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It’s the sound of a horse’s hooves on snow and hard ground.
Galloping; pounding the earth.
A lone rider, approachingfast.Whoever they are, they must be in serious trouble, because that horse is being ridden to death.
They’re heading in the direction of my castle.
Friend, or foe?
Best if I intercept them before they reach the gates. If they’re in genuine distress, I’ll help them.
If they’re an enemy, I’ll decide whether I need to interrogate them or kill them.
I move with unearthly speed; silent across the snow, my footfalls barely making an indent.
I’m at the road in an instant, standing in the middle, staring down the lone rider.
They’re not in view yet.
Soon.
I inhale the scent of fresh snow and earth and woodiness; of approaching horse and…
What isthat?
It coils around me like a vine’s tendril; a little at first, invading my senses, growing quickly until it engulfs me completely.
My thirst intensifies a hundredfold.
The pounding of my own blood becomes a roar in my ears.
I’m already starting to move, even though I don’t completely comprehend it. I look down at the snow. The sunlight reflects back at me, momentarily blinding me with its dazzling intensity.
I can’t see.
I don’t care.
I don’tneedto see.
The scent grows ever stronger, drawing me toward it like a beacon in a storm. I can’t get enough of it. It consumes every last part of me. The sounds meld into a symphony; of trees swaying in the wind and hoofbeats and the delicate rasp of a human’s breathing.
Herbreathing.
The horse bears down upon me… then stops.
My vision clears, but the thirst does not.
The horse is panicking, rearing up onto its hind legs as it lets out a shrill whinny, throwing its rider out of the saddle.
I move.
I’m there.
She’s in my arms—caught.
The horse bolts—gone.
I look down.
