The light in your nightmares

Dirty fingernails scrape the skin of his blue thumb.

A few larvae nestled in his flesh are shredded at the same time as pieces of skin fall at his feet.

He continues scratching unfazed. He is in a terrible mood.

And his eyes. His blue eyes stare at its prey through the foliage.

He ignores his warriors.

They are incapable, weak.

These two were supposed to bring back two heads but came back empty-handed.

He smiles into the void.

As he follows with his gaze the traveler who has planted an ax in the skull of one of his men.

They lost track of the two but not the rest.

And they are separated.

5 here and 4 others followed by 3 of his men.

Another of his warriors has gone to bring reinforcements.

You have to wait and eliminate them one by one.

Travelers must be encouraged to keep moving forward.

Erase their traces if they leave any.

So that others do not track them.

Yes.

The vegetation hides men.

Motionless, they watch.

They are on the hunt.

....

Pony is fed up.

But everyone is fed up so she takes it upon herself.

The fact is that they stopped in the middle of the forest to come to their senses and recover energy.

But Pony is full of energy. She feels the strength to run a few more kilometers while doing obstacle jumps.

Yet she is stuck here.

In a fucking swamp, under an impassive gray sky to stay put.

She would like to scream, or even fight rather than flee.

But it's not all up to her. There are others too.

If she fights alone, one against all the madmens she will lose for sure.

But convincing others to risk their lives when they can just run is selfish.

So she can only walk in circles.

She doesn't feel well. Not good at all.

She circles around those who are resting.

They are only five now that they have lost sight of the others.

They should have planned before getting out of the cabins a direction in which to go so that everyone would meet at a given point, but they didn't.

Why didn't she think of that?

Her muscles are contracted, her hands are clenched.

She feels like someone is going to pounce on her. She has the impression that she is trapped.

Her worried gaze turns to the trees, some so bent that they form a sort of arc or twist like a corkscrew.

Their large leaves which have the shape of elongated heart of spade are weighed down by the previous rain.

With each step taken in this environment, you have to clear branches and plants from your path like in a goddamn virgin forest.

They cannot see where they are going or what is around them.

Maybe she could climb a tree for a better view?

While she is like a lion in a cage, the old man looks at her while massaging his knee sitting on a moss carpet that has absorbed everything it could.

To see the little one like this drains him of even more energy.

Maybe he's crazy. Maybe he's in a nursing home, drooling, hands shaking, lying in bed.

All this, the swamp, the mine, the castle is perhaps only an hallucination produced by his brain.

He doesn't even remember who he is.

His wrinkled hands tell him he's old but not all the stories behind it.

Is he a grandfather? What has he done in his life?

With no memories, he feels like a newborn in a already dying body.

Everything seemed useless to him. Why fight to stay alive if you don't know the value of your life?

Whatever happens he will die soon.

By one of his monsters that roam the area or by his old age.

If death seems inevitable, it is acceptable.

So the old man sits, breathing in the cool, damp air.

While observing the young people around him much less resigned to let thing go.

He will try to survive and do his best but because of his mentality he isn't as worried as the younger people around him.

The man next to him runs his hand over his striped suit . More to wipe his sweaty hands than to flatten the few folds of the fabric.

And then On a second thought he takes off the jacket and puts it on the ground to then sit on it.

His purple-tinted lips are stuck in an eternal frozen expression. That of a polite smile, impersonal but which cannot hide his nervousness.

He is estimating his chances of survival, and the chances of survival of his group lost in the middle of nowhere.

The old man will not be of much use to them, the two young women with the bald guy can fight.

On the other hand...

He looks at his chubby hands, without calluses.. Then his gaze follows the curve of his belly underlined by his shirt.

It's a miracle that he has managed to run with clothes that stick to his skin so much.

He also seems to have sudden drops in blood pressure. Of course, he was careful not to inform others of his state of health...

He should have dressed in the clothes found in his bedroom closet in the castle.

They are only five if things were to derail, all will flee....

No. He must stay calm.

Don't just think about bad scenarios. Establish priorities. Act as a group.

He hates chaos.

The group is made up of civil, thoughtful people, and these...sick individuals don't seem very sane.

They could win.

So what should be done?

They will keep watch each in turn so that everyone can rest.

Then they have to determine their position, arm themselves, and find the lake.

Arm himself but how?

He will need a weapon that allows him a certain distance with the enemies...

Why not tie his knife to the end of a stick?

He could cut strips of fabric out of his jacket to tie it...

he nods in the air to no one but himself, satisfied.

His hand goes into his pocket but finds nothing there.

His smile freezes a little more and his chin trembles under his ascertainment.

His pocket is empty.

he tries in the other but finds nothing.

His heart is pounding, he tries to keep calm.

He searches in his bag, the one that contains the things found in their cabin.

But still no knife.

Obliged to surrender to the obvious, he looks at his companions, dropping the smile that he has kept for so long on his face.

Has he lost his knife? Did he forget it somewhere? or has someone stolen it from him?

The woman in her long dress smiles at him when their eyes meet. A smile just as reserved as the one usually worn by the purple-lipped man.

He needs to calm down.

Say nothing about the fact that he is disarmed.

After all he must not forget that some in the group could have ideas... not very recommendable to pass the lake.

The man takes a deep breath, smiles back and tries to get the attention of the four people around him by clearing his throat.

His hands join in front of him.

They have to act as a group to have better chances in surviving.

Staying together and in an organized way.