Chapter 57. Paralasnapper.

  Sid looked at the mud—I know I’ve said it before but remember no stars in Tracking. He did though see little footprints. He might not have been blessed with stars in the skill, but even he knew, so he followed—unaware that that notion slightly buffed that star just that much more. I’m sure I’ve said it before, but everything is skill. There are stars shinning for each of skill too from booger flicking to toe-jam collecting—the more you do it the better you become—horrible examples I know, use your imagination for all I care—I’m sure you get the idea though.

  Unsure as to whether it was the eyepatch or one of his primal senses—he was leaning on the eyepatch—however, he was able to spot the finely fashioned snares delicately placed along the forest floor. He was also able to detect the Widowmakers above. They too had that glowing frame. A faint silhouette. Not like that hue of aura. It was more like someone took a quill of silver ink and outlined the monsters. He wasn’t going to question it right now. He would only be watching his step. Pointing out the snares to Fenrir while they walked along. This was a nice ability though. He liked being able to spot the spiders long before they spotted him.

  The sky was beginning to open as the grey clouds parted. The forest glittered the suns warmth. Looking more like crystal washed gems. Shimmering beads on display. Bringing that much more appeal to the forest—he still didn’t like it.

  It didn’t take long to find Skeeter—he didn’t necessarily need to follow those muddy tracks—Sid could smell that baking wool. Also there was a vibration that just pulled him in the direction.

  He seen the old wrinkle sack though. Old kook holding a bright yellow melon. Raised high above head.

  Sid couldn’t explain it, but he just knew. Something about said melon was wrong. Same with the vines along the trees. Actually. This entire patch of woods was alive—not just alive but hunting. There was a viciousness to the area. Not like such to that of the feeding ground—the one with weaponized trees and expired carcasses. But there was a growth here. A dominant energy bloomed. An energy that wanted to thrive.

  “Skeeter put that down…” Sid tried to warn. To late.

  Skeeter. The crazy rascal brought the melon to a smash. That hard rind cracked open. Like the plume of pollenating spores poofing from a puffshroom. That melon sneezed. Releasing a mist of pollinating dust. One breath. One dramatic over exaggerated breath was all Skeeter took. The man was excited to have found such a patch of melons. One breath was all he managed, before falling face first into the fruit.

  Why? Why did he feel responsible for this. The irritancy of the situation shadowed the fact that Fenrir was sitting in the warmth of the light. Right there next to Sid, while the big guy rubbed his face. Mumbling to himself—oh, oh he’s looking down at Fenrir. Just look at that floofy tail go.

  “Stay.” The mustache gave an unneeded command.

  Fenrir was a good boy. He was also a clever boy. He had absolutely no intentions of joining Skeeter. He was also a bit confused as to why Sid was wanting too. He cocked his head and watched the big man walk into those yellow spore.

  Sid took a deep breath. Like he was about to be submerged. He didn’t want to inhale these particles of noxious things.

  His coat however, the tentacles were ravenous. Instantly collecting any that come close. Even the tendrils around his shoulders. All wave and spread, like hair in water. Keeping the nasty spore from his face—more so away from his nostrils and mouth.

  How very interesting—Scarlett was more then just looking out for Sid. She was setting him up for success. He wondered what else the coat could do.

  Grabbing that stinky wool with a skin staining grip he could feel the juices of something soak his hand. “Yuck!” the mustache barked, dropping Skeeter he wiped his hand along his trouser.

  He then noticed the bar above Skeeter, it flashed. Not only that but now there was a mark above that green bar. It was a. Sid looked closer at the marking—was that a skull? A purple skull with steam lifting from it—what the hell is that?

  Sid had an internal feeling of what it could be. Only because of fire-tale and the way that bar flashed. He had only one idea of what it was. Skeeter was poisoned. The spore from these melons, they were toxic. That only confirmed his first thought about the patch. About the growth that needed to hunt.

  There was a creaking groan from the trees. Branches gave warning to the heavy man. Shadows crept along the ground, while shifting and movement from above lowered.

  Fenrir was looking above his fat friend. Watching that massive flower bloom with wicked intentions. It was a slow motion.

  Sid looked at Fenrir still sitting where he told him to stay—such a good boy. He knew what the shadow was seeing. Like the ability of his eyepatch, there was an internal sense. He could feel the vibrations of the carnivorous plant—much like that to the small bird eating Cardinals Bean—these things grow massive.

  The double take Fenrir did told Sid there was more than one—actually he could feel it now too. Practically mentally imaging their positioning too. If his senses were correct there were five of these things.

  From what he remembers from fire-tale that blooming can swallow a man whole. And well lets be real Skeeter would be a simple snack wouldn’t he—crunchy, but easy for that thing to swallow.

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  Looking up he seen it. Honestly if it wasn’t so dangerous that uhhh—oh damn what the hell were these big ones called again—paralasnapper, that’s right—who said that…. Get out, I’m telling the story—anyways.

  The thing opened like a rose. Layers of vibrant yellow petals unraveling. Waking. Pollen burping with each lifting curl—wow the center was a flush red, it reminded him of his glowing forge. How relaxing honestly. There was just a certain beauty to these lethal florals.

  Sid watched the plant. Flower. Monster. He wasn’t really sure how to categorize it. Sure it was dangerous, but he didn’t necessarily feel threatened. If anything—he felt as if he was intruding. These melons were not meant for Skeeter's smashing. Sure they were a luring trap of sorts, but the man was not the prey. Sure the plant could eat him, and it probably will, but still there was something about this growth.

  There was a slick vine of tongue worming from the shallows of the bloom. It slither haphazardly. Dripping some sort slime—I don’t know perhaps it helped break down whatever it was eating—it only makes sense, it’s a flower, it has no teeth.

  He grabbed Skeeter by the ankle and lifted him. Walking calmly away from the Paralasnapper.

  “Come on, lets get to the river.” Sid said, walking past Fenrir before looking back. Both watching the flower sneak up on the melons. Vine-tongue caressing and testing the fruit. The vegetation would not be eating that day.

  “Fenrir!” The mustache snapped. “Get out of the--the—uhh get out of the light.” He said coming to a settle. The shadow didn’t evaporate in the sun. How? Earlier that morning he—no the both of them watched while the sun nipped at the shadows nose.

  Putting Skeeter down Sid kneeled investigating the pup. “Is it the scarf?” the mustache asked. “Does this allow you to walk in the sun?”

  Fenrir only cocked head. Wagging his tail. It was an adorable stare that said ‘Duuhhh'

  Maybe this would convince people he was dog. Perhaps he need not to hide the pup when he returns home.

  There was a sensation deep in Sid’s pit. It was the same feeling he felt when the Paralasnapper moved. Something else was out here—Sid was getting pissed. Abram said the forest should be somewhat safe. Of all the horse shit he’s heard in his life. Every damned thing out here wanted to kill him it seemed like. ‘No such thangs as a Man-eaters’ he could hear him say. Okay Abram so what about the damn Widowmakers. The Paralasnappers. All the stories he’s heard around the fire—fun fact, Abram was full of shit.

  Only makes sense right? Damn voyager was trying to convince Sid to play for a god—no a pioneer—the difference. Well pioneers are the original masters—as to gods who believe they have perfected. I know I hear yeah but the gods are immortal beings. But the gods created this and that and gave life and provide warmth blah blah blah shut the fuck up about that. Gods are nothing special. Honestly if you tried hard enough you could become one too.

  Pioneers though. They inspired the idea. There couldn’t and wouldn’t be any gods of any such kind with out the idea—guess where the ideas came from—that’s right the pioneer of thought. Now shut up and let me continue.

  Somewhere out there he could smell the dead scales of a reptile. He could even hear the dragging of dirt. Crunching of pushed gravel. The river was beyond that dank aroma of scale. The smell of moving water was refreshing and overpowering. The pit within shallowed even more. He scanned the area with a hollow swallow. Not sure what he was looking for, Sid was on alert. Nerves were spiking. Whatever it was out there, it was big. Bigger than him.

  Sid gripped at Skeeters wrinkly ankle. It was a nervous. Unremittingly grip. His head swivel looking for that dragging crunch. There was no way these things were real. Not around here anyways. These should have been jungle monsters. Creatures of the rainforest—were these pines considered rainforest?

  He didn’t even notice he was slightly running now. Whatever it was. It had subconsciously forced that big boy to get moving. Sid was scared—no terrified. If what he thought was out there, well he just didn’t want anything to do with a monster like that. And of course why wouldn’t it be what his imagination was telling him. Hell widowmakers were real. Vampires. Fire breathing chickens. Deadly roses some asshole names a Paralasnapper—he missed the safety of that dull minded settlement. He didn’t care. Let the Cattlemen graze on his aura, as long as he won’t have to deal with beasts like these.

  The unquestionable smell was close now. So, so close. The pulling and dragging was right there. Oh how he wished his eyepatch would just pick up on something already. And that smell—gods if you’ve ever held one you’re hands just smell like it.

  Sid still couldn’t run for very long—but he was getting better at it, everything’s a skill, the more you do it the better you become, stars begin to shine. But no he couldn’t run to far. He had to slow. He had to walk in fear. Even in the warmth of the day, that stalking feeling was eerie. Knowing. Hearing. Smelling. He hated not being able to see it. Only the eyes of imagination and fire-tale could show him the monster.

  Sid looked back down at Fenrir. Mustache suggesting what it suspect. “Venocoil.”

  He stuttered between breaths while he continued to hustle pass trees. Sid quickly changed direction instinctively. Causing Fenrir to continue in another path.

  The zippy pup ran under an old mossy log. Soft pad found their way up another. Fenrir looked around—why wasn’t Sid looking at him. How couldn’t he look at him up there. He looked so majestic and handsome. Fenrir howled—sheesh Sid didn’t even look—oh wait up.

  The shadow jumped from the log. What a graceful landing too—honestly I’d argue Fenrir did it better than any cat ever could and I’ll fight you on that one. He ran quickly catching up to Sid—Sid was slow compared to him, Fenrir was a fast boy. He followed close behind those nervous heels. That big guy was extra paranoid right now—hey just relax, look down here.

  Sid was breathing oddly heavy now. Irregular breaths too. He kind of stumbled with his joggy fast walk, or whatever the hell he was trying to do—man was definitely tired—poor fat fuck, sure he was a powerhouse but dude was kind of a glass canon too—and I know what you’re thinking ‘duh dats not wat dat means' and well you’re right. But metaphorically speaking it kind of works right?

  Skeeter looked to be having one hell of time. Laughing and popping. Swinging around in Sid’s compulsive grip. He hugged that boot tight smacking his lips erratically—yeah I don’t know when he snagged the boot from Fenrir, probably when Sid was sending eight-legged freaks to purgatory.

  The sound of a hundred woodpeckers rattled through the forest—no it wasn’t literally woodpeckers, that’s just the best simile I got right now. But that dense wood rattling sound rippled through Sid. Shaking his bones. Slurring his vision. His eyelid crashed, and that ugly yellow stone sank to the bottom of the eyepatch. He swallowed and with every muscle in his forehead he lifted that heavy eyelid.

  He coughed and dropped Skeeter. Feet stumbled for placement. Head rolling in those tentacles. Arms swinging losely.

  -SLAM-

  Sid hit the ground. Hard. That dense rattling echoed the woods again. Forcing the heavy man to cough with a rolling dry heave. The dragging was barely heard under it all—honestly a lesser man wouldn’t have heard it.

  Fenrir sat next to Sid. Licking his sweaty face whenever the man looked his way.

  “Fenrir stop that. Where is Skeeter. Keep with Skeeter boy.” Sid groaned pushing thr shadow away. “Go Fenrir. Getsouttaofhere.” The mustache stumbled over the words.