The light in your nightmares

There comes a time when you have to throw yourself into the wolf's den.

Whether we want it or not.

In the same way Dust is forced to come out with Suspiscious from their hiding place to face the outside world.

There is no more rain, there is no more wind.

But the mist has lifted. it comes back circling their ankles, then from their ankles to their hips and finally from their hips to their eyes it climbs.

The further they advance, the denser the mist becomes.

So much so that the two men are reduced to holding each other by the forearm to avoid getting lost.

The boy watches his mud-covered shoes sink into the white smoke and blindly continues to move.

From time to time he and Red realize that they are wading streams and on several occasions they risked slipping into the void when they took a steeper path.

Sometimes they come across trees with trunks so strange that Dust freezes thinking he has the dark silhouette of a human being in front of him.

When Red gets off from one of them, before the boy even has time to ask him the question, he reassures him:

-From afar I can still see the shadow of the lake.

Relieved Dust smiles at his companion and the taller of the two takes back the bundle with the decapitated head to get back on the road.

The smallest of them grabs the arm of the largest and the fog hides their passage as if they were swallowed.

The forest clears up. The trees are less close to each other, which reminds Dust of the vision they had before entering this world.

The old man and the singing child.

Long-stemmed yellow flowers are crushed in their path.

A toad croaks, escaping from between the flowers and Dust's belly rumbles.

He thinks about catching the toad to eat it. But before making a move he coughs, then grimaces because the sudden movement tickles his wound and ends up thinking that a fire now is not a good idea.

Suspicious glances at him after all the noise he's made, lips puckered and eyes shining as bright as the stones from the mine still in his pocket.

The silence is interrupted by dozens, then hundreds, of crows cutting through the mist with their black wings.

The birds are overexcited. Their songs are shrill and thunderous. they fly at high speed. They are like arrows cutting through the mist.

They fly over the two humans and pass them.

The two raise their heads to observe their lips are sealed.

Everything is abnormal in this swamp, and what the crows are doing right now is another strange element in this world that knows no rest.

The walk is long and seems even longer when the landscape is nothing but mist.

But Dust is grateful to be covered by the fog because the two mens quickly realize that they are not alone...

Between the cries of the crows, they hear the cracking of branches as well as whispers.

Sometimes these human noises are too close for Dust's liking.

The two got closer to the noisy place as they slowed their pace.

With a silent mutual agreement, they scan the place before each step.

Dust's fingers are clenched on Suspicious's cold forearm as much as on the handle of his knife.

Shadows pass between the trees.

Dust's brown eyes follow them attentively.

From time to time in the distance they hear the sound of altercation, and cries full of pain.

Again the boy said to himself, the natives of this place are killing each other.

They hear them whispering to his right, to his left, in front of him, behind him.

The feeling of being surrounded does not leave him.

Neither him or the man dares to speak.

Dust controls his breathing, making it as discreet as possible.

From time to time a human figure appears in the mist, and with certainty the boy can say that these individuals are going in the same direction as him and Red.

They must be at the edge of the forest, the trees are disappearing and the mist is thinning.

A few meters away, eyes wide, muscles tense, his heart beating frantically against his ribs. He sees this famous lake.

A black surface that extends to the horizon surrounded by fog.

And along its muddy bank the natives wait motionless.

There are not just ten or twenty, no, there are more than a hundred.

and others still come, emerging from all directions of the swamp and the mist like ghosts.

Corpses already litters the place.

Dust swallows, his gaze no longer knowing where to land. His adam apple rises and falls while his throat tightens.

The tension is palpable. The black eyes of some fall like the sword of Damocles on their necks.

All are armed.

Some hold the hair of a decapitated head at their fingertips. Others hold nothing except their ax which seems ready to be used.

Some come in groups but not all.

Children, adults, old people all with a cadaverous complexion typical of the region.

Suspicious and Dust exchange a worried look.

Dust is already ready to run away, his knees buckling.

A second later, however, they heard something hit the water.

A rhythmic noise.

Everyone on the shore turns their attention to the lake.

The surface of the water which was previously frozen is broken by a weak vibration then a second.

On the horizon appears a gray spot which grows with time.

The oars cut through the waters with deadly calm.