Grim

A pitch black cloud hovered over the lonely clearing. The calm crackle of a dying flame signalled the end of the evening, as Grim crawled into the small space created by the canvas overhang. He adjusted himself until his bare paws pressed against the pine that held his shelter up. He began to wonder if anyone would miss the four men. He recalled how the first one flailed, like a fish out of water. the other three had bled out before he started on them, but the first fought. He twisted and screamed as Grim’s teeth tightened around his neck. Grim smiled, remembering how his bones snapped in his jaw, he remembered the feeling of blood and flesh filling his mouth. Grim lifted his head to check on the dying embers. On his left he could see the pile of bones that had been locked clean and tossed in a heap. Broken pieces of human life pointed to the heavens, like hands grasping for a last chance at life. Grim smiled, noticing how silly it was, how much man struggled to live after death had lain its soft, caring hands upon their souls.

Grim was like the others, he liked to hunt. But Grim was still different. Grim was stronger, he was bigger, he remembered. He remembered the days before the change, before he became Grim. He remembered their language, their mannerisms, her face.Grim liked her. She was his blood-kin before the change. His… Sister. Grim nodded. Yes. Sister, that was the word. He tried to visit her during the last bloom, and had even picked some wild flowers that grew high up on the Sky Peak. But the villagers didn't like Grim. He fled the village after they got mad and ran after him wielding shiny, pointed sticks and fire. “Demon! Creature of evil! Man-eater!” they shouted as Grim bolted into the cover of the woods. Grim remembers that day. He felt hurt. He only ate people when hey needed to. He didn't even like man-flesh. It was too stringy. Grim looked around. He could see the others. On all fours, their fur matted with blood, their tails whipping to and fro. Grim wasn’t like them because they gave up their humanity. Grim liked his humanity. But, he also liked the freedom of being the creature Grim. He liked seeing the whites of his prey’s eyes as he closed in for the final kill. He liked the fear he saw, it gave him power, it made him feel big. He was so small before, so puny. He remembered the change too. He remembered when that black mist had washed over the forest months before he even went into it. He remembered how many men had disappeared hunting in the forests, or investigating the black mist. All those men were by his side now. Garrosh, Trei, Garth, Boro, the Longvine triplets, and the men the Duke sent to bolster the guard. They each disappeared in the first week. Grim was the last. Grim was the final one. Grim knows this because after the change, Grim was hungry. Not hungry for flesh, for retribution. He spent so long chasing that unholy bitch that set the fog upon his people. He found her that night, below the blood moon, all the unholy beasts gathered around her, so submissive, so weak. It sickened him. He remembered how she smiled at him. And how that smile turned into a look of pure fear as Grim rushed her and tore her to shreds. He liked how she tasted. She tasted… Powerful….

Grim prowled through the thickets, his hind legs taut with muscle, ready to spring on the men at any moment. There were roughly 14 of them, an unusually large pack, and they were not armored like the village guard. Their steel plated armor clanked as they moved through the forest with trepidation. Grimm knew what they were here for. Him. He circled behind the men and fell back. For many hours, he followed them, silently, stealthily, watching. The path they took was an old one, used by the tribes of wildpeoples that dwelled deep within the vast canyon to the south. It lead the men through the clearing, where young children used to come and frolic in the spring sunlight. It was a dead place now, rotted by the mist. The men camped there tonight, unaware of Grim’s presence in the towering pine that overlooked the small field of wilted flowers and rotweed. Even from his perch high up in the evergreen giant, Grim could hear their words. They were words of fear and anxiousness. They spoke of the witch that cursed the woods and all that ventured into it, they spoke of the beasts that once used to men and women of the village, and they spoke of Grim. It was obvious that they were hunting him, with their sharp sticks and shiny blades.