What goes bump in the night

It wasn’t often that Atreus traveled on his own. It was even less so that he traveled by horse and not by carriage. We can’t spare one, apparently, or so claimed his father, besides, one would never make it down the roads you have to take anyways.

Fortune’s fucking sake, was he right.

It was more of a deer path than an actual road, grass smashed down from well-traveled hooves, browned and dried as it was flattened into the mud. Overgrowth of tall grasses and shrubberies threatened to swallow the path whole, sweeping up against his boot as his horse picked its way through, reaching out to grab snacks of the nose-high greenery on the way.

“It’s important to visit this bee farm, Atreus, it’s important to make sure that they know we care,” His voice was low and deep, dramaticized with narrowed eyes as he turned a map side to side in his hands, holding it up to the waning light of the early evening.

“How do you expect to be seen in a good light if you don’t mingle with the common folk?” This voice belonged to none other than his father, who often found it amusing to send him out on mediocre tasks like this. Tasks that he didn't want to do.

Atreus huffed, lowering the map and looking to the purpling sky. His horse snorted, head bobbing to chase away the tiny gnats that buzzed at its ears. Atreus swatted at one himself, as it chose to move on from its equine target to his own ear.

“Bastard,” He grumbled, face scrunching as he fanned the map in his hands and waved it at his face, hoping the slight breeze would keep the bugs off of his skin. Thankfully, it seemed to work.

In reality, the visit hadn’t been all that terrible. They had a wonderfully smooth honey wine that he had graciously accepted as a gift and even took some for home. His home. He had no intention of sharing. He also didn’t get stung once, which he considered a success. And perhaps there was something inspiring about the countryside; inspiring enough that his fingers itched to paint. The best he could do was doodle in his journals, the sketches in the margins of his various musings and notes.

Of course, he would rather be caught dead than admit that he hadn’t hated it.

It wasn’t long before the tiny village disappeared behind him, swallowed by the forest and the night sky. He plucked a small lantern out of his saddle bags and lit it, holding the soft glow out before him as they continued. If he had read the map correctly, he would run into another little town in a few miles, and get a place to stay… be home by evening the next day. And then he was keeping his feet firmly planted in Faline. He’d had enough dirt on his once-polished boots for a while.

Suddenly, there was a snapping noise- like twigs snapping under foot. His horse startled, hooves dancing on the narrow path as Atreus tugged the reins to stop it. His heart skipped a beat as he whipped his lantern in the direction of the sound, the metal creaking as it swayed in his grasp.

“Who’s there?” He shouted, his voice a low growl in an attempt to sound far more fierce than he was terrified.