NEVEREALM, DAY 42
Something is hunting me.
The creature has made an appearance three times in the last two days. It’s the size of a polar bear. Claws. Big teeth. Armored plates. It’s intelligent, too, or it would have attacked already. The thing is studying me, trying to figure me out. I’ll admit, I’m scared. You’d have to be pretty dumb not to be afraid of it.
I’m sitting in a tree, writing this. This is where I’ll sleep tonight. Hopefully it won’t find me.
As the dawn painted the sky in pastel hues, the first rays of a distant sun streaking it with pink and blue and gold, Tabby woke from a night of fitful slumber. She sat up, slowly, her muscles sore from a second night of sleep high in the trees alongside a river as she sought sanctuary from the monster stalking her. She peered out from her perch, down through the thick layers of leaves, and a sense of unease roiled in the pit of her stomach, a primal instinct warning her of danger, imminent and certain.
She scanned the forest floor, searching for signs of movement, any hint of the creature’s presence, but saw nothing. While she remained certain it couldn’t climb – after all, she would have been dinner twice now, if it could – she’d witnessed its ability to camouflage itself against its surroundings, its chitinous armor shifting in color and pattern in chameleonesque fashion to blend in with stone, tree bark, or the forest underbrush.
The predator was down there, somewhere. Tabby felt certain of it. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her hands trembled as she reached for her knife, the comfort of its presence calming her as she prepared to move. She slung per pack over her shoulder, then made her descent in slow, deliberate motions, climbing from one branch to another until she reached a spot where the lower, stronger boughs interlaced with those of neighboring trees. Then, with a deep breath to steady herself, she leapt to a branch half a dozen paces away, parallel to the one on which she stood.
Her landing was far from graceful, her belly slamming into the thick branch, knocking the wind from her. She scrambled for purchase, her hands scrambling to seek out knots into which they could curl, but they found only rough bark. She dug her fingers into the crevices in the bark, nails biting into the tree’s flesh, and a moment of relief washed over her.
Then several things happened at once. With a loud, crackling rip, Tabby’s own weight stripped the bark from the branch, and she fell. As she plummeted, she caught a flash of movement as the beast launched itself from the nearby underbrush. She struck the ground feet first, then crumpled to the forest floor, pain lancing up her right leg, radiating from her ankle upward. Ignoring the pain, she scrabbled backward, eyes now on the predator as it raced toward her with impossible speed. It pounced as she clambered to her feet, its weight slamming into her, knocking her prone.
But like her leap from one branch to another, it miscalculated, and its own weight carried it over her. It tumbled past her, righted itself, and wheeled about to face her. It snarled as she rose to her feet, winching as she put weight on her right foot. Her hand dropped to her belt and she drew her knife. It snapped its toothy jaws at her, those long needle-like teeth glinting like ivory daggers in the morning light. A long, thick tongue lolled out from its mouth, saliva dripping from its forked tip, and Tabby heard a sizzling pop as the drool ate through the composted leaves beneath the monster’s head.
Oh, great.
She took a step away from the creature, moving sideways, and it shuffled, orienting its stance toward her. Another step and then a third, but the predator made no move toward her; those deep green eyes narrowed, its gaze never leaving her, examining her with feral intelligence.
“I’m not breakfast,” she said, forcing down the tremble that crept into her voice. She brandished the knife in one hand, but kept the other outstretched, palm open. “And I probably don’t taste like chicken.” It huffed in response, lifting its forepaw, the clawed digits – each one jointed like fingers rather than toes, short and thick – flexing and curling into a mockery of Tabby’s hand.
Tabby continued to move slowly away, edging toward a nearby tree. Her first thought was to climb back into the safety of higher boughs, but realized quickly how temporary a solution that would be. Could she outlast the hunter, surviving in the treetops until it grew too hungry or too bored to wait for its prey to return to the ground? Already she was without water, her canteen bone dry, and she had food enough for one day, two if she stretched her rations thin. How long would the brute wait? She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
Tabby sheathed her knife, then she exploded into motion. fleeing. It was certain death, she knew, to run from so quick a predator, but she saw no other choice. She sprinted through the forest, the trees rushing past her in a blur, her eyes fixed the river ahead. The creature thundered after her, crashing through the foliage and dense forest undergrowth, its terrifying speed giving the lie to its ponderous form. Searing pain shot up Tabby’s right leg with each footfall, but she pushed herself harder, muscles burning, heart racing with exertion as she sped toward the safety of the water.
She burst from the trees, scrambling across the rocky riverbank, but despite protests from her ankle she didn’t hesitate. With a desperate leap, she threw herself into the icy depths, the cold, churning water dragging her under. She struggled to keep afloat, to keep her head above the surface as the swift river spirited her away, around a bend, where she lost sight of her pursuer. She grabbed hold of a passing length of driftwood, throwing her arms over it, desperately holding on through the burbling rapids.
Like the storm, she gave herself over to the river, letting the current embrace her, guide her, carry her to safety. Some time later – she couldn’t be certain how long – river widened, deepened, calmed, and she kicked her way to the far side. She dragged herself up onto a gravel shore and rolled to her back, coughing up a mouthful of water. Her ankle screamed in anguish and frigid waters soaked her clothing, but she was alive.