I burst into Ethan's humble abode as the door flew open with a loud crash, my eyes sweeping the room, my hand holding the hilt of my sword as I called out, my voice rough and urgent.
"Ethan! It's Gerald!" I shouted, my heart pounding. I saw Roderick, the young warrior who was attacked by the witches. His body lay pale on the long wooden couch.
My footsteps were a whisper on the floor, my movements silent as I approached the inner chamber, my gaze fixed on Ethan, my body tensed, as if I were a panther, stalking its prey.
"Ethan," I whispered, my voice low, urgent, as I saw the old man, his eyes closed, his hands raised in a gesture of incantation as if he were communing with the spirits of the earth, of the night as if he were calling upon their aid.
My eyes lingered on Ethan, an intense questioning gaze as he moved away, my footsteps echoing in the silence of the room, as I approached Roderick.
My expression softened on observing the young warrior closely. His fever had abated, and his body no longer trembled. It was as though the witches had decided to release their grip on him.
Ethan emerged from the inner chamber, his steps slow, measured, as he stretched forth his hand towards me for a handshake, his old eyes fixed on my face, his expression grave as if he were looking into the darkness of the night, the unknown that lurked beyond.
"Gerald," Ethan called out to me as I raised my eyebrows, to meet my gaze with his. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as he acknowledged my presence. His expression became solemn as if a memory just struck his mind.
"You summoned me, Ethan. Why?" I asked, my voice was low and urgent, as I pressed Ethan for an answer, my gaze fixed on the old man's face.
"Roderick has improved," He began, in the most exciting and hopeful way, his eyes fixed on Roderick, as he continued, "He kept getting better by the day. His body is no longer contorted, twisted, but he has yet to speak, to utter a single word."
The last statement was a sting to my soul, it's been days since Roderick's attack, and he's yet to speak.
I nodded silently and gulped the lump in my throat. "And you believe this silence, this muteness, is due to the witch's curse?" I asked.
"Yes. But I have found a way to cure him, to break the witch's curse, though it may be risky" Ethan assured me.
My eyes widened and my heart tensed. My ear itched to hear the solution to Roderick's attack, a way to make him speak again. I never cared about the risk involved, my determination to save Roderick kept propelling me.
"What is this cure, Ethan? And why is it so dangerous?" I asked, waiting patiently for his response.
"The cure, the only cure," Ethan said, his voice low, his eyes fixed on me, "lies in the fang or claw of a witch, an amulet that can be used to break the curse, to set Roderick free."
My eyes narrowed, as I asked, "And where will we find this fang or claw, Ethan? Where will we find a witch?"
Ethan's expression darkened, as he replied, "There is only one place where we can find a witch, Gerald, only one place where the covens gather, where they worship the darkness. The Dark Forest."
I felt a chill run down my spine, as he whispered, "The Dark Forest?"
My experience with the dark forest as a kid is a memory that will accompany me to the grave. I can't imagine an encounter as such again, not anymore.
"It is our only hope," Ethan said, his voice grave, his eyes fixed on me, as if he could see the fear, the doubt, that lurked within me.
"You must consider, Gerald, what is more important, what is worth risking all for. The life of this young boy, this innocent soul, or your safety, your comfort?"
My heart raced, throwing my mind into a whirlwind of fear, of tension, as I stared at Roderick. I have to do what I must, what I can to save him, to free him from the curse.
I stood there, my thoughts spinning, like leaves caught in a storm, as I grappled with the weight of my decision, my choice, as the shadows seemed to press in around me, as if they were urging me forward, into the darkness, into the unknown.
I knew the dangers, the risks, of entering the Dark Forest, of confronting the witches, but I also knew the cost of inaction, of letting Roderick's fate be decided by the fancies of the coven, the darkness.
My gaze lingered on Roderick, my heart heavy, my thoughts somber, as I considered the young warrior's plight, the curse that had befallen him as if it were a weight that I, alone, must bear. I decided to save him, even if it meant facing the darkness, the witches alone.
My gaze hardened, my resolve firm, as I turned to Ethan, my eyes bright and determined.
"We must leave at once before the darkness takes hold before the curse takes its final toll," I said, my body restless as I never wanted to spare the next seconds.
Just as I uttered those words, a strange, otherworldly noise echoed through the night, a sound that seemed to echo from the shadows, from the darkness itself, as if the very world had let out a cry, a warning, that all was not as it seemed.
I turned quickly, my hand on my sword, as I surveyed the room, my expression tense, as the sound seemed to grow louder, more insistent as if it were a call, a summon, that could not be ignored.
"Did you hear that?" Ethan asked, his eyes wide, his expression grave, as he looked at me, his hand reaching for his staff, his fingers gripping the wood tightly as if he could feel the magic that lay dormant within it, waiting to be unleashed.
I nodded, my breath caught in my throat as
I focused my gaze on the surroundings, my eyes alert, searching for the slightest view of something strange.
"The witches," Ethan said, his voice low, his expression grim, as he looked at me, his eyes filled with a terrible knowledge, a secret that seemed to weigh on his soul, as he continued, "The witches have come, Gerald, to attack the kingdom, to consume it in darkness, in shadow.
They are prepared, and they are deadly, more deadly than you can imagine."
I felt defeated by Ethan's words. My hand tightened on my sword, my heart heavy with dread.
"Then we must not waste any time, Ethan," I replied, not relenting on my words.
Ethan stepped forward, his hands raised, his voice a low chant, as he began to mutter incantations in a language that seemed to rise from the very earth itself as if he were calling on the spirits, the magic, that lay hidden within the shadows.
As Ethan's words filled the air, the shadows seemed to shift, to move, as if they were alive, as if they were listening, as if they were waiting.
I felt a strange, primal energy course through my veins, and my muscles, as if I were being transformed, becoming something else, something more.
The air around me seemed to crackle, to spark, as my body began to change, my muscles growing taut, my spine arching, as my skin began to shimmer, to shift, as if I were shedding my human form, becoming something else, something wild, something fierce.
Ethan watched, his gaze fixed on me, his eyes alight with a strange, otherworldly light, as he whispered, "The beast within, Gerald. Let it rise, let it guide you, let it lead you to the witches, to the darkness."
With a low growl, my body convulsed, my spine contorting, as my skin rippled, as if it were a cloak, a disguise, that was being shed, as I became something else, something primal, something fierce, as the beast within took hold, as my mind surrendered to the feral instincts that laid within me.
I shifted, my form changed, my skin becoming covered in a thick, mottled fur, my limbs elongating, becoming more animalistic, more powerful, as I let out a low growl, my voice a guttural, primal thing, a sound that echoed in the night, as I bared my teeth, my incisors long, sharp, glinting in the moonlight, like the weapons of a wolf, of a hunter.
Ethan led the way, his form cloaked in shadow, his staff held aloft, as if it were a torch, a beacon of light in the darkness, as he began to mutter incantations, his voice low, grave as if he were calling upon the spirits, the magic, that lay dormant in the night.
I followed, my footsteps echoing in the night, my senses heightened, like a predator hunting its prey. I sniffed the air, my ears twitching, as if I could hear the witches, the coven, as they moved through the shadows, their forms hidden, their scent a strange, musky thing, that permeated the air.
As we moved through the night, Ethan's mutterings grew louder, more urgent, as if he were calling upon the magic of the earth, the power of the night, to reveal the witches, to expose their presence, as my nostrils flared, my gaze fixed on the shadows, on the darkness, as I felt the hunt, the primal urge, rising within me.