt and threw the pot at the bigger shadow without a thought. A gurgling grunt came out of whatever Shark had hit, the pot bouncing off and into the fire, nearly squelching out what little light they could see by. Letting his momentum carry him, Shark tackled the shadow, shoving an arm against its neck to keep it on the ground while he straddled its back, leaning all his weight down onto it.
“Comrad, are you okay?” Worry flooded Shark’s voice, a high pitched tremolo replacing his usual tone. Comrad had no visible injury, but that did little to calm Shark; Comrad’s eyes were wide, stuck on the creature beneath Shark, and his chest was trembling with each breath. Adrenaline still coursing through him, Shark looked down.
At a glance he would appear mostly humanoid, but the resemblance to that species ended at his face. Large ears jutted out from beneath a shaggy mop of knotted hair that was so caked with dirt the actual color was inscrutable. They were almost ribbed, and were much more erect and forward facing than any ears Shark had seen. The creature’s hands scraped at the ground, mindlessly trying to get away from Shark like any scared animal would.
“There’s blood all over his chest. So much blood.” As if stuck in his own world, Comrad moved to face the fire and curled in on himself. The flames had picked back up around the pot which sat upside down atop the middle of the wood.
Leaning off just enough to flip him over, Shark took a closer look at the creature. His chest was bare, and indeed covered in blood which flowed from a puncture wound in his left shoulder. Eyes, pupils so wide there was almost no white showing, were filled with fear. Shark moved his hand closer to the wound, and the pain was pushed aside by pain. A low grunt faded into a pained whimper, and Shark took a closer look at the face beneath him. Along with the obviously nonhuman ears, the boy also had an oddly upturned and squished nose. Light bounced off of something white in his mouth.
“He’s a vampire. Awesome. There’s vampires in this forest.” Shark’s words flowed right over Comrad without inciting a reaction. The boy seemed to perk up at the word vampire, and he glanced back and forth between Shark’s face and hand. Tightening his grip on the vampire’s arm, Shark leaned close to his face.
“Leave. Don’t come back.” Confusion covered the boy’s face. Shark gave him one last shove against the dirt, and then backed off of him. Leaning on his right arm, the vampire slowly rose. A few seconds of silence passed with no one moving.
“Get!” Shark shouted. The sudden loud noise made both the vampire and Comrad jump. Comrad recovered his whereabouts.
“Wait, he’s hurt. Shouldn’t we help him?” Comrad unconsciously reached toward the vampire, looking at Shark. The vampire’s only movement was in his eyes, which were frantically altering between looking at Comrad or Shark.
“With what exactly? We don’t have any medicine, any idea of how to treat wounds, or even anything to feed him. His body can’t be sustained on purely vegetables.” It was a incredibly dumb decision, one that Shark’s gut was fighting with him to shut down as fast as possible.
“He’s a natural born hunter! Once he’s better, he can hunt for himself, and maybe even teach me to hunt.” By this point Comrad had gradually inched closer to the vampire, looking solely at him. The vampire didn’t seem to understand any of the words they were saying, but the obvious kindness emanating from Comrad was easily picked up; he understood neither of the boys meant him harm, at least not directly.
“Oh yes, so we’ll just bring him to the closest town with a doctor, hope they will treat a vampire let alone know how to, and then buy meat until he’s better. Simple.” Shark couldn’t stop shaking his head at the thought of putting themselves into the public eye like that; especially after the circus.
Comrad turned to look at Shark, and caught his eyes. Maintaining eye contact, he had a look of determination that Shark couldn’t argue with.
“Please.”
Shark looked back at the vampire, which was now focused on Comrad’s outstretched hand. His want to avoid public attention and his need to support Comrad were fighting. As usual, Comrad was more important.
“Fine, but he’s sleeping out here while we’re in the ship. It isn’t safe for us to sleep out here.” Shark turned to the fire and kicked the stack, breaking apart the fire. Pushing the pot out, he covered his hand with the sleeve of his shirt before leaning down and picking up the cooling metal pot. With a single look at the vampire to convince himself that it wasn't going to attack Comrad, he walked back to the ship to start making the vegetable stew that Comrad dreaded.
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