Iron and Silver
The wind carried the distinct scent of rain and something that smelled like, well, like something Sean couldn't quite find a word for, but he knew what it meant. That smell meant run. It meant find shelter. He turned wild-eyed to Ian. He was staring at the sky in the direction of the wind. He could smell it, too. They turned together and ran pell-mell through the thick vegetation at the edge of the water. They raced along the edge of the woods following a scent trail that promised shelter. It smelled old, wet and weathered, but most importantly the scent they followed smelled safe. The sky let out a huge snap and light flew from above, bursting into flames at the base of a tree not more than a hundred yards in front of them, just inside the woods. Enraged the clouds roiled and bucked, shedding streams of rain that fell in waterfalls so thick it was impossible to see as they ran. Sean's ears were bursting with the angry roar that ravaged the air and made everything tremble with its force. He stumbled and fell. Ian was running hard. He thought perhaps Ian might not notice that he had fallen, but then he was there, nudging him up with a nose and a paw, pressing him to move. Another flash of light and that horrible roaring sound filled the sky again. "At least this time nothing burned," thought Sean. At last he saw what they had scented, a cave nestled along a rock wall where the stream thinned and buried itself in a cliff face. They did not even stop to consider if another had already taken refuge in this space, they simply charged into it. Panting, relieved to be sheltered from the horrible flashes of light and the pouring rain, the two hounds stood motionless for just a few moments. As if in silent communion they turned and inspected their little shelter.
There were a few other animals in there with them, cowed at the back of the cave, clearly afraid that the hounds would do them more harm than the storm. Sean noted something that looked like rabbits huddled together, along with couple of birds perched higher up and a smaller fox-like animal he could not quite make out in the shadows where it hid. Assured that they were not likely to be attacked by their company, the hounds turned to face the entry and settled down. The smell of fear was palpable, but they hoped it would die down once the animals realized they were not attacking them. Sean felt himself leaning toward the sounds of the rain, the lightning and the thunder. He had the strangest desire to be back out in them, to be one with them. He knew it was a fool's wish, but he wanted to run in the crackling air again. Yet he stayed where he was. Ian was staring intently out of the cave, as if he expected someone or something to appear. He didn't know where they were, but he had a feeling that much of what happened to them would be caused or affected by Aiofe and her ilk. They had turned them into this sad, if arguably humourous, state. They would likely be following their path and even putting things in the midst of it. He looked at Sean.
"Wish I had that bone with me now," thought Ian. "It's a pity that we buried them."
"They were a nuisance to carry around, though I do have to admit it would be nice to have something to gnaw on," Sean repllied, stealing a glance over his shoulder at the other animals thoughtfully. "No, they are here under some sort of protection too, they won't do," he thought. He laid his big shaggy head on his paws and watched the rain.
He woke as he sensed the rabbit trying to slip by unnoticed. He couldn't help himself, he reached out and gave it a lick on the rump as it went by. The rabbit literally flew out of the cave after that. He chuckled to himself. Ian was stretching. The day had turned a lovely color between amber and butter yellow, a crisp golden hue that lit the sky like a butterfly wing reflecting sunlight. The earth gave off the heady scent of moist moss and grass. He stretched and then loped outside of the cave. 'Ian, let's fish," he threw over his shoulder as he made his way down to the stream. He was scenting for a large school of salmon like the one they had found before when Ian padded up to him. "Smells good out here," stated Ian.
"I like it," replied Sean. "Nothing here to fish for though, so let's go farther along the bank."
The hounds followed the stream until it disappeared into the rock and then began to climb the narrow path that led up the cliff wall. They never stopped to determine if this was a good direction, they just followed the path. It was laid out there right before them. Eventually the path wound back down and linked back up with the water, and here they found a school of fish large enough to play with and to hunt. Using the same tactics as they had before, they started slapping at a fish until they propelled it to the surface then clamping jaws around it and flinging it to the shore. It was a great way to catch fish and a fun way to test their skills. They took turns slapping the fish up. As they played, Sean noticed that the fish smelled keener today. He could smell the rich metallic scent they carried as they moved, the blood pumping through them from head to tail. He popped a fairly large one up high enough that Ian caught it out of the water, clamping down hard on the fish, its silver flank flashing in the sun.
Ian felt his teeth sink into the fresh flesh of the fish. He felt the slick smooth slide of the metallic and salt- thickened blood course over his tongue and down his throat. He had no idea that salmon tasted this fantastic. He clamped down just a bit harder, flushing another rush of taste into his waiting maw. The sheer pleasure was unrivaled in anything he had ever experienced before. He was about to bite down hard when he heard Sean yell, "New fish." Ian threw the well-bitten salmon onto the bank and caught the next one, taking the time to truly relish the way it felt to let his teeth sink into it and the flavors combine and slide down his tongue and throat. "This is wonderful," he thought. "My turn," came Sean's reply.
Reluctantly, Ian tossed his newest prize onto the bank and took over the position of slapping the salmon up to the surface. The first few were the regular thump and stump rhythm they had gained in their previous fishing bouts. He could tell when Sean finally gave in to the urge to bite down. He watched as his brother's eyes glazed over with pure carnal pleasure. He saw his throat pulsing as the flavors coursed down and Sean continued to attempt to get more from the salmon in his teeth. Ian broke his concentration by slapping another fish up to him, "New fish," he cried. Sean dropped the one in his mouth and lunged for the next, not caring if the prior one made it to the bank or not. He wanted to taste again. Ian caught the drifting carcass and flung it to shore. He watched Sean again, entranced by the obvious thrill of the moment. He felt a slight sense of unease, but shook it off. "Left-overs from the storm," he thought as he padded out to the bank.
Sean joined him and they shared their feast. And what a feast it was; every morsel was examined in detail. The texture, the scent, the taste - they rolled the meat on their tongues and swallowed slowly trying to capture the sensations in detail. If anyone had seen them eating they would have known something was odd about those two hounds. When has a hound ever taken time over a meal? Don't they just bolt their food? Yet, here were two hounds obviously enjoying a langorous meal, with not another thought to spare. There were still a few salmon left when they heard a distant crack. It was not a natural sound. They stood immediately. Something was wrong. They could not smell anything but the salmon smeared all over their snouts, but they knew something was wrong. Sean started to pick up a fish, but Ian knocked into him. "Run, now," he urged.
The two hounds moved off leaving the rest of their banquet behind. They ran even faster than when they had tried to outrun the storm. This danger, this unknown, was far more pressing. They kept scenting, but could not make out anything, just the pure and certain knowledge that something that did not belong in the forest was there with them, and that something was not benign.
At the water's edge a pair of black leather-booted feet stood over the remains of what appeared to be a fish feast. There was no other sound, just the water as it ran by and the rake of the wind through the leaves of the trees.
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