Lions of Perfection

Golden ribbons of sunlight streamed through the dense canopy of the forest, casting a warm glow on the dewy forest floor. Elora’s eyelids drooped as she navigated their covered wagon along the narrow path, careful not to stray too far off course. With a grunt, she stretched her arms up and shook out her long, black hair from its Dutch plaits, relishing the gentle kiss of the wind on her skin. Looking up, she watched the trees sway and dance above her, enjoying a rare moment of peace after a grueling weekend of travel. Despite the dirt and gunpowder that covered her body, she felt grateful to be able to gaze up at the sky and feel the earth beneath her fingernails. Her reverie was abruptly interrupted as the wagon jolted to a stop, its speckled twin Conestoga horses, Sourdough and Rye, whinnying and shuffling their hooves anxiously. The empty jars of jam and other goods in the back rattled and clattered, while Amon, who had been sleeping in a corner, groaned and stirred. With a snarl, he pushed himself up as Elora grabbed her Marlin rifle and trained it down the open road. Amon rolled his eyes and relaxed back into his corner, taunting her with a smirk. “Just let whatever it is, eat you,” he grinned. Elora scowled at him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” After a tense moment, the horses settled down, and Elora resumed driving the wagon deeper into the forest, the jars clattering and jostling behind her. As they emerged from the forest, Elora’s stomach growled, and she reached into her pocket for the small tattered letter that had brought her to this remote location. It was a request that had been sent to the Hunters Guild, asking for help investigating a rumored cult. But now, she wondered if the cult was even real. She had been on the road for three years, and if there was indeed a cult, she should have heard about it by now. Glancing back at Amon, she scowled at his sleeping figure. It wasn’t her they didn’t want around, it was him. Amon was a notorious troublemaker to the guild, and she suspected he had some ulterior motive for coming along on this mission. But Elora’s thoughts were interrupted as she caught sight of a small shanty town up ahead. Her grin widened as the rumbling in her stomach grew louder. Amon, however, was less enthusiastic. “Why are you bothering with that town?” he grumbled. “We’ll never get any closer to completing this mission if we stop and help every town we see.” “We need food. They need money,” she replied firmly. Amon chuckled, pushing the brim of his hat up with his finger. “Always so giving, hunter? Except to the creatures you kill.” “You’re alive, aren’t you?” Elora retorted, pulling her purse from her pocket and surging the cart towards the town. But as they drew closer, Elora’s heart sank. Not a horse, cow, carriage, or person was in sight, only the telltale signs of violence: blood splatters, drag marks, and buildings burned to the ground. Amon sniffed the air and sprang to life, jumping from the wagon and adjusting his black suit and duster. Elora knew he was up to something, but she pushed the thought aside and pressed on. It wasn’t long before she realized that whatever had happened in this town was no ordinary raid. “Humans don’t usually take bodies with them.” she thought as noticed the severe lack of c*****e. Stopping the wagon, Elora grabbed her wide-brimmed hat and sturdy rifle, jumping down to the muddy road. The town held the faint, sickening smell of rotting flesh around it, intermingled with the acrid scent of burnt wood. Splatters of blood and drag marks were along the ground, as if someone had tried to crawl away from the destruction. And yet, nobody was in sight. Amon sprung to life, jumping from the wagon. He adjusted his black suit and duster, his long, wavy hair catching in the wind. He all but skipped to her side, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Well, now, this is interesting, isn’t it?” Amon grinned, taking in the scene. Elora frowned up at him, her sharp features set in a stern expression. She walked on, her boots sinking into the muddy earth. Knowing in her heart that whatever he was up to had to be mischievous, she ignored him. Several buildings looked to be burned to the foundation; others looked ransacked. The streets were eerily silent, as if the town had been abandoned for years. “This place looks like it was raided by humans, but-” she said to herself, “humans don’t usually take bodies with them.” A clatter of glass caught her attention. On her left stood a small square box of a building made from logs. The windows’ glass was busted, and the door hung on only one hinge. Elora slung her rifle over her shoulder and stomped towards the noise. Her boots crunched the glass under her feet as she slipped under the hanging door into what looked to be an old doctor’s office. Rows of shelves with different herbs, tonics, and other things lined the walls. The furniture lay overturned and scattered about, covered in blood and debris. Elora listened. She could hear shallow breaths from a coat closet nearby. Her fingers found their way to her hip, resting on her holstered colt. Gently, as softly and quietly as she could, she crept towards the closet door. Reaching out, she gripped the brass knob and pulled her gun from its holster. She listened once more. Soft shuffling from behind the door made her mind race and her heart thunder at what could be lurking inside. Her senses were on high alert, every muscle in her body coiled and ready for action. The shattering of a glass jar made her jump from the door, looking over to the wall of tonics where Amon leaned happily. His lips curled up, his eyes alight with amusement. He crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. “So sorry!” he shouted, ignoring Elora’s silent attempt to keep him quiet, “are we sneaking?!” She watched as Amon grabbed the shelf of glass and ripped it from the wall, letting it shatter loudly on the floor. The sound rang out into the valley, and she froze. Waiting for whatever was lurking behind the door to burst from it and claw her to death. But it was quiet for only a moment until a soft southern voice called out behind the door. “Are you- are you friendly?” Amon’s amused face turned to anger, seeing Elora relax and open the door. A young black man dressed in blood-soaked clothes with hair dreaded down to his neck, grasping his ripped-up calf, started fearfully up at her. She did look a sight, shoulder length black hair under a ten-gallon hat, trousers, white french shirt with a vest and handkerchief tied around her neck. She looked like a regular ranch hand, not a woman. That was until he noticed the rifle and col The air that seemed to waft off Amon intensified as Elora tended to the wounded man. His amusement quickly shifted to anger as he watched her help Charles, his eyes fixated on the small glass bottle at her hip, with its glowing blue contents. The dark energy emanating from him was palpable, as if he were about to strike down the two infront of him in a single blow. In contrast, Charles appeared sheepish and nervous, shrinking in fear at the sight of the demonic being. Elora, on the other hand, was calm and collected, exuding a sense of competence and confidence that seemed to radiate from her. Her appearance was rugged, with black hair tucked under a ten-gallon hat, trousers, and a white French shirt with a vest and handkerchief tied around her neck. But her striking green eyes betrayed a keen intelligence and a steely resolve. As she tended to Charles’ wounds, her focus was unwavering, her movements efficient and deliberate. She handed him the tonic and gauze with a practiced ease, having clearly done this many times before. When Amon tried to interrupt, she shot him a nasty look, shutting him down with a single glance. Charals looked up at Elora with desperation in his eyes. “You a monster hunter?” Elora knelt down and examined the wound on his leg. “This looks like it hurts,” she said softly. “I asked if you’re a hunter,” Charals repeated. Elora nodded. “I’m Elora. Can you walk?” “Yeah, with some help,” Charals grunted, wrapping his arm around her for support. “Names Charles, nice to see you.” As they made their way outside, Elora couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Amon, who was pouting in the corner. She helped Charles onto the bench of the wagon, where he blinked at the strange-looking man while Elora rummaged through her crates. She pulled out cotton gauze and a yellow tonic. “This is-” Charles began. “Oh, I know that tonic!” he interrupted. “Sold it in my office.” Elora handed him the tonic and gauze, then sat down next to him to help him wrap up his cuts. They looked deep, but had luckily stopped bleeding. “What happened here?” she asked. “Don’t tell her,” Amon interjected. Elora shot him a nasty look and turned back to Charles. “Please, continue.” “Well,” Charles began, tending to his wound, “it started with just a few rumors. People said they could hear the call of their dead loved ones in the forest, then they’d go after them and never come back.” “Their dead loved ones?” Elora muttered to herself. “Exactly,” Charles nodded. “But a few days ago, whatever that thing was got greedy. It stood about 10 feet tall, gaunt body like a human who hasn’t eaten for days, smelled like rot, with a head like the skull of a buffalo.” Elora placed her hand on Charles’s, giving him a soft, sympathetic smile. “The people of this town-” “Got away,” Charles finished. “Some houses caught on fire, and that thing damn near shriveled up. But it got a hold of me, so I hid and when I came out-” “They left you!” Amon cackled from the back. “Is he a friend of yours?” Charles frowned. “More like a pet,” Elora glared. “Ignore him.” Elora cleaned a small spot for Charles in the wagon, laying down some soft pelts against the floorboards and guiding him into the shelter. As she hopped back onto the steering bench, she asked, “Do you know where your people got off to?” “Probably Saint Daphne, a little town about a two-day’s ride,” Charles grunted as she lunged at the cart. “You gonna take me?” Elora thinned her lips, looking over her shoulder. “Yes and no, see-” “That thing you described is a Wendigo,” Amon interrupted, sitting up and grinning devilishly at Charles. “It’s hunting your little town as we speak. I wonder if they will even have made it.” Charles’s eyes widened with terror as he gazed up at Elora. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread wash over him as he wondered if she was truly a savior sent to rescue him or a shepherd leading him to his demise. He felt as though he was at the mercy of fate, and the mere thought of what could happen to him was enough to make him want to make Sweat beads trickle down his forehead.