Great Hunt: Ravenflight

There was something stirring in the jungle.

Those were the whispers that had made their way through the crowd at the Harvest Masquerade ball. They were hushed, as if no one dared say them too loud, for fear that they might actually bring forth something undesirable.

Anjali wasn’t quite that superstitious, but she was curious. She’d tried to be content with spending her few weeks of downtime at home, busying herself with little projects here and there that were intended to spark joy, but finding that she grew restless instead, and couldn’t stand to coop herself up for longer than a day.

Perhaps her investigation would bring nothing, but getting out of the observatory for a few days might do her good; she’d been starting to get that itch for adventure that hadn’t ever really gone away since turning her back on Namarast. Even if the rumors proved to be little more than just that, it’d be a change of scenery, and perhaps she could even pick up work or return home with monster parts to sell.

For as late in the year as it was, the jungle was almost unbearably humid. In her nearly two decades living on the peninsula, Anjali had mostly come to terms with the humidity. She wasn’t a fan of it, but she could tolerate it, and found solace in knowing that the cooler months were a lot less sticky. The weather had been cooler lately, and yet delving deeper into the jungle felt more and more like stepping into a bowl of soup.

Finally, after what had easily been an hour – and perhaps even two – the heavy jungle brush gave way to afternoon sunlight. The trees opened up into the valley, the river stretching on into the horizon. She urged her horse down the path and was immediately aware of just how uncomfortably still the air was. There was no breeze rolling in off the water, and Anjali felt like she might suffocate under her sweat-soaked shirt as it clung to her torso.

She scanned the distant horizon, beyond the clusters of villages settled comfortably atop the fertile land, where the jungle grew dense once more. It was there, rising high over the treetops, that Anjali spotted the anomaly.

She’d been riding in the jungle for a while, sure, but she knew for a fact that it wasn’t late enough in the afternoon to warrant a massive chunk of the distant sky turning a dismal, inky black. It was as if the very fabric of reality had been torn open to reveal the frigid Void beyond. Goosebumps ran down the lengths of her arms, and they had nothing to do with the cool autumn air.

She dismounted her horse, and the dappled beast gave a soft chuff as she took his reins in her hand. She led him to the edge of the river, where he bowed his head to drink from the uncharacteristically stationary water.

Strangely enough, it was difficult to tear her eyes away from the smear of darkness, no matter how much she wanted to. The darkness seemed to ooze out of the sky itself, reaching into the jungle like tentacles seeking to uproot the trees. Actually… maybe they were tentacles.

She had no time to process that thought. A shrill wail suddenly cut through the silence, making every single hair along the back of Anjali’s neck stand on end; she suddenly felt as if she’d been electrocuted. She snapped out of her darkness-induced daze just in time to grab her horse’s reins before he took off, but the spooked creature nearly pulled her off her feet. She managed to catch herself, diving into the momentum and planting the palm of her hand on her mount’s shoulder. “Shhhh…” she soothed, and though her horse had mostly recollected himself, his hooves shuffled against the soft earth, and his nostrils flared as he huffed indignantly. Thank Grace for the steed’s relatively indomitable temperament, but the horse didn’t spook at much, so that made Anjali’s anxiety spike even further.

Her chest felt heavy, as if a vice was squeezing her lungs, and she was overcome with a tidal wave of grief. Her throat tightened, threatening a sob, and the corners of her eyes began to burn. It was as if her mind had betrayed her, as if her thoughts were no longer her own. She didn't control them, and she was at their mercy. She suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about the winter, and how cold and lonely it was, and how cold and lonely she was—

Wait, tears? Grace, she was better than that. Crying was beneath her. “Absolutely not,” she hissed, and she threw herself onto her horse’s back. The stallion pinned his ears and huffed, but he was antsy, and quick to oblige as she commanded him forward, toward the swirling shadowy mass in the distance. Every survival instinct was telling her to turn the other way, but where was the fun in that? And, whatever this darkness was, it had threatened to tarnish her pride. (Never mind the fact that there wouldn't have been anyone around to witness it.)

With the reins in one hand, Anjali wiped at her eye with her other palm, and couldn’t have been more thankful to find it came away dry.