The loam gave to his grasping hands as something dragged him away.

No

This is not right

He’s sliding. The ground now a hill. Half dead saplings snap and splinter as he tumbles past, body a blur as he rolls over end.

Then air.

Free.

Flying.

Next, a splash. Icy talons sink into every inch of flesh. They wish to tear him apart. Rend this fool’s form. He gasps in a lungful of river before his head meets riverbed.

He swims in inky nothing. But soon is dragged, gagging, coughing, heaving, retching from the depths.

A man, dressed in buck skin and hay, leans over him. “Sir, y’allright?”

His head is still swimming, tumbling, flying. He turns over, onto hands and knees as he holds out a hand to stop this stranger. “Leave me…”

“Sir, yer bleedin’…” The stranger reached out with a gentle hand.

He pulled a blade from a latched case on his hip, swiping at the stranger vaguely. “Get the fuck away!” He barked, stumbling as he backed away.

The stranger held up his hands, stepped back, and then ran, disappearing between so many perfectly disorganized trees.

“Filthy…” He grunted as he found purchase on a low branch. “Backwards…” He hissed as he stepped up the embankment, snow kissing his ankles. “Heathens…”

An owl watched the man, head bleeding, leaving a crimson trail, blood current, from where he had been dragged from the river.

Something else watched too. Sinew and fang. Teeth, sharp and poised. Eyes shocking red and unblinking.

Angel of death. Spirit of vengeance. Serpent of Curses. Cormac.

This man reeked of sins and blood. All his folly had called forth this beast. As it struck out, venom singing violent violet through his veins, he knew what he had done. How it had been called, and why he would die that night.