Victors Quill

We didn't stop after long.

A low ridge, barely tall enough to lift us out of the muck, served as camp. The ground was solid for once, though the fog clung to it like a second skin. You could feel the weight of it—wet, quiet, and watching.

Plor dropped her pack beside a crooked tree and started kicking rocks into a ring. Calm as ever. Not even a glance behind her.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Just another night in a monster's mouth.

Does she really think this is fine?

I stood there longer than I meant to, sickles still gripped tight in both hands. The mist coiled around my ankles like a waiting tail.

She crouched by the ring and dug a pit with her bare hands. Just started scooping dirt like it was a habit, not a precaution.

"You're setting up camp?"

She didn't look up.

"Would you rather sleep standing?"

"There's a monster out there."

"Probably."

She flicked her wrist, dropping a bundle of kindling into the pit.

"Which means it probably knows its place."

Knows its place? She's too carefree about this...

She sparked some flint with her chakram. The fire caught with a sharp crack, smoke curling into the fog like it didn't want to stay.

"If it shows itself, I'll kill it."

She said that like she's ordering soup. Why do I even bother worrying?

I sat on a mossy stone near the fire, blades across my lap. The mist swirled just beyond the heat, creeping closer like it had all night to think.

Plor leaned against a tree and pulled a dented tin from her coat. She sniffed it once, then buried it in the coals.

"You're not worried even a little?"

She rolled one shoulder.

"It's fog and dirt. If the best it can do is hide in mist, it's already lost."

"What if it's waiting for us to sleep?"

"Then it dies confused."

She stretched.

"If it had a brain, it'd know I don't sleep deep."

I glanced up.

"You think it knows who you are?"

She looked at me.

Why does she look insulted that I even asked.

"If it's lived this long, it should."

She handed me the tin, still warm, filled with tough meat and sour broth. I took it without a word.

"You keep making that face. I'll start thinking you don't trust me."

"It's not like I don't trust you, just color me concerned."

"High praise."

She squatted across the fire, chewing a strip of dried root like she'd done this every day for a decade. Maybe she had.

"You're really planning to sleep out here?"

"You see a better option?"

I chewed, then muttered.

"Can't say I do."

"Didn't think so."

The mist crawled a little closer. Plor didn't even blink.

"It's just watching." She said after a while.

"Not a hunter's gaze. More so curious and quiet."

"Curious?"

"Yeah. Like it's wondering what two idiots are doing wandering through its backyard."

I think you're the only idiot in this scenario, I didn't have much of a say in this.

I kept eating, slowly, eyes locked on the fog. It didn't curl randomly. It moved with purpose. Quiet dips and rises like something breathing underneath it.

"You think it'll attack?"

She tossed a pebble into the dark. It vanished without a sound.

"If it does, good. Easier than waiting."

That's not comforting.

She pressed her hand against a nearby stone. A shimmer pulsed faintly beneath her palm before sinking out of sight.

"Trap?"

"Reminder."

"Of what?"

"That I'm always ready."

She smiled, more teeth than warmth.

I finished eating and wiped my hands on my pants. The fire cracked low between us, barely holding its shape in the mist.

"I think it's still out there."

"It is."

"What's it waiting for?"

"Maybe nothing. Maybe hoping I turn my back so it can scurry off."

She leaned back against the tree, arms crossed behind her head like she was sunbathing.

"But it won't get lucky."

The way she said it made me believe her.

The fog rose up to my knees now. I stayed close to the fire, one sickle resting in my palm. Plor hadn't moved. She looked almost bored.

"Hey," I whispered. "You asleep?"

She opened one eye.

"If I was, that'd be a stupid way to find out."

Fair enough.

"You don't think it's planning something?"

"Sure it is. Doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"Because I'll break it open if it tries."

Strangely that's pretty comforting.

"Should we take turns keeping watch?"

"No. You sleep. I'll stay up."

"You don't get tired?"

"Not like you do."

I squinted at her.

"What does that even mean?"

She just smiled, smug as always.

"Means I don't."

Great.

Then—

A movement.

Just at the edge of the firelight. A shift in the mist. A ripple like water moving around something large.

I froze.

The fog parted slightly.

And something was there.

Half-hunched. Seven feet tall, maybe more. Its body was long, limbs too lanky for a human, forearms dragging low. Its skin was pale and patterned in blotches, almost translucent in places, slick like it had been dragged from a lake.

It had no eyes. Just rows of strange bumpy slits lining the sides of a flattened snout. A twitching jaw revealed needle-thin teeth. Not a roar. Not a hiss.

Just watching.

Its legs were bent backward, tail braced low like a spring. Pads on its feet muffled its weight. It didn't sway. It didn't breathe.

It simply stood—alert, animal, waiting.

I gripped my sickle tighter.

Well, looks like it's time to run. I'm sure Plor can handle this on her own.

"It's here."

Plor didn't even look surprised.

"Good. Took it long enough."

"You're not going to—?"

"Not yet. It's not attacking."

The creature shifted slightly, and the fog curled with it. The shimmer around its form distorted as it moved, using the mist to bend light like a heat mirage.

Then it stopped again.

I squinted. Its spine curled too far back to be human. Its neck was too short. Its ribs heaved once, but it made no noise.

Plor stood slowly and tilted her head.

"I don't think it knows if we are a threat."

"What?"

"It's curious." She said again.

"Probably doesn't see people like us often."

"You mean people dumb enough to sleep next to it?"

She grinned.

"Exactly."

I didn't breathe. I barely blinked.

The creature tilted its head like it had heard something. Then, without warning, it coiled back into the mist—no steps, no sound, just a glide and a shimmer as the fog pulled it under.

Gone.

I let out a long breath.

"You think it'll come back?"

"Oh yeah." She said.

"Eventually."

"And then?"

She looked at me, grinning with all her teeth.

"Then I make us some kebabs."