Harvest 3, 855
The grimm could move like flood water in the dark forest. Creeping slowly, unseen and unheeded, until all at once his victims found themselves swept off their feet by the force of him. Lately, he didn’t bother with stealth. His prey in this world clomped across the forest floor, feet heavy and awkward. As Tuag sauntered by some of his master’s men, he took a moment to savour the fear in their eyes.
Master.
A snarl worked its way from Tuag’s chest, reverberating between the trees. The many-faced woman had snared him, but at least she had some potency — he could respect her while he hated her. The human she delegated him to, however, had all the trappings of weak mortality. Without the invisible tether the woman had left around his neck, he could have snapped the general in half. With it, the grimm became a lap dog, no better than the woman’s other pets.
The soldiers — his master’s men — attacked the village, but the tether kept him from the blood. Humans spared one another. He could smell the few lives taken from here. Could see confused faces among the ghosts that milled through the empty air, invisible to mortal eyes. Pacing back and forth along the tree line, the grimm took deep, searching breaths.
As mortal souls left the world, he would sometimes smell the faintest trace of home. The peat-and-smoke scent that underpinned their fear, blood, and pain. He ached for it. His need grew and he leaned against his tether, pushing towards the village and the bright flames of life there, ready to be snuffed out. The invisible leash held.
Frustration growing hot in his chest, Tuag howled, knowing his master would hear it. The longer his master kept him from a kill, the harder he pressed his bonds, testing them as he strained to go home. His master forbade hunting after Tuag had used one opportunity to smell as much of home as possible.
Once, they had joined a real battle, and the grimm had been set loose on the enemy. His master had needed the intervention of their mutual mistress to reign Tuag back in. His master grew more careful after that, only allowing him meals that sat so near death already that their souls barely clung to their bodies. They left too quickly to give any satisfaction, or even leave much scent of home behind.
Incomprehensible human signals came and went, and the soldiers around Tuag flowed from the tree line into the village. They wore relieved smiles, faces releasing the tension brought on by hours of waiting, many glancing over their shoulders, uncomfortable with the grimm at their back.
Tuag sat. A meal would come soon, and he would milk any shred of home from it before it slipped from his paws. Perhaps this time, he would find a way to follow them.
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