#102 The Alpha Beasts of Barfun Moor
Dhee lashed out with his arm, knocking the younger ungor backwards off his hooves. "Not that way Stumphorn!" he hissed, "Stay upwind!"
The diminutive beastman snarled, but shuffled ignominiously backwards through the leaf litter, cowed. The other ungor raiders, bows ready, had already taken their positions: hidden in brambles, behind rotting stumps or up in the trees. Stumphorn scuttled into a small hollow, lay on his belly and quietly covered himself with dead leaves.
Dhee looked around appreciatively. Even with his eyesight, and knowing they were there, he couldn't see any of the other ungors in the moonlight. He was proud of his little herd, though he was careful not to let them know that. They feared him and his capricious outbursts, and that was right.
He listened. Nothing but the wind blowing into his face and rustling the leaves of the copse. It was one of his favourite ambush locations. A small stand of trees high upon Barfun Moor, rare shelter for weary travellers. There was a large boulder just ahead, overhung with twisted boughs. Beneath it a small patch of bare earth had been blackened by countless campfires.
Dhee sniffed the air, ignoring the smells of leaf mould, fungi and tree. The bovine odour of the raiders around him was pungent and reassuring - the only evidence of their presence. He filtered that out as well as he focused on the scent of his prey. There it was, blown to him on the wind. Just as he had expected: manflesh. The longhorns would be pleased when he brought this kill back to the Weirdstone.
The other ungors had smelt it too. Purple-fletched arrows were nocked, bows held ready to draw when the prey came into view.
All was still and silent.
Slowly, the scent of human drew nearer.
For the briefest moment, the wind changed, just a momentary eddy as it blew across the moor. Dhee's first thought was relief that human noses were too blind to catch scent of the beastmen lying in wait. But then he stiffened, his back fur bristling in primal instinct. It had only been fleeting, but he had smelt something else. Rotting flesh of some sort. He tried to recall the smell - what cadaver smelled like that? But whatever it was, it was upwind of the ungors. Why hadn't he noticed it before? Had it been hidden? Had it been hiding itself? That was the behaviour of a hunter. A carnivore. A ...
Dhee turned his head, slowly, silently. A few paces behind him, framed by two tree trunks, the moonlight outlined a silhouette streaking into the copse. An instant later, as its slavering jaws closed around his gullet, Dhee just had time to recall the scent before he died:
Rotting wolf.
Comments
Post a Comment