THE AIR IS CLEAN, and the Forest silent. Only the thumping of a great axe followed by the hiss and crack of split wood fills the air. The animals are silent and the trees wave their boughs softly.
A flock of hummingbirds whisper past, and their miniature wings cast large ghoulish shadows on the ground below. The umbras highlight a lone giant figure bent over a rising pyramid of Wyrdwood.
The birds clear the area and slivers of golden sun reveal the form of a huge male set atop a withering stump.
The muscles of his back are corded, his skin is velvety with trickling humidity, and thick veins line his strong arms.
His axe descends with a terrible swish, and the hardwood is split in half. Sharp flecks fly in all directions. Some bounce over his stretched skin. Others nick his skin, drawing spots of blood. The scar sews together almost immediately and in half a second, the skin is good as new. Tan and smooth, kissed by years of rosy sun.
He gently lowers the axe and straightens. Silver braids fall from the pile atop his head, dangling to his waist. A mild breeze ruffles the leaves of the forest floor as he picks up his axe again, beads of sweat dripping from his ripped abdomen. He hops down the stump with unnatural fluidity and proceeds shirtless into the shadowy enclave of the forest.
As he makes his way further into the bedarkened woods, his lips move in speech, as if responding to an invisible Familiar.
Let me run free...
"Not yet."
Why?...
"Because we need to chop the fucking wood. In case you've forgotten, I'm still skin and bones."
Mmm! I'm also skin and bones...
"You know what I mean."
Pussy!.....
The damned beast won't let him be. Let me run free. Let me run free. Hell! He wants to run free too. But there's shit to do. Like chop wood so that his balls doesn't freeze off.
He can smell it already. On the dewdrops of the foliage. In the morn's mist. When his... their teeth are digging into some poor animal.
It sifters into his puffing nostrils from the warm blood; Coats the fur around his great jaws. Just before the animal goes limp.
It is in the Air. It's in the Dirt. It's creeping from the Woods.
WINTER!
Winter of the Silver Moons.