West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
3 November 1898, 6:47 pm

The Father just wouldn't stop rambling. How proud St George was of the stained glass windows in the chapel. What a terrible story it would be that a harsh wind had probably destroyed one of those very windows weeks ago. That not far from the little village was Wistmann's Wood, a woodland of oak trees overgrown with mosses and ferns and said to be haunted.

"According to pagan legends, the Yeth Hounds of the Wild Hunt roam there. Needless to say, this is all just Ammen talk."

Kyle rubbed his temples tensely with his index and middle fingers. What did the priest know of the Otherworld? Or, for that matter, of things that were more than mere legends. Where did religion get the audacity to think that it was the only one that contained a core of truths? And that it had the right to exalt itself above all others.

His thoughts wandered off, just hanging somewhere far away so that the sudden swaying of the car caught him unawares. All at once, the car made a neat leap. His notebook slipped from his fingers and landed on the carriage floor with a thud.

"What the hell?!"

A loud crack pierced the soundscape like a rumble of thunder. As if someone had put too much tension on a bow and the wood finally cracked with a groan under the strain. Then suddenly the carriage began to tilt at an angle and Kyle slid sideways on his bench.

"Hold on!" shouted Dr. Archer. As if they hadn't done that out of reflex anyway!

They heard cursing and then harsh commands from the coachman and the shrill whinnying of the two horses from outside. The broken wheel bucked and cracked under the weight of the carriage and finally could no longer withstand the weight. It broke loudly and audibly with another crunch and the wagon sank a little lower again until the axle rod dug into the road. Earth and gravel swirled up and trailed a tail of dust behind them. Outside, the coachman tried to bring the rearing steeds and the carriage back under control so that they would not go completely off the road, injuring the horses or even causing them to roll over.

Inside, the passengers were tossed around like dolls, and out of instinct, they grabbed the leather retaining straps on the sides of their seats with the presence of mind. With a snapping sound, Kyle's strap suddenly gave way and his body jerked forward. Within a blink, Dr. Archer braced his legs against the wood of the opposite bench seat and a firm grip closed ironically around his upper arm. The carriage trundled a few feet, then swung sideways, then came to a jerking halt. Caught by the momentum, the priest fell towards them, landing with a startled yelp half on top, half between them, and together the three of them rumbled with momentum against the carriage wall.

"Are you all right?" asked Dr. Archer and only now did Kyle realize that his senses were buzzing but Benjamin was still holding his arm. He would never have thought that this stockfish had the strength and agility not only to stand upright in all this chaos but also to prevent his head from hitting the nearest window with his firm grip. Of course, Dr. Archer had once been a soldier. But only a field doctor. Now, however, the doctor's cool voice had taken on a different color that was difficult to describe. More authoritarian and at the same time stern and authoritative in a harsh way. The kind of tone a captain took on all by himself as soon as the situation tipped, aware of the responsibility over life and death.

"Kyle."

Kyle blinked and only now realized he had been staring at Dr. Archer like an idiot.

"I asked if you were hurt." Involuntarily, Dr. Archer's brows had contracted and slid upwards as he fixed the younger Seeker, trying to fathom what might be going on in his slant-wound mind.

"Y-yes." huffed Kyle. Only then did the fingers around his upper arm loosen and release him from the firm but secure grip. "You're gripping like a vice." With a furrowed brow he rubbed over the spot as the doctor reached out to help the priest up. "Be careful with him, don't let them break the poor man's arm."

A look like a poison bullet flew at him.

"Are you all right, Father?" asked Dr. Archer, scrutinizing the black-robed fellow traveler. The light from the remaining flickering lantern, for the second, had gone out and fell over the doctor's auburn hair. As if it were trying in vain to catch fire. The wavering light made the scene even more restless and chaotic. Hats, coats, and Kyle's walking stick lay jumbled in the small trolley, the priest's Bible had also fallen. Now he clung to his rosary and nodded a little stiffly. Kyle could see, even in the dim light, that his features were unhealthily pale. Shock was written all over his face.

Dr. Archer eyed the man closely. His eyes scanned the padre's forehead, slid lower, and latched onto his neck where the uneasy pulse throbbed at the edge of his collar.

"Stay in the car." he finally instructed him. Calmly and directly. For the first time, he didn't just seem arrogant to Kyle, but surprisingly capable. There was something grounded about him. His fingers wrapped around the handle of the carriage door and pushed it open with a jerk. At an angle, he could only open the door a crack, then it hit the wet floor with a wooden sound. If he had pushed harder, it would have warped even more or even jammed. For this reason, the doctor's figure cautiously squeezed through the gap into the cold, misty night.

There was a smacking sound as Dr. Archer stepped around the carriage outside. Kyle fumbled for his notebook on the floor of the carriage and exhaled in relief when his fingers found the small leather book. He picked it up, hastily gathered the note sheets that had slipped out, and nimbly moved it to safety in the inside pocket of his jacket. If the priest saw what was written in it, he might think he was a demon worshipper. The priest, however, seemed to have quite different worries at the moment. He sat more or less upright on his sloping seat cushion and seemed overwhelmed by the situation. Little beads of sweat stood on his forehead. Kyle felt a little sorry for the poor guy. Dr. Archer was right when he said he should rather stay here for the time being to collect himself.

"I'll see if I can help."

Kyle now slipped through the open crack of the door as well. Cold night air, interspersed with the damp clammy wetness of haze and rain-drenched days settled around him immediately. Jumping down from the sloping footboard, he sank into the muddy ground. For a moment he paused, staring at his feet amidst mountains of brown mud. His boots sank into the mud up to his ankles. Fortunately, he had the presence of mind not to put on his fine shoes today. With a resigned sigh, he pulled his footwear out of the mire of the road. Fog billowed its agitated waves around the vehicle, billowing around them like ghosts.

"What happened?" asked Kyle as he took a cursory look at the mess the carriage had made as it passed. The problem was not hard to guess and even less to miss.

"The bloody wheel's broken." the coachman rumbled as he and Dr. Archer steadied the horses, which pranced nervously and upset back and forth in front of the wagon. A smacking and soft panting behind them revealed that the priest seemed to want to be even less alone in the carriage than out here.

"H-Hey does that mean we're stuck here?!" he groaned breathlessly, sounding like he was getting gasps just thinking about it. Kyle saw the man's head dart back and forth as he stared into the veil of mist. Someone was a little skittish in dark woods, it seemed. Hadn't he been so insistent before that all the stories and tales were just that - tales? Gossip and falsehood? But even Kyle had to admit that the thought of spending the night here made him anything but comfortable.

The coachman snorted contemptuously as if it were a completely outlandish idea. He shook his head and threw the tippet of his coachman's coat over his shoulders so that they would not interfere with him, while he undid the hook fastening under the coachman's seat and pulled out a leather bag that clanked metallically. »No. There's a spare wheel under the carriage.« he explained unnervingly, tapping the horse's flank.

"Fortunately, it doesn't seem to be stuck. The axle isn't broken either." He remarked with a sideways glance at the broken wagon wheel. At least what was left of it, and the rod of the axle hanging in the dirt. It had dug into the earth like a plow and made a deep, trundling furrow in the road. Then the coachman's gaze flew to the priest and the groomed gentleman. "You don't exactly look like you could help with the lifting," he added, and Kyle did not at all fail to notice that Dr. Archer did not disagree. While he was still considering whether to add this subliminal insult to the doctor's already impressive list, the driver was already waving the men off to the driver's seat.

The cab driver handed Kyle the reins, then unhooked the lantern from the hook next to the coaching box and relit it. Orange-red light spilled into the gloom of the night air. He handed them the second lantern, then turned and probably agreed with the doctor on who had to do which tasks.

It was not long before Dr. Archer, groaning behind them, lifted the carriage a little so that the carter could reach the wheel at the bottom. Bolts clicked loose and he hurriedly rolled it out. He leaned the metal-covered spoked wheel against the carriage house and checked that it had indeed remained intact.

While Kyle held the reins, the priest stepped restlessly from one foot to the other. His gaze kept gliding around into the forest, which became increasingly dark as time went on. And so the minutes passed. The priest kept close to the coach box under the dim glow of the lantern, which gave him some sense of security.

Kyle hummed softly to himself. Both to ease the tense mood a little and to calm the nervous priest's nerves a little. The horse beside him pawed its hooves and kicked from one spot to the other. He rubbed the soft nostrils affectionately, then patted the animal's neck and stroked its shiny pied coat.

But something was not right. Only those who looked at him more closely would notice how his posture became stiffer. Kyle didn't know where it came from, but a strange feeling suddenly lay in his stomach like a small, sharp-edged pebble. It couldn't be displaced, it rolled back and forth there and wouldn't let itself be kicked away either. It was not because of the forest, not because of the ever-denser fog. Was it the restlessness of the horses that crept under his skin despite his slight buzzing? Or were they just reacting as instinctively to something that plucked at the strings of his senses with invisible fingertips? It felt as if a claw was very slowly wrapped around his chest.

Next to the narrow road, which was more earth and mud than gravel, the forest floor sank very quickly into the white breath of the haze. The dampness made clothes clammy and the light from the lanterns made visibility more difficult instead of better. Above them opened not the night sky studded with stars, but a dark, black-grey blanket of clouds. No moonlight gave them its succor. Kyle raised his hand, gripped the back of his neck, and slowly tilted his head first to one side, then the other. His gaze slid over the silhouettes of the trees that stood there like grim sentinels, watching everything. WHAT was it? What exactly was wrong here? He asked himself again and again. And then, all at once, the scales fell from his eyes: it was silent.

Not the kind of nocturnal silence that was usually at home in forests. For those were anything but silent. They had their own melody for anyone who simply listened. You should have heard rustling under leaves and twigs as small forest dwellers scurried quickly away. In a boggy area like this, there should be humming and chirping. You should hear the calls of night birds or the murmur and murmur of life retreating. But there was none of that here. Absolutely nothing.

The only thing that stirred the oppressive silence a little was the light breeze that scoured a few leaves across the ground and yet failed to dispel the mist. As if every animal held its breath or dared not even whisper. Almost as if someone sensed his thoughts, a wolf suddenly howled somewhere in the distance. Kyle flinched involuntarily and behind him, the Father almost jumped in fright. Hastily, footsteps came closer and fingers grabbed his arm to get his attention.» H-Have you heard that?!« the Father unintentionally groaned aloud and all eyes turned to the poor man who was hugging the Bible to his chest with his free hand.

"You don't have to be afraid." Dr. Archer reassured the man in a firm voice from further back and wiped his face with his sleeve. Smudges of dirt smeared across his features like war paint.

"Wolves don't attack humans. They go for easier prey."

Kyle nodded in agreement. No, wolves rarely attacked humans. Still, the sinking feeling just wouldn't let him go. Instead, it seemed to get worse. An unpleasant tingling sensation brushed the back of his neck like frosty fingers, slid down his spine, and then dissipated sickeningly in his stomach. It was that formless foreboding when you walked through a graveyard at night and looked around because you thought you saw something in the corner of your eye. But before you could grasp it or actually guess at a silhouette, it was gone again and only the premonition remained.

We are being watched.

Following an invisible force, his gaze jerked to the side and sharpened. His heartbeat drummed in his chest. But for the brief duration of that one pulsebeat, he saw it. For no longer than a fraction of a second, he thought he could make out the mist bumping against something a few feet away. Kyle squinted his eyes as if it would help him see better. The swathes piled up at a silhouette rolled over and flowed like white water back into the formless mass. The wall of mist parted at that point, like the curtain to a new act in one piece, as something moved within it. 

The rustling that his senses now filtered out was so quiet that it was immediately swallowed up by the breeze and the conversation of the others, and the light of the lanterns was reflected in something: two glowing, piercing dots in the middle of the darkness. Were they eyes? A red glow seemed to dance above the figure, only to disappear the next moment. The throbbing sound in Kyle's chest stumbled forward, muscles and mind tightening with the rising alertness in the young man whose posture followed by the second. But the next moment, as he blinked briefly, it was gone. Attentively he watched for it. For a stirring, a new waft in the mist. But there was nothing. Just white breath and pitch black darkness.

Kyle frowned and stared intently at the spot where he thought he had seen the figure, then to the left and right. But whatever it had been, it was gone. Had he really seen something alive? Or was it just his imagination? Had the priest infected him with paranoid fear? Was it the atmosphere, the forest, the night, and the thick fog? Or was it because he secretly wished to see something? But his inner voice repeated:

We are being watched. Look more closely.

Kyle's fingers of his left hand spread, then he clenched them into a fist and spread them again. He felt tingling tension radiating from his palm to his fingertips. A very familiar feeling for several years now of a mutely whispered, seductive invitation. While he was still going through the list of spells in his head that he had memorized, he made a decision. 

Chapter artwork: Silhouette in the mist by TheKomor_San.

All collected artwork & further sketches etc. can be found in the chapter *ARTWORKS*.